Cold Mercy (Northern Wolves) (28 page)

No, she was thicker. Still slender, but with muscle and weight to her. Something he was more used to seeing in lionesses than Hounds. Dirt smeared her cheeks, and her hair was a tousled mess of the reddest rust he’d ever seen. Several tendrils had fallen loose from a knot on the top of her head, and they dangled just out of reach. He itched to reach out and touch, to test the silk of it against his fingertips.

Shit. Now he was every bit as smitten with her as Kanon.

She’d agreed to let them prove it, and now he was thinking about running his hand through that long, long hair. Yeah. She’d just as soon break his hand as let him do that.

Tegan caught Kanon’s eye, his partner giving him an impish grin, and Tegan couldn’t help but smile back. Kanon was a natural flirt, a joker, especially under stress. It was how he coped. Tegan opened his mouth to stop his partner, but Kanon beat him. With a gesture to her dirt-stained outfit, Kanon said, “You can’t wear that where we’re going.”

Tegan covered his smile with a small cough.

“Bullshit I can’t.” The muscle in her jaw flexed, tense, and he could see the warpath opening up between them. Damn, the woman would do battle with just about anything if a man riled her right. And the more stressed Kanon was, the more buttons he tended to push. Tegan winced as Kanon snatched a strand of that hair, knowing damn well his partner could blow everything. But at the same time, Tegan couldn’t quite blame him. He couldn’t say he’d be acting any better if there was a chance he’d be staring down a silver bullet tonight.

And Tegan wanted to know what her hair felt like too.

Club Metro would let just about anyone in as long as they were wearing clothes, but Tegan wanted to see her without the dirt, in clean clothes, with all that hair loosely draped over her shoulders. Actually, he really wanted to meet her without the possibility of Kanon’s arrest looming. It was hard not to like her, and if things went bad, she wasn’t going to walk away.

She was either going to be on their side when the shit hit the fan, or she was going to end up dead when they ran. He hoped it was the first. Tegan watched as she caught Kanon’s hand, looking more than ready to fight. He’d invaded her space, and, damn, but she didn’t yield an inch. But it was more than that. She didn’t berate Kanon for touching her hair, didn’t suddenly decide to go back to trying to arrest him. She held her ground, almost as if she’d already figured out that he was just dealing with the situation the best way he could. Laugh or cry, right?

Tegan let out a low rumble, almost akin to a purr, and stepped closer, trapping her between them and the dining room. She could run, but she’d have to back down for that. Lennox Donnelly looked like she’d rather shoot them both first.

But she was still trying to be the nice Hound. “I thought you wanted help.”

Kanon looked her up and down from head to toe. “You’re filthy. Your hair is a mess. You have dirt smudged on your cheeks.”

Kanon licked a finger and reached out to swab a spot when she jerked back, a laugh floating from her.

“Is that your game? Seduce the Hound meant to drag you in?”

“No, Tegan actually intends to take you to the bar.”

Her gaze flitted back to Kanon. “And you?”

Kanon lifted his shoulders in a shrug, his grin growing wider. “We can go to the bar.”

“We
are
going to the bar. Unless your witnesses are fake. If that’s the case, then we’re all going down to Enforcement.”

“They’re real,” Tegan whispered, heard the warmth in his own voice. She didn’t have to do this, didn’t have to tolerate any of this, and for a moment he really considered getting Kanon to quit teasing her. But hell, if the shit hit the fan tonight, he’d be damned if he didn’t get something good out of the night, too. He reached forwards and snatched a piece of her hair, giving it a small tug. “Then you should probably clean up. I can show you to the bathroom.”

Her death glare would have been enough to make most men cower. It only turned Tegan on more. “I’m going as is.”

Fighting back a laugh, Tegan let her hair go with a shrug. “Might as well roll you in a few mud puddles first.”

Kanon snorted. “Or dump her down a manhole along the way.”

“She does stink a little.”

“Like wet dog.” Kanon edged closer, his hand finding the back of her neck just as she flattened her palm against his chest. A smile touched her lips, half amused, half warning.

