Living Extinct (19 page)

Rose scanned the crowd, searching for their daughter, when a couple caught her eye.

More specifically, the young bitch of the pair grabbed her attention. She wasn’t the only one who noticed the male and bitch leaning against a car across the street from Dee’s General Store. Curiosity filled the air. There were strangers in their midst. And they weren’t American werewolves, or at least she wasn’t. It wasn’t too often another species of werewolf prowled their way into the mountains.

Most of Valle, the town where she and her mate lived, were werewolves. The few humans who stayed out of sheer determination looked the other way or simply didn’t care when the street outside Dee’s store was lined with cars after hours for their pack meetings. Dee had a large back room behind the store. It worked well for pack meetings as well as parties and anniversaries.

Headlights began beaming up and down the street. Rose squinted to get a better look at the pretty young bitch. The female’s dark skin made her stand out. Whispers around her tickled Rose’s ears but she ignored them. It wasn’t just the dark skin and long black hair but the expression, her firm, toned body—Rose knew she’d seen her before. And her heart constricted.

The agent with GWAR who’d been declared dead. Rose hadn’t forgotten the agents who’d made her reverse the program, who’d kept her from wiping the young bitch out of the system. It had been a week ago and she’d wondered about it ever since. No matter how hard she fought to get work out of her head, to focus on the fact that in one more week that job would be history, she couldn’t quit worrying about the young bitch that possibly was in trouble. And GWAR didn’t always take care of the young bitches who ran on missions for them—at least Rose didn’t think they did.

“Bruce. Let me talk to you for a minute.” Larry Shank, one of the alphas who worked closely with their pack leader, sounded stressed. He nodded his greeting to her.

“This involves you too, Rose. Let’s talk over at your truck.”

Rose didn’t like the anxiety that filled the air. She picked up on a slightly salty smell too. A wave of discomfort twisted around inside her. Her hands shook as she got their cubs into their seat belts and then stood with the passenger door open.

“How many do we have on the run?” Bruce was anxious to get started. Already he’d untucked his shirt and worked his belt out of the belt loops. He fingered the long leather strap while giving his attention to the other werewolves who’d joined them.

“There’s about twenty of us,” Larry told him.

He stepped to the side when Ollie Grayson, their pack leader, strolled over to join them.

“Is Rose okay with it?” he asked, looking from Larry to Bruce.

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“Am I okay with what?” she asked, her tummy twisting in knots. God. It was bad enough her mate was leaving on a dangerous run. Ollie walking up and asking a question like that didn’t sit well with her at all.

“Haven’t asked her yet.” Larry shrugged.

Ollie muttered a greeting to Bruce and Rose dropped her gaze to their hands when her pack leader shook her mate’s hand. The act seemed tense, a preamble to something she knew she wouldn’t like.

“I didn’t mince words during the meeting,” Ollie told Bruce. He ran the hand through his closely cut, dark hair.

He was a short, thick werewolf and pack gossip had it that every single bitch whined loudly when he’d recently taken a mate. Personally Rose didn’t see the appeal.

But then, Ollie looked nothing like her Bruce, who stood well over six feet and had thick, curly blond hair, perfect for running her fingers through. She scowled, wishing more than anything that Bruce was heading back to her den with her.

“Tonight’s run will be dangerous,” Ollie continued, giving all his attention to her mate. “I put a call out for some help and he’s shown up tonight. He has his mate with him, and we need a den to put her up in while we take care of business. I thought maybe she could stay with your Rose.”

“We’d be honored,” Bruce told him, not even looking at her to see what she thought.

Another bitch in her den? Something told her that Ollie meant the dark-skinned bitch. Panic soared to dangerous levels inside her. She sucked in a breath, her mouth suddenly too dry to say a word. The werewolves looked at her for the first time and she swallowed the lump forming in her throat, certain they all smelled her fear.

“Your mate will come home to you a hero,” Ollie told her, misunderstanding the emotions he smelled on her.

She nodded, not trusting her voice. He didn’t say whether Bruce would return to their den alive or dead.

