Savage Surrender: A Dire Wolves Mission (The Devil's Dires Book 1)

C
opyright
© 2016 by Ellis Leigh

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

T
o Teri Yeckl

F
or reminding
me how much my Dire Wolves could be if I only gave them the chance. This series is because of you.

F
eared
by even his own kind, Bez of the Dire Wolf shifters knows exactly how to succeed in any battle. Even if that means racking up collateral damage along the way. A simple mission into the swamplands to save a teenage wolf shifter should have been an easy track and retrieval for a man with his training, but nothing comes easy when the fates get involved.

I
n one night
, Omega Sariel went from a free, single shewolf to a captive with a teenage girl to watch over and a couple of guards intent on making her life miserable…what little is left of it. Then a soldier with ice in his eyes walks in, and the mating call begins. He’s too tough, too harsh, too murderous…but when your life hangs in the balance, a lethal fighter in your corner is better than battling alone. Especially one who isn’t afraid to get a little dirty with her.

T
wo kidnapped women
, one dangerous soldier unknowingly about to come face-to-face with fate, and a monster set on destroying everything in its path. In the world of the Dire Wolves, a retrieval is a simple mission for the unit of soldiers that make up their pack. But this time, a single glance blows simple right out of the swamp and forces Bez to make his stand alone.

O
ne soldier
, one fight…one chance at forever.

B
ez deleted the text
, pocketed his phone, and changed direction. The guards of Merriweather Fields nodded as he stalked past them. One after the other, each shifter stationed at a security point yielded without question. Bez expected nothing less. The very presence of one of his breed made even the strongest of shifters reek of fear and submission. Still, the sentries stood their ground as he passed—afraid, but not running. Terrified, but fighting their cowardice. Bez respected that. The private security staff for the president of the National Association of the Lycan Brotherhood could at least hold their posts as one of the deadliest beasts in their world passed by. Not that they knew exactly
what
he was.

Bez growled low and deep as he passed two more guards. Neither made more than a brief impression on the tracker. Still, his wolf side cataloged their features and scents. Noting any detail that made them stand out from the next. The security guards could have been a study in dominant shifter genetics. Each man resembled the next: big, buff, and mean, the kind of shifter most others would roll over and submit to without a challenge. Most shifters…but not him.

His long legs eating up the carpeted hall, Bez nearly smirked at the thought of submitting to anyone, let alone one of the president’s little pets. The seven members of Bez’s breed respected Blaze, agreed he’d earned it, but that didn’t mean they’d submit. Thankfully, Blasius understood the dynamic of the pack when he’d asked Bez’s brethren to work with him. Blasius may be president of the NALB, the ruling power over all shifters in the country, but even he didn’t try to demand anything of the seven. He issued orders that the team followed, not because they had to but because they respected him enough to choose to. But in the end, the other six like Bez were a separate pack, a separate breed.

The Dire Wolves. A breed among themselves, one shrouded in mystery. An elite team of soldiers, trackers, hackers, and all-around narcissistic fucks who’d spent millennia battling side by side. They were the men called upon when the best weren’t good enough, when creatures of various species needed to be found quickly or put down quietly… And Bez had been called by the only man outside of his own race he’d ever come running for.

With heightened animal instincts, a larger frame and body type than your average male, and a higher level of control over both sides of their nature than everyday shifters, the seven men in Bez’s pack were a unique force within the shifter community. One handpicked by the president of the NALB to aid their intersecting causes. Most shifters considered the select seven part of the Cleaners, the designation bestowed upon the cleanup crew Blasius kept at the ready to handle NALB business. But Bez’s group was even more than that designation allowed. Not that the rest of the shifter population knew their secret.

“Cleaner Beelzebub. President Zenne is expecting me,” Bez said once he reached the north wing of the mansion known as Merriweather Fields. The guard, the same man who’d been stationed at this post for the last three years, nodded and moved toward the locked entry point of the heavily fortified double doors, ignoring the safety procedures they both knew were required for access to the president.

Bez glared, letting his growl grow louder as he motioned toward the retinal scanner and keypad at the side of the door. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

The guard’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. He kept his head down and his eyes averted, submitting to the stronger wolf. “President Blasius is waiting for you, sir.”

Bez made a humming noise as the guard opened the door. Retinal scan skipped, identity of the visitor not confirmed.

“Bez.” Dante, longtime mate of Blasius, met Bez at the door, his eyes flat and his face showing signs of worry. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Bez nodded as he stepped over the threshold, cataloging every minute detail of the dark-skinned shifter. Because that’s what he did…he studied the minutia. It was a skill that came in handy, one that served his job as a tracker well. He never forgot a face, a shape, or a shadow.