“All right. Enough. Where’s the bathroom?”

That was something Tegan had no problem showing her. They scooted her up the stairs and into the guest bathroom, even letting her shut the door and lock them out. He didn’t think for one second she’d run. She wasn’t the tuck-tail-and-bolt kind of girl.

Tegan shook his head at the sound of the lock turning over, and with it, the night’s earlier play and joking faded, hard reality flooding back in. He glanced at Kanon. “She has the patience of a fucking saint.”

Tegan watched the lines around Kanon’s eyes deepen as his partner looked away, stress no doubt eating at him. “Hey. Don’t. Tristan, Caro, the staff, they’ll clear you.”

“You think it’ll be enough for her?”

He hoped so. Tegan glanced back at the closed door between them and the Hound. He’d come too damn close to losing Kanon tonight, and the thought left him hollow. Exhausted.

“I think we have the best shot with her. No other Hound would have let you get away with half that shit.”

“It was stupid.” But Kanon smiled anyway, a tight, worn smile, but a real one nonetheless. Kanon closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Tegan’s waist, holding him tight.

“We got lucky,” Tegan murmured, knowing damn well Lennox could hear everything. “Though you should probably stop the stress flirting.”

“Maybe.” Kanon pressed a kiss to the crook of his neck, then trailed several more across his collarbone, nipping over his pulse.

“Kanon,” Tegan whispered, his voice drying up as Kanon leaned in to steal a kiss. The tap water in the bathroom stopped.

Kanon pulled back. “I figure in case she reneges on our deal and turns me in, I might as well get you one last time.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“Having you, or her breaking the deal?”

“She won’t break her word.” Tegan pressed a kiss to the corner of Kanon’s lips. “And you always have me.”

Kanon gave a satisfied groan, and cuddled closer.

“You are
not
screwing each other outside this door.”

Tegan smiled. They probably had given her that impression.

Kanon called out, teasing, “Not yet, honey, care to join?”

Tegan closed his eyes and shook his head, but he could feel Kanon tensing, reality creeping back in, and he bit back the lecture.

“I would rather jump out the window. Put your pants on so I can come out.”

“Damn,” Kanon said. “Reckon we should take them off first?”

The bathroom door jerked open and Lennox stumbled straight into them, catching herself on their shoulders. Lennox gave a small growl, stepping back, startled. “You all have no sense of...” Her voice died in her throat and she turned away, lips pursed. “Let’s go to the bar. Now.”

Lennox stepped around them both and headed for the stairs. “I’ll meet you at my car. It’s by the billboard for that new grocery store in town. Behind a few bushes. And I’ll be watching, so don’t try to run.”

Her sultry tone turned dark as she glanced between them, and then met Tegan’s gaze. She’d heard everything. “I hope you’re right and you can clear your partner’s name.”

A shadow slipped over her face as she headed down the stairs.

Tegan’s gut twisted.

She hadn’t looked very confident.

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Cry Sanctuary - Shifter Town Enforcement #2

Chapter 1

Lennox Donnelly’s voice came sharp and clear over the phone. “Dammit Ollie, answer your phone. You’ve missed two check-ins. We need to hear from you.”

The voicemail clicked over and Holly Lawrence bit back the urge to scream. She’d have given anything to call her boss back and check in, but she couldn’t. Not with her hands strung up over her head as she hung from the rafters in a dilapidated shack in the middle of nowhere. Her arms trembled under the strain, the muscles in her shoulders slowly tearing, and she had to fight the urge to whimper as the Hunter stepped closer, head cocked as he grinned at her. It wasn’t his name, she didn’t know his real name, but it was what the press called him now. Ever since someone had let it slip in an interview that he liked to hunt his victims down before he killed them.

“Your boss sounds so worried about you.”