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A shower had never felt so good. Moira’s damp hair stuck to her back through her shirt as she stared at the ceiling and walls of the small room. The den was simple, small and clean. Rose Silverman didn’t want her here, but was friendly and polite. Moira didn’t blame her. The bitch had a perfect den, so cozy and filled with warm and happy feelings that seemed to float permanently in the air. This place was everything Moira had dreamed of having.

After a week of being in her fur, staying in the mountains with Dante, she was more than certain a quiet life like the one Rose had would never be the life for her.

Her heart swelled, yearning for what she ached to have.

Which was stupid.

She rolled over, punching the thin pillow Rose provided for her and kicking off the blankets that were more of a bed than she’d had in a while. She stared at the black sky through the window. Rose and her cubs slept upstairs. Moira sensed Rose’s restlessness and smelled the bitch’s worry. Her mate fought with the rest of the werewolves, protecting their territory. A fight Moira would much rather have been a part of than being stuck here.

Something else lingered in the air. It didn’t come from the den, but it was near. She stood quietly, doing her best not to let the floorboards creak underneath her, and walked to the window. The males weren’t back yet but an unease grew in the air. The tiny hairs on her body prickled. God. She hated that feeling. The unknown—potential danger.

Lying back down on the twisted blankets on the floor, she straightened her body and focused on her breathing. She had to relax, slow her heartbeat and calm her thoughts. Only then could she leave her body in the appearance of sleep while her mind explored the land around her. If there was danger, she had a duty to protect this den that had taken her in.

One with the elements, carry me. Show me all and all I will see
.

Slowly her soul parted from the weight of her body. She rose, lighter than air, and floated out of her skin. Simply separating body and spirit renewed her, lifted all the worries from her and cleared her mind. No longer did she focus on her heart beating, or her damp hair against her skin. The limitations of her body always preoccupied her—

how fast she could run, how high she could jump, how much she could hear or how quickly her heart beat. None of that mattered now. The gift was a blessing she’d never abuse and always use to make her stronger. Just as her sire had willed it.

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She’d intentionally left the door to the guest room open. Moving through the quiet, dark den, she left the small room and headed toward the open window in the kitchen.

But she wasn’t alone. When had Rose come downstairs?

The female stood in the living room, her back to Moira, and stared out the front windows. She wore a long, thick bathrobe and her auburn hair fell loose halfway down her back. She was a pretty bitch, possibly ten years or so older than Moira and in good shape considering she’d whelped a couple of cubs.

Right now, worry and fear clung to the air around her. It was too easy to sink into Rose’s thoughts, feel her emotions as if they were her own. Naturally, she was terrified for her mate. But there was something else—something Moira hadn’t expected to feel.

Rose was worried for her too. Rose knew something.

Moira pulled on those thoughts, drew them out and sorted through them with disbelief. The bitch worked for WA. She searched her own memories, recalling entering the WA office prior to flying out to the cabin in the mountain where Dante had found her. There had been several bitches working in the WA office. Moira hadn’t paid much attention to any of them. She vaguely recalled one of them looking like Rose.

There had been no indication in Dante’s thoughts that he knew Rose worked for WA. Rose had seen Moira’s file with the special agency, GWAR. Moira searched Rose’s thoughts and learned she’d been assigned to delete Moira from the system. And she’d been approached by agents and asked not to do it. Now the bitch worried those agents would show up here, looking for Moira.

She put Rose and her cubs in danger by staying here. Yet Rose had accepted her into her den graciously, providing her with a hot shower, blankets, a pillow and a room to sleep in. Moira almost felt the tear that streamed down Rose’s cheek as she fought with her emotions and struggled to remain brave while her mate was gone. The terror that gripped Rose over what might occur with Moira under her roof caused the change to tremble inside her.

Rose would kill to protect her cubs. As any good bitch would.

This was wrong.

Moira searched deeper, realizing Rose hadn’t shared with her mate what she knew about Moira. She didn’t like discussing work when she was home. She ached to be a good mate, a good mother, and keep her den a happy and loving place. And she couldn’t wait to be free of WA and to no longer have any knowledge of anything other than what it took to help raise her cubs and see to her mate’s happiness.

