Page 6 of Stealthy as a Wolf

The delicious pine needle and rum scent that oozed from his pores actually made my mouth water. As I neared his table, he stood up, and I stumbled to a stop, the hand holding the bill hanging forgotten at my side.

Tall.

The man was at least six foot five if he was an inch.

He pulled out his wallet, removed a hundred-dollar bill, and dropped it on the table, then sauntered toward me in a way that sent my heart racing, like the daft thing was determined to escape the cage of my ribs. I wished I could say it was out of fear, but my skin actually tingled with awareness as the alpha neared. When he came to a stop at my side, looking down at me with such sad blue eyes, my chest actually ached.

“I know I make you nervous, but I can help you if you’re in trouble.” He paused, his eyes scanning my face almost tenderly, and my breath hitched.

My eyes dropped to his chest, adroitly avoiding his gaze, and shame heated my cheeks when my legs practically quivered with the need to run. When the silence stretched between us, I mentally cursed my wolf when the stupid beast refused to allow me to retreat.

He gave a sigh, like I’d disappointed him, and my heart sank. “If you need to find me, my name is Grady. I’m staying at the Quinn cabin on Lake Huron.”

Then he was gone, the bell chiming over the door to signal his departure, and it was like all the excitement and sparkle left with him, the world turning dull and drab.

His kindness was unexpected. I would almost suspect a trap…if I were stupid enough to believe him. I dropped into the bench seat, my back to the rest of the room, not ready to face anyone else.

Not ready to face that it was my last night in town.

I’d gotten used to the routine.

Complacent.

Which didn’t explain why my chest actually hurt at the thought of never seeing the alpha again.

I collected the bill, cashed it out, the rest of my shift passing in a blur. As I shut down the café for the last time, I waved goodnight to everyone. I hated goodbyes, so I didn’t tell anyone that I wasn’t coming back.

I looked over the empty diner one last time, then flipped off the lights and quietly shut and locked the door behind me as I