Dire Wants (9 page)

Chapter 12

T
he werechick under him was asking for his number. Kill rattled off a fake one because he’d never see her again, rolled off, momentarily satiated, despite the pain after orgasm.

Fucking Elders and their mating rules. Of course they’d make sure sex hurt like a bitch after coming—they wanted mating, not casual sex, but Kill refused to mate with the female Dires in Greenland. And after Stray had been born, they were all too scared to even think about it. So he was stuck with one-night stands for the rest of his too-long life.

He grabbed his clothing and made a beeline for the door, had to get out of this cheap motel room even as the werechick cursed him for fucking and running. Slammed the door behind him and leaned against the outside wall, breathing hard after doubling over several times before he made his way to the truck, naked. Then he screeched out of the lot and turned off the GPS.

He was at the house in less than fifteen minutes; for him, the scent of Dire was unmistakable, stronger than any Were’s scent.

It was like coming home, except that it wasn’t.

He knew he could easily tread his way past lights and the police cruiser he scented on the other side of the hill, toward the latitude and longitude points on Brother Wolf’s inner compass.

His wolf could guide him to Steele—
Stray
—with his eyes closed.

He left the truck at the bottom of the hill, hidden off the side of the road, and slunk through the tree-lined woods toward the mansion he clearly saw outlined in the darkness, as massive as the wolves who inhabited it.

An eerie glow that looked similar to blood on the moon engulfed it.

“Witch spell,” he muttered, and his wolf growled at the mention of witch. He flexed his hands to get rid of the tingling sensation that was quickly overtaking his entire body but realized it was no use. His pull to Stray was stronger than ever, and no doubt, so was Stray.

But he wasn’t ready to see him or the men his flesh and blood called family now. Ended up in his truck, driving around until he happened upon a bar called Howl, with plenty of Weres and a smattering of humans.

He was aching for a fight and, when he kicked open the door of the crowded bar, he knew he’d find as many as he wanted here.

* * *

Threatening Stray hadn’t been her brightest moment. But, to his credit, he hadn’t said anything more, just released her and told her to follow him.

Kate did. She had no fight left in her at that moment. And she was embarrassed that, even after all that had happened, she would’ve given her body up to him if he’d asked.

But he didn’t.

Stupid, stupid brand. It gave her a vicious stab of pain as if in retaliation, and she paused, doubled over.

Stray was at her side in seconds. He picked her up without hesitation and carried her back through the maze of hallways and up the stairs, all while she refused to look at him. Her body snuggled first against his chest and then into the soft mattress as she pretended she’d fallen asleep and he pretended to believe that. She heard the door close behind him but not lock and she breathed a little easier at that.

The pain ceded after a while and she was able to sit up, which she did cautiously in order to get her bearings. This room was as big as the other, but it was far more lived in. She looked to the left and saw clothes piled on a chair, a large dresser stacked with books and papers, a computer glowing in the darkness on a desk across the way.

This is Stray’s room
, she thought. She was being let in further and she wasn’t sure what that meant exactly.

She’d lost track of time. The need for sleep was lacking, the way it had been for months. It was close to dawn now and, even though her body felt drained from the recent telekinetic episode, she wouldn’t be able to close her eyes and drift off no matter how badly she wanted to.

And she shouldn’t want to, should be trying to think of a way out of here, away from Stray . . . and to what, exactly? She had nowhere to go.

As tired as her body was, her mind raced with questions and even bigger fears than she’d had earlier. But as her eyes began to adjust to the dark, she saw that Stray hadn’t left her alone—he’d simply closed the door to the room.

He was standing by the window, his bare back to her. If he heard her stir, he made no indication, and so she grabbed the sketchpad he’d left next to her and began to draw.

Her cheeks flamed as she—her body—recalled her earlier mistake of running. One that kept her body on edge every time Stray was near.

All she had to do was close her eyes to see him half naked in front of her. Abs rippled, shoulders so impossibly broad he didn’t look real. And a dark tribal wolf staring at her from his right pecs.

Like it was real. The scar that bisected his chest ended right at the wolf’s mouth.

Now she saw the massive portrait of the wolf taking up his entire back, its eyes alive.

The very wolf that had run her down. It had stared at her like it knew what had happened and had accepted it. It would be far longer before Stray did so.

The only people looking for her would be the police. But, according to Stray, Shimmin knew what she was, had been using her.

She was a wanted woman all around. And she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t wanted in the dead-or-alive way, so she did the only thing she could do right now—she drew.

Maybe they were both lulled in by the scratching sounds of pencil to paper or maybe he paid her no mind, but at least half an hour passed while she finished her drawing.

