Prickly Business (36 page)

Dylan gave a stiff, jerky nod, then rounded the back of the warehouse with Sawyer and began stripping.

Staring straight ahead, focused on his goal, Dylan spoke. “Thanks, man.” It came out in a whisper, flat.

“Any time, D,” Sawyer rumbled. Dylan barely heard the hiss of clothing as it landed on the ground below for all the rain pitter-pattering around them. “Let’s go get your mate.”

A cool breeze whipped around his flushed and bare skin. “Yeah, let’s do this.” Then he let the shift take him over.

I
T
SEEMED
to take ages for the warehouse to quiet down. The guards came by once more with food. Neither of them spoke, though the shorter guy did eye Avery in a way that made him squirm and fight back a shudder. Avery guessed he was Kozlov, the one who’d made the “holes are holes” comment.

Avery straightened his shoulders and gave the guard his haughtiest, most disdainful look.
As if, buddy. Keep on walking.
He almost wanted to dare Kozlov to try something. He’d get his eyes scratched out and his cock bitten off.

When they moved on, Avery discarded the prepackaged sandwich but guzzled down the water in one long swallow. The air was so dry and dusty it had sent him into painful sneezing fits, irritated his throat, and made him yearn for his moisturizer. Not to mention a shower. Or a bath.
Oooh, yes, a bath….

Avery shook himself. He needed to focus. He wasn’t at some luxury hotel. There’d be no complaining to the manager. All he could do was console himself with the thought he wouldn’t have to deal with it for much longer. And neither would the girls if he could help it.

He put his own discomfort aside and spent the rest of his time trying to learn as much about his surroundings as possible.

From what he could tell, the place was huge, and it appeared to be in use as an actual shipping facility as well, not just somewhere to store human cargo.

When the activity finally lulled and Avery deemed it safe, he peered around to make sure Veronica—the only one who could see him clearly—was asleep. He hid in the darkest corner of his cell and stripped, allowing himself the briefest moment to lament the loss of his purple shoes. Maybe later he could collect them from police evidence… or something. There would be no rebuying them anytime soon.

Avery let the rush of the change wash over him. Skin prickling, he sank to the ground. In mere moments, he was in his hedgehog form. As always his night vision was crap, so he took a moment to reorient himself. The dim overhead bulbs helped a bit. He slipped through the bars on the left of his cell and stuck to the shadows as he scurried down the corridor. Hopefully, if anyone saw him, they’d dismiss him as a big rat.

He rounded the corner, lifted his snout, and paused to suck in a deep breath. He was searching for a source of fresh air, a crack in the wall, a window, some way to get out unseen.

The shuffle of feet drew his attention. Avery perked up his ears and crept slowly forward. There was a guy perched on the edge of one of the shipping crates, peering down at his phone screen, his fly open and his cock in hand. Avery heard tinny moans and grunts coming from the device.

Seriously? He’s watching porn?

Avery couldn’t prevent his tiny snort. What he wouldn’t bet that this guy was supposed to be patrolling right now, not getting his rocks off. But if he spent his nights screwing around, Avery had
him
to thank for the lack of a guard keeping watch over the cells.

Slipping into a dark space between two boxes, Avery waited for the guy to be finished. Maybe he would lead Avery to a way out once he was done. It was worth a shot. If Avery could ignore the sound of the guy fapping.

Seconds later the unmistakable scent of semen struck his nostrils. Avery sneezed and licked at his nose, trying to rid his sinuses of the smell.
Ugh. Gross.

He peeked around the corner, watching as the guy wiped himself clean with the bottom of his T-shirt and readjusted his pants. Then he dug into his back pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. He shook one into his hand and placed it between his lips.

Patting his jacket, the horndog guard turned and wandered off. Avery followed, darting between crates as fast as his little legs would carry him. His heart raced in anticipation when he saw the guard stop at an emergency exit. He pushed the door open, and Avery waited, trembling, hoping with every fiber of his being that the guy wouldn’t let it swing shut behind him.

Come on, come on. All I need is one little break….