As soon as the latch slammed into place, Bez grunted. “Fire the guard. He’s not wolf enough to be the last line of defense between the enemy and Blaze.”

Dante didn’t look surprised. Bez and his team of Dire Wolves had worked for the president and Dante for too many years not to understand each other. The guard at the door would be gone within the hour.

The private wing of President Blasius Zenne—known to his most trusted allies as Blaze—was a place most shifters would never see. Blaze and his mates were living, breathing targets for any shifter, man, or beast who wanted access to the power of the NALB. But Bez wasn’t most shifters; he’d been welcomed into the inner sanctum often enough to recognize a new chandelier hanging in the foyer, highlighting a picture sitting on the table to the right. One depicting the three wolves who made up the most powerful triad in North America.

The two men strode down the hall at a fast pace, neither speaking. Not until Dante closed the heavy doors at the end of the entrance hall, protecting and soundproofing the living area from all those outside.

“What’s the situation?” Bez asked as soon as Dante engaged the lock.

“They’ve taken another Omega.”

Bez didn’t fight back his growl as he walked faster, his boots thumping hard on the marble floor. Omegas—exceptionally rare, powerful, female wolf shifters—had been disappearing across the continent. So far, neither the NALB nor the Cleaners and Dires had made any progress discovering why or where they were being taken to. His team’s frustration was at an all-time high, the lack of information making them all feel the pressure. If there was one thing the Dires respected above all else, it was the innate power of an Omega shewolf. History hinted that the Omegas were descendants of Dire Wolves. The world thought the Dire Wolves extinct, but Bez and his breed were proof that they had survived. The attack on the Omegas was as close to an attack on the pack of seven Dires as the men had ever seen, and they’d do anything necessary to hunt down the Omega kidnappers and rescue the women.

Dante led the way down a side hall and to the private office of the president where Blaze and his second mate, a female shifter named Moira, sat looking over maps and papers. Only the most powerful shifters were blessed with two mates to create a fated triad. Just another reminder of the innate strength within Blasius Zenne.

“Blaze, he’s here,” Dante said as they walked in. The man in question looked up, his blue eyes hard. Blaze took his job seriously, took his responsibility to his fellow wolf shifters seriously. Anyone who doubted that fact would need nothing more than to see the fury in the man’s eyes at that moment to become a true believer. The loss of another Omega was not something Blaze would take lightly.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.” Blaze stood with an animalistic grace, a definite tell that his wolf was close to the surface of his consciousness. Bez noted the predatory way Blaze looked over the room, the not-quite-human cock to his head. Blaze rarely lost control, which meant something about this kidnapping had truly set him off.

“You call, I show. That’s how this works, sir.” Bez gripped the man’s forearm and gave him a single head nod, a traditional shifter greeting showing his respect for the more dominant wolf. Blaze mimicked the motion, the move one he rarely made, showing his willingness to accept Bez on equal footing.

“Yes, well, I appreciate it.” Blaze motioned Bez toward the empty couch, moving to the one where Moira sat.

“Good evening, Bez,” Moira said, giving him a smile. She was new to their group, only recently found at an event Blasius and Dante hosted every December to bring fated mates together.

“They’ve kidnapped a fourth Omega,” Blaze said with a rumble to his voice. “A young one this time.”

Bez sat on the edge of the seat, leaning forward. “How young?”

Blaze shook his head, obviously reining in his wolf side as his growl tore through the room.

Moira placed a hand on Blaze’s thigh, calming him, before she turned to Bez, her gaze strong and direct. “She’s only fifteen. We weren’t even aware this pack contained an Omega. The Alpha has refused to provide census data to the NALB for the past thirty years and didn’t respond to our warnings regarding the kidnappings. What we’ve discovered is that the pack was relatively small with only sixteen members, all living on a single commune-style property in the Texahoma area.”

“‘Was’?” Bez knew the woman enough to know she wasn’t one to misspeak. If Moira said “was,” the news of this pack wouldn’t be good.

Moira blinked and pursed her lips. “They’ve been decimated. Only one packmember even survived the attack other than the Omega.”

“We hope.” Blaze gritted his teeth, a muscle twitching in his jaw. “The survivor died shortly after being discovered, but he was able to give us a few bits of information.”

Dante moved across the room, grabbing a remote to turn on the flat screen TV over the fireplace. The screen brightened, showing a picture of a man. Gritty and slightly out of focus, the picture had obviously come from a long-range camera lens. More than likely the work of Dire Wolf Levi, who collected physical pictures of the shifters he met instead of mentally cataloging them as Bez did. Good thing…the man on the screen was one Bez had never met.