The scars. You had to be close to see them through the wolf—it was almost covering them protectively, camouflaging Stray’s pain from the rest of the world. There were some along the back of his biceps as well. So many, some clean, others bumpy and all of them held a story—she was sure of it.

“Can I see it?” he asked finally, without turning. She got up and brought it to him, unable to read his expression as he stared at it.

“I never look at them in the mirror,” he confessed. “I never wanted to see them.”

“I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s okay. It’s not so bad, seeing them through your eyes. And Brother Wolf looks good.”

She didn’t know what to say to that; instead of words, she pressed her lips to his shoulder, then pressed her forehead to it. Part apology for earlier, part plea to continue helping her even though she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

As if he understood, he turned to her and his hand moved to caress her lower back—it was as if every time they connected like that, they grew closer.

“Who . . . did this to you?” she asked finally, her hands moving to touch the scars she’d drawn.

“My family, a long time ago, before I was a part of this pack.”

“Why?”

“They marked me. I’m guessing that’s something you understand.”

She wanted to say that the woman wasn’t her family, but technically, she was. She’d passed the gift and connected Kate’s bloodline to her forever. And now, as her hands remained on Stray’s back, he opened up a little more for her and she saw things through his eyes, read his mind the way she had with so many others.

But this was so very different. It was like a direct link to his every memory—and it was so easy to get lost. It felt like home.

“Bad things are going to happen,” she murmured. “My God, Stray, such horrible things no one would believe. I don’t want to and yet . . .”

“You know them to be true,” he finished for her, his voice tight.

“We need an army to fight what’s coming. I can’t see all of it clearly, but I know that.”

“We’ve got eight Dires and you. And some Weres. That’s got to be enough.”

Suppose it’s not
? she wanted to ask, but from the look in Stray’s eyes, she didn’t dare.

He broke her hold on him and their connection broke. He started to walk out of the room. “This is your home now, Kate. Best get used to it,” he called over his shoulder. “I hope you’re smart enough to not try running again.”

The door shut behind him and then it opened and closed again. Even though she hadn’t exactly controlled that directly, she smiled at getting in that last word.

Remember, that’s how you got into trouble already.

But she swore she heard Stray’s soft laugh before the door shut the second time.

“What am I supposed to do now?” she asked no one in particular before she buried her nose in his pillow, inhaling his scent deeply, the brand calming down. At the same time, she heard the door open and smelled the scent of hot chocolate. She closed her eyes again until she heard a tray being set down and Stray’s footsteps and then the door closed again.

Her stomach growled and she sat up, grateful for the sustenance. Comfort food—chocolate and sugary cookies, still warm.

The snack steadied her, but the isolation wasn’t sitting well. As strong as Stray was, had her powers scared him? She already scared herself and she wondered if it would always be like this.

She noted that her witchcraft books lay on the bed next to her.

Her mind flashed back to the psychic she’d visited at eighteen—the woman had handed her a book on witches and Kate handed it back and refused to think on it again. But the books Stray found in her apartment, well, she’d bought them months earlier, after browsing a store between sketches for Shimmin. She’d felt foolish for buying them, but she couldn’t not.

The receipt was her bookmark in one—she’d gotten barely a third of the way through it before she’d stopped. It had made her uncomfortable, so much so that she hadn’t been able to stop the lights in her apartment from blinking, to the point where the bulbs had blown out completely, shattering glass everywhere.

She reached out for them now, despite her reluctance to do so, and flipped one open to the marked page on familiars. Her face flushed as she remembered practicing calling for her familiar earlier that morning, before meeting with Josie.

Nothing had happened. She hadn’t even spotted a stray cat, let alone a protector. Well, besides Stray, but that was something different entirely.

“Hey.” Stray knocked on the door although he’d already opened it. “Thought you called me.”

“Um, no.”

“Okay. I’m right out here if you need me.”

When he closed the door, something fluttered in her stomach. She didn’t want to read any further. Stray might be checking up on her because he needed her help.

She curled up against the pillows and again she read the passage about witches and their familiars—a pairing as old as time and as necessary.

If she couldn’t have love, she would settle for protection.

Let me protect you
. Stray’s words, echoing in her ear.

And only then did she realize, for the first time, what exactly had been happening between her and Stray. She dropped the book as though it were responsible for it.

No.
Nonononononononono.

Protector. Animal. Familiar.

There was nothing in that book that said her familiar couldn’t be a wolf.

Chapter 13

J
inx was still having trouble thinking straight. Brother Wolf had shifted him and run from the massacre still happening at the last cemetery because he knew Jinx was done handling it.

He’d forced Jinx to shift back, dress and drive to the nearest motel room, since it was morning light and not the best time for a wolf to be sauntering through town.

He ignored his phone in favor of sleeping in wolf form, where the ghosts couldn’t get to him and the nightmares weren’t as bad.