A phone rang somewhere in the house and Rose jumped. Her nerves were on edge.

Moira dove out of the female’s mind, feeling jumpy right along with Rose. Although she had intended to search the land around the den, Moira hurried back to her body and got up quickly.

“Hello,” Rose said quietly from the other room as Moira walked toward her. Rose turned, smelling her as she held the phone to her ear. “Thank God. Yes. Thanks for calling. No, you didn’t wake me up. I love you, too. Bye.”

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She hung the phone up slowly, hesitant about what to say to Moira. Without even trying to move into her mind, it was obvious by the stressed look on her face that the bitch didn’t want to be rude, but she didn’t really want to talk to Moira either.

“I promise I’ll protect you and your cubs as long as I’m here.” Moira decided she’d give Rose the impression she already knew what the female had learned about her.

“Where is your den?” Rose turned on the kitchen light and began opening cabinets and pulling items from the refrigerator.

“I don’t have one. And you already know that.” For some reason she wanted Rose to know she wasn’t her enemy.

“What do I know?” Rose wouldn’t make this easy. Her hands shook when she pulled a long knife out of a drawer and began slicing raw meat into strips to fry.

“You know who I am. I know you almost deleted my file. Who are the werewolves that are looking for me?” More than likely they were GWAR agents, or possibly even WA. Would she be able to fight them off if they found her while Dante wasn’t with her?

Rose had her back to Moira. She slammed the knife onto the counter, slicing a large, raw steak in half. The tangy, sweet smell of the fresh meat made Moira’s stomach growl. It was a natural reaction. She doubted she could eat anything right now.

Rose put the knife on the counter and turned around, licking juice from her finger.

Her thick hair fell over her shoulder, tumbling past her breast and curling at the end.

Anger glowed in her green eyes. She crossed her arms against her chest and gave Moira a level look.

“My mate gave his consent for you to stay here.” Her tone was quiet and controlled.

“He doesn’t know anything about you. And it will stay that way. He doesn’t need the extra stress.”

“That’s fine. But you didn’t answer my questions.”

“Nor will I. Like I said, my mate said you could stay here, not me. I don’t want trouble brought to my den.”

Moira fought to keep her emotions under control. She was on Rose’s territory and had no choice other than to submit to the female.

But damn it, any information she could gather might save her life. She lowered her head, showing her submission to the bitch of this den. Her heart beat hard with frustration but she fought it, not wanting Rose to see how hard it was to belly-up to her.

“Forgive me for upsetting you,” she said quietly. She pushed forward carefully, focusing on the linoleum floor while keeping her tone soft and hopefully sounding sincere. “I’m accustomed to gathering information.” She glanced at Rose’s pensive expression. “And to protecting dens and packs. I promise no one will hurt you or your cubs.”

Rose let out a sigh, nodded quickly and then turned to the raw meat. She yelped when someone rapped at the back door. Moira cursed. She’d been so focused on controlling her own scent and narrowing in on Rose’s thoughts that she hadn’t smelled 103

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a werewolf at the door until he knocked. And here she was bragging about her ability to protect.

Rose moved and put her hand on the doorknob. “Who is it?” she asked.

“Juan. Juan Anthony. I need to see Moira,” he said through the door.

Rose turned an accusatory look on Moira.

She held out her hands, willing the bitch to calm down. “It’s okay. I know him.”

“He’s not your mate.”

“He is a good werewolf—a friend of Dante’s.” That he was here, at this den, made no sense. Her heart pounded while possible scenarios instantly plagued her.

Rose opened the door slowly and Juan filled the doorway, his dark skin and hair fading into the blackness behind him. He didn’t enter. But then a lone werewolf would never enter a den unless the male of the den permitted it. Having spent a week playing in Dante’s mind, Moira had grown accustomed to moving around in thoughts other than her own. She reached past Rose’s mind, instinctively searching out Juan’s, struggling to learn what brought him here before he spoke.