“Harkens Thearouguard, formerly of the Nez Perce pack in Idaho.” Dante flipped through a handful of pictures, all shots of the subject. “Seventy-eight shifter-years old, approximate look of a mid-thirties human, with dark brown hair and eyes. His wolf is an Interior Alaskan, mostly black with brown tips and shading. Last documented sighting by an NALB regional officer stated Harkens stood five feet nine in human form and approximately the same from nose to tail as a wolf. He left the Nez Perce pack eight years ago and hasn’t been seen by NALB officers since. The surviving packmate recognized him as one of the attackers.”

“So Harkens is my target.” Bez looked over the image on the screen, memorizing every dip and line of the man’s face. “Anything else?”

Dante glanced at Moira, an uncomfortable expression on his face. “The Omega’s packmate was close to death when found, almost completely bled dry. The shifter who spoke to him couldn’t be sure if the man was completely lucid or not at the end.”

Bez sat back and cocked an eyebrow, intrigued by the hesitancy in Dante’s voice. “Go on.”

But Dante couldn’t—or wouldn’t—finish his thought. Neither he nor Blaze seemed willing to express whatever they thought might have happened to the pack.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Moira leaned forward, face filled with fury. “Dawes kept muttering something about the attackers bringing a monster with them. One that only attacked the shewolves of the pack.”

“You think they’ve collared a werewolf?” Bez asked, raising an eyebrow at how improbable that option seemed. Werewolves couldn’t be captured and trained like circus monkeys.

She sat back with a huff. “Of course. What else do you know that would terrify a shifter and only hunt the women?”

Bez cocked an eyebrow at her sass and intelligence. She’d impressed him from the moment they’d met. In a dark hallway at the last Gathering, Moira had smiled and charmed him, protecting mates she had yet to actually meet, not knowing anything about them or their relationship with the Dire. She’d thrown herself to the lions, so to speak, and proven herself with a single, selfless act. The chick was brave, and he respected brave. Though he seriously doubted her theory of a werewolf being involved in the kidnapping.

“Moira,” Blaze said, his voice quiet but filled with frustration.

Bez kept his mouth shut and his eyes on the TV screen, offering the triad what little privacy he could. He hated listening to the three argue. Like the rest of his Dire Wolf brethren, he’d never found his mate and didn’t expect to. Most wolf shifters didn’t make it much past a hundred without finding the person the fates had designed just for them. But the Dire Wolves differed from their cousins. All seven had lived mateless for too many hundreds of years to count.

Dante moved from the back of the couch to kneel in front of Moira and Blaze. “Werewolves only feed on female shifters, my dove. They kill anything in between them and their next meal when the full moon rises. They’re mindless beasts, untrainable.”

Moira’s eyes went soft, her shoulders relaxing. “I know, but—”

Blaze stood and stormed across the room, pouring a glass of what looked like whiskey from a decanter on the side table. Moira quickly followed him.

Bez split his attention, surreptitiously monitoring the couple while continuing to commit Harkens’ face to memory. Being part of Blaze’s most trusted team and Moira’s first guard, Bez knew more about their relationship than most shifters ever would. He knew exactly how much Blaze feared for Moira’s safety, knew the man had just as many fears regarding Dante even though he didn’t show them as openly. Bez didn’t understand that kind of worry, though, having never cared about someone in that way. It all seemed excessive and time-consuming.

Finally, the two mates rejoined Dante on the couch across from Bez, neither looking happy but clinging to one another nonetheless.

Blaze coughed. “I must apologize—”

“You apologize for nothing, sir.” Bez nodded toward the screen, thankful to get back on task. “Any hints on current location for the subject?”

Dante shook his head. “Before the attack, he’d been spotted a handful of times with two other shifters. It was assumed that they’d created a small, feral pack of their own, though we’ve been unable to confirm this. Sightings have been in New Orleans and Baton Rouge, always in late February. No one’s seen him in almost a year, though.”

Bez snorted and rubbed a finger across his jaw as pieces of the puzzle behind Harkens fell into place in his mind. “Of course not. It’s not time yet.”

Blaze swung his eyes to meet Bez’s, questioning. “Time for what?”

“The brothel to open.” Bez stood and headed for the door, too antsy to wait any longer. Even his wolf seemed anxious, the beast whining to be let free. Craving the exhilaration of the chase. “Miss Terri’s starts taking customers in March. It’s the only brothel in the South that has staff catering to a shifter’s unique predilections. That kind of discretion isn’t cheap, though, which means our guy’s been working hard through the year to pay for his mating season concubine.”