He reached out to touch her and Ollie jerked before she could stop herself, a pained hiss sliding out between her teeth. Damn. His grin flashed wider, the shadowed line of his dimple almost mocking in the dark. His canines were too long to be human teeth. This time when his fingers reached for her, she didn’t jerk away. Instead she let the son of a bitch run his hand over her hip, down her thigh, watched the frustration flare in his eyes.

“You think you’re so strong.” The Hunter drew his fingers in a circle over her belly, and she had to force herself to hold his wolf-bright eyes. Do not flinch. Don’t give him the pleasure of making you squirm. The muscle in her jaw twitched.

“But they all break. You will, too.”

He pulled back and rammed his fist into her gut, driving the air straight out of her lungs in a hollow grunt. Her body swayed. The barren wood shack blurred around her, the Hunter’s face the only thing that stayed clear while the rest of the world spun.

“Just like you,” he crooned, and Ollie watched as he knelt by the woman on the floor, his fingers twisting through her long blonde hair. He yanked Rosalie Myers’s head back, exposing the long, pale line of her throat. Her glasses lay smashed in the corner, pink cat’s-eye frames that were now nothing more than bits of shattered plastic. The Hunter leaned in close, and Rosalie flinched, her eyes squeezing shut. Fear radiated off her. It hung in the air, smelling like thick sweat, clammy skin, blood, and urine. Ollie’s heart gave a painful, longing twist. The woman had been trying so hard to believe her, to listen, but as the Hunter ran his thumb over her cheek, Ollie could see she was ready to break.

He leaned in close enough to brush a kiss against Rosalie’s forehead. “You want out of here yet?”

His finger trailed down Rosalie’s throat, and Ollie watched as the woman shivered, while her own fear rose like bile in her throat. “Don’t,” Ollie whispered, pleading with the woman on the floor every bit as much as the Hunter. Don’t run. Don’t hurt her. They were twin chants she’d been begging and screaming since he’d dragged her in here. “Don’t.”

The Hunter spun on her, tossing her phone aside as he yanked Rosalie Myers backwards, dragging her across the concrete floor. “Shut up. Fucking Hound, shut up.” Her phone hit the ground with a clatter, and he stomped on it, the black case shattering under his boot.

Combat boots, laced halfway up his shin. Ollie forced herself to focus on the details, her gaze traveling up the length of him to his face. He could say whatever he wanted to say to her, she didn’t care. As long as it gave the woman on the floor a chance. And every extra detail she could remember would help her later if he got away. If she was still alive.

He yanked Rosalie Myers to her feet, and Ollie saw tears brimming in her blue eyes. The woman had been missing for eight days before Ollie got lucky. The Hunter liked to let his prey go on the full moon. Nights like tonight. He caught and kept them for weeks until then, raping them but otherwise keeping them healthy, fit, and strong. Then as dusk ate away the sky on a full moon night, he let them go.

Only to hunt them down in the woods and kill them.

The final chase was why he hunted.

He hunted them down as a wolf, proving his predatory superiority again and again, but for the actual kill he always shifted back. Always shot them.

He’d been trying to get Rosalie to run for the last two hours, beating her, screaming at her, threatening everything she held dear. So far, she’d held strong. But as Ollie met those shimmering blue eyes, she knew Rosalie was about to give in. Ollie shook her head. “He wants you to run. He can’t kill you if you don’t run,” she whispered.

He laughed at that, a thick, menacing sound that echoed through the shack as he pulled Rosalie’s head back, forcing her to look at him. “Like I couldn’t hurt you? You going to keep listening to her, or do I have to keep proving her wrong?”

“He lives for the hunt. Rosalie, if you run out that door, you’re going to die.”

“Maybe.” His hand tightened in Rosalie’s hair, his eyes locked on hers. “But you’ll also have a chance to get free. Just shift. Be a good little tiger and run. You’re bigger than me; fight me if I catch you. Surely a big cat like you can take on a puny little wolf like me.” He caressed the ugly bruise on her cheek. “Or stay here and let me rip you apart slowly.”

Rosalie glanced between them, and the Hunter snarled. The sharp crack of his hand against her face filled the shack.