Avery gave a silent cry of victory when the guard kicked a chunk of wood under the base, leaving the door ajar. It wasn’t a big gap, but it was plenty wide enough for a hedgehog to squeeze himself through.
Yes!

Avery scurried closer. He saw a flash and caught the hint of butane on a gust of rain-scented air. A lighter. Good. The guard would be out there for a few minutes, then.

Pausing beside the doorframe, Avery tentatively peered outside. The guy’s back was to him, his head tipped up toward the sky. An overhang protected him from the bulk of the storm.

Avery used his distraction to take off in the other direction. Okay, so maybe “take off” was a bit of an exaggeration since he couldn’t cover much ground on four tiny paws, but no hedgehog in history had ever moved faster.

T
HERE
IT
was again. Dylan inhaled deeply, immersing himself in the surety that he was in the right place. Avery was here. It was the second time since nearing the warehouse that he’d scented his mate, and the closer they got, the stronger it got. He held back a howl at being unwillingly separated from Avery, of being unable to touch him, to be touched by him. Dylan rumbled in both pleasure at being so close to his hedgehog and anger that overpowered every other emotion. Someone had taken his mate and that someone was going to pay.

The warehouse was huge, roughly the length of two football fields, maybe three, and lined with a number of garage bays spaced evenly along the length of the wall. Probably for deliveries of some sort. It was outside one of those bays that the guards stood, smoking. Dylan wasn’t even sure they were paying attention to their surroundings. Idiots. Wearing dark BDUs and equally inky formfitting shirts that made them look like hired muscle, the men were strapped with semiautomatic weapons, much like Dylan expected of wannabe private security or mercenaries.

Leading the way across the train tracks, Dylan kept to the shadows. Once the guards went back inside, Dylan edged around the building, careful to stay in the dark as much as possible. The closer they got to the door, the brighter it was, and more importantly the stronger Avery’s scent was. The only way in was up the stairs and through the large door. He could only hope nobody was keeping a lookout. They were screwed if anyone spotted them.

Stealing up the steps quickly and quietly, Dylan peered around the edge of the door. He could hear voices—at least three distinct male tones—but they weren’t close, and there was no one around to watch Dylan and his friends creep into the warehouse and around a pallet to keep them out of sight.

It was easier than it should have been. Nothing was ever this easy. The large open room was filled with crates and packages stacked in what Dylan assumed was some sort of order, though he didn’t take time to figure it out as he weaved through narrow paths, knowing Avery waited somewhere beyond or amid all the junk. He could feel him.

One more turn and he came to a halt. Three men, different from the others he’d seen, stood by what looked like an office, talking. Fifteen feet away, the blond turned around, laughing like he had no cares in the world.
Melnyk.
Dylan bared his teeth in a low snarl. Rage bled into his periphery. He wanted blood—his wolf demanded it—for the abduction of his mate. Dylan wasn’t a violent man and neither was his wolf, but suddenly, all he could see was red, the need to tear into this man and make him pay for his and Avery’s suffering.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Dylan shot out from behind his hiding place and launched himself the short distance at Melnyk, razor-sharp teeth aimed for the detective’s neck.

“What the—” Melnyk’s hands shot up in front of him at the last second. It was the only thing that saved him from having his throat ripped out. Yet.

Raised voices, growls, and the sounds of fighting erupted around him, but it sounded far off as Dylan focused his desire for revenge solely on the stunned man, staring up at him from where he lay, struggling to hold Dylan off. Scared. Melnyk smelled of fear and anger. Dylan wanted to tear into him—to howl at Melnyk’s imminent defeat—but he knew better than to celebrate before his opponent was down for the count. But Dylan would have his prize.

Melnyk put up a good fight, trying to buck Dylan off, though against the combination of teeth, claws, and Dylan’s supernatural strength, he was no match without his gun—which he was steadily attempting to retrieve, but had no chance of gaining without losing a limb. Or his life.

Dylan clamped down on the man’s forearm as he once again reached for his weapon, the coppery taste of the man’s blood flooding his mouth, and he raked his back claws down the man’s tender belly and thighs. The smell of his blood encompassed Dylan, feeding his hate-filled frenzy.