When he woke, he realized none of it had been a dream, no matter how hard he’d tried to hide from it.

His own father had sold him out in order to stay . . . a ghost. A vengeful one. Jinx could’ve helped him cross back over—or he could’ve worked with Jinx to help the Dires send the Dire ghost army back to where they belonged once and for all.

But he’d chosen his side, in death, as he had in life.

Literal deals with the devil were made by humans almost every day around the world. The consequences rippled throughout the population. But the biggest loser in this case by far was probably the human who’d asked for the original bargain.

There was always a price, and it was always too high. Jinx and Rogue had heard far too many sob stories over the years. Because dead men absolutely did tell tales, none of them pretty.

Jinx always had a theory, that the more logical a person was, the more egregious their crimes.

“People need to be a little less rigid,” Jinx always said. “Because that always comes back to bite them in the ass.”

“Or else I do,” Vice would add. Vice, who’d no doubt been calling him all goddamned night. The wolf was good enough to have scented him here, which meant he had his hands full.

If something had gone really wrong, Jinx would know it. And he comforted himself with that thought as he headed for the shower, letting the warm water beat down on his bare skin. Ignored the ghost that pulled back the shower curtain and attempted to explain why he was still there.

Jinx didn’t want to hear it.

In his early years, he’d been plagued by ghosts until he realized that ultimately, his best defense against them was to ignore them, rather than trying to help them pass over. Rogue did the same to the spirits that plagued him, because they had passed over and most of them wanted to come back. It wasn’t easy. Born-and-bred warriors, their abilities gave them a sensitivity not necessarily helpful to what their futures were supposed to be—warrior alpha pack leaders. The sensitivity was too distracting and the pretending soon became exhausting. The only relief they’d had was on their Running, when they didn’t have to pretend they weren’t different from the other Dires. Because the Dires they were running with were all as different as they were.

Jinx and Rogue had honed both their warrior skills and their abilities with ghosts and spirits over time. They’d seen some weird things, but nothing as menacing as this.

He rubbed his head against the cold tile.

Purgatory was open. And whether he’d done it or had been used as a vehicle to do it didn’t matter.

It was fucking
open
.

Neither Dire twin had been allowed or able to see inside that realm and both had always supposed it to be for the best. And Jinx wouldn’t tell a soul—or Vice—that he was suddenly able to see those souls, those
freaks
, as they called themselves, hanging out there in the space that wasn’t heaven and certainly wasn’t hell.

Jinx thought it was worse, maybe like the place Rogue currently found himself in, with a fucking mare sitting on his chest, drawing on him, marking him as hers, and all because of Seb.

After the shower, he pulled on the change of clothes he always kept in the truck and sped back to the house as dusk turned to dark, a light rain falling. There were no supernatural storms. Yet.

He pulled into the garage, letting it close behind him with the comforting, heavy thud of lockdown. Outside, there were no cop cars or signs of trappers, but inside this house was going to turn into an interrogation to beat all interrogations.

Starting with Vice, who must’ve slept in the damned garage, waiting for him. The wolf didn’t look as much angry as . . . distraught.

“The witch is fine,” Vice said by way of greeting. “And you? Can you fucking hear me now?”

He lunged at Jinx, who caught him by the shoulders, but they still went tumbling over each other on the stone floor before hitting a car to break their roll.

“Get. Up.”

Rifter’s voice over them. It took a long minute for Vice to obey, par for the course, but twice as long for Jinx, which was . . . odd. When his hands finally came off Vice’s throat, he didn’t even look at the other wolf, but stood in front of his king and waited for the dressing-down, the way he’d done so many times before in the Army for doing something not within regs.

Fuck regs. Fuck it all.

Because you’ve really fucked up.

He never should’ve come back here. Hell, he had his own bank account, plenty of places to hide. Or he could tell his Dire brothers they needed to get out of here and salvage what they could.

“Where have you been?” Rifter was demanding, shaking him by the shoulders since Jinx hadn’t answered him the first several times he’d asked the question.

“Work.”

“Not an answer,” Rifter growled. He yanked Jinx’s phone from the inside pocket of his leather jacket, turned it on and held it out to him. “Plenty of juice. You’re never supposed to turn this off.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” Vice muttered and Rifter echoed the sentiment, then added, “I didn’t tell the twins you were unaccounted for, but what the hell were you thinking?”

Jinx paused for a second, and then told the wolves the only thing he could about the night before. “It’s Jameson. He’s in charge of the Dire ghost army—and they’re coming for us.”

* * *

“It’s really there?”

FBI Special Agent Angus Young looked into the empty field where Leo Shimmin insisted the wolves lived in some kind of rock-star-like mansion.

Wolves.
What the fuck?

He’d been in town for a less than a month and knew his life would never be the same. He’d suspected it was coming to that the farther into his investigation he got, the one that brought him to this Catskill town in the first place. He’d been studying the supernatural and wondering if he was crazy for even pursuing that angle.

“It’s there. Fifty feet in.” Leo Shimmin sipped his coffee laced with whiskey and Angus shook his head.

“I don’t get it.”

“The witch Seb put an unbreakable protection spell on it. Not even he can break it,” Leo explained. Wolves, witches . . . Angus supposed that every monster purported to live under the bed and in the closet was real.

“If I walk in?”

Leo shrugged. “We’ve never tried it. Any Were we’ve sent in said it looked like a two-room shack. No one can ever figure out what’s going on.”

“How can a house shift?” Angus muttered, then held up a hand. “I know. Magic.”

“Unbreakable.”

Angus had been surprised when the cop reached out to him early that morning. When he met Leo outside the precinct and followed his car through town and along its outskirts, he hadn’t commented on the fact that the man looked like shit. Or like he’d been beaten.

“Rough night?” he’d asked instead when he’d parked and Leo let himself into the passenger’s side of Angus’s truck.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Leo had told him. “Unless you really want to.”

Angus stared into the field of nothingness. It was a cold morning, dark and damp as if spring was trying to break through and winter wouldn’t release her stranglehold. “You only come here in the daytime?”

“Safer that way. I don’t need an ambush.” The cop rubbed his bruised cheek thoughtfully. “You need to think about how far in you really want, Agent Young.”

Angus had been thinking about it since he’d spoken with Shimmin yesterday. Shimmin had called Angus in to interview another woman who’d lived through a suspected wolf attack, although that was never mentioned in the official files. It fit the MO of the cases that Angus had been following for years—and Leo told him now that Harm was in fact inside this invisible house. And that Harm was a wolf.

Angus wasn’t sure if he knew too little or too much about what kind of world the humans lived right alongside of—or rather, with—but either way, what he’d discovered served only to make him more on edge. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Leo nodded. “For now.”

Angus stared at the emptiness again, his skin starting to crawl, which seemed to happen every time he found himself in Shimmin’s presence. “I’ve got to bolt.”

The cop smiled, like he knew. “See ya, Fed.”

Fed.
Not for much longer if he didn’t bring on the big prize. After Shimmin left, the energy in the car got better.

According to Shimmin, he’d taken over for his brother in the fight between the supernatural and the humans—
his kind
, Leo had said.

His kind.

Christ.
He
needed to start drinking whiskey for breakfast on a regular basis if he was going to remain on this case.

He stared at the blank space and tried to imagine wolves in there. Fucking
wolves.

And it was the best explanation he’d come up with this far. But it wasn’t something he could tell his sup, who was on the other end of the ringing cell phone.

“Any leads on Harm?” his supervisor demanded.

“There was another murder. I’m close. I know it,” Angus told him, knowing it was a shitty answer and nowhere near enough to justify keeping him on this case much longer. He rubbed his chin and felt the day-old rough stubble. Despite being on the road, there was nothing else to do but eat, sleep and work out, so he was staying on top of his game. At thirty-five, he had no choice. So while on the outside, he looked pretty damned good, on the inside, he felt like a house of cards that could collapse with the pressure of a strong wind.

He was restless. Horny. And pissed off. And his sup was slow coming with a response, but Angus waited him out patiently. Sometimes, waiting was the best thing a man could do. He’d learned that in the Army and it had served him well during his sniper days.

“You’ve got another week, Young, and then I need to see results.”

The conversation ended with a click. Angus pocketed the phone and led the truck away from the field and back through town, thinking on his next move.

When Angus had come to town and met Leo Shimmin, he’d never expected to learn what he had about the supernatural world, although he’d begun to suspect it. Having those suspicions confirmed made him feel less crazy—and way more out of control.

He’d been following his only lead, Cain Chambers, since he could actually find him. Still, Angus had a feeling everything he found on Cain was carefully crafted bullshit.

A couple of weeks earlier, Cain had been found near the body of a dead woman, killed with the same MO as the murders Harm had been accused of committing.

Angus had traced the series of murders back over a fifty-year span. If Harm was as old as Shimmin claimed—centuries—and he’d used other names throughout the ages, well shit, there were ever more murders in a pattern Angus had never thought to tie to the man—wolf . . . wolfman. But that term wasn’t right, either.

Nothing human about them
, Leo had claimed. Their human forms were some kind of shift thing that allowed them to blend in and trick innocent humans.

He reached for the ever-present file on the case, riffled through it and stared at Harm’s recent picture and then the old album covers of other bands he’d been in.

Wolf . . . not man, and nowhere to be found.