The man’s eyes were wide and scared, and Dylan rumbled at the smell of his fear. Melnyk’s eyes darted from Dylan to the fight happening all around them, Dylan’s wolves working over the sleazy crew with ease.

“What the motherfucking fuck?” Melnyk wheezed, his gaze, a cross between terrified and cocky, landing on Dylan again. “What the hell are you?”

He could only imagine what the man thought, seeing a group of wolves organized enough to attack a corrupt group of humans with guns. And yes, they had guns, a fact proven by the asshole in Dylan’s grasp who was still attempting to reach for his own, never mind the occasional revolver and semiautomatic blast. Dylan just had to trust his guys could take care of themselves. His job was to take care of Melnyk, then to find his mate, in quick order.

Dylan locked his jaw tighter around Melnyk’s forearm, giddy at the crunch of bone with a side of your-worst-fucking-nightmare.

Out of nowhere Avery’s scent—sweet and organic—slammed into him. He snapped his head around, searching for his mate. It was the opening Melnyk needed. And he took it.

Shoving Dylan off-balance, Melnyk scooted out from under him while at the same time pulling out his gun and training it on Dylan. The echoing noise of fighting—yells, howls of pain and victory, fists connecting with flesh, even a gunshot or two—disappeared as Dylan locked eyes with his end.

I’m so sorry, Avery.

A
VERY
’
S
PLAN
was to get as far away as possible. Then he’d worry about the fact that he’d be buck naked when he shifted back to human form. All that mattered was getting to the police before Melnyk and his goons realized he was missing. If Avery showed up and made a ruckus in front of the entire precinct, no way could they try to cover it up. Someone would listen. Not every cop was crooked. Avery simply had to ensure he had enough witnesses to cover his ass and get these girls rescued.

He had just cleared the building when the direction of the wind changed—and brought with it the familiar spicy musk of his mate.

Dylan.

Avery stopped so quickly he rolled into a somersault and landed in a puddle. Before he could even process, his legs had taken on a life of their own and he was scrambling to reach the scent. The rain obscured his already lousy eyesight, but Avery heard the commotion of snarls and shouting through an open bay door. He sensed Dylan’s anger and worry as clearly as if it were his own, and it propelled him into action.

Unthinking, Avery rushed headfirst toward the chaos. He spotted the stairs leading up to the elevated loading dock and knew he’d never scale them in his current form. Filled with rage and panic, he poured all his energy into a shift. He’d never forced his body to change so fast, and it left him shaky and disoriented, but nothing could interfere with his determination to get to Dylan.

He took the steps two at a time, his vision still hazy. Thanks to the craziness in the warehouse—wolves growling and armed men freaking the hell out—no one even noticed his entrance. Going on instinct, Avery followed his nose and the pull of the bond to his mate.

He saw Dylan—in wolf form—in the middle of a scuffle with one of the guards. As he got closer Avery recognized the guy as Melnyk.

Just then, Dylan seemed to catch wind of his scent. His head snapped in Avery’s direction, and Melnyk used his distraction to go for his gun.

Avery watched in horror as Melnyk took aim and fired. In what felt like slow motion, Dylan went down, and the echo of the gunshot roared in Avery’s ears along with the frantic staccato of his pulse.

Avery’s brain went blank. With a scream and a burst of adrenaline-fueled fury, he went after Melnyk.

The detective didn’t see him coming before Avery was on his back.

D
YLAN
DIDN
’
T
hear the gun’s blast until after he was propelled backward by the impact of the bullet, didn’t feel the hot metal tearing through and searing his muscles until he fell to his knees and crashed onto his side. It was like the mute button that had been pressed released and the noise, riotous and jarring, roared back to life. Sounds were louder, clearer, accompanied by a symphony of chaos and the rapid beat of his own pulse at his temples. Smells were brighter, sharper—Avery’s the most poignant and strongest. He could smell his mate as if he were in the same room, now, feel him as if he were standing a few feet away.

Though the gun aimed at his head and the twist of Melnyk’s lips as he sneered down at him over the weapon had Dylan’s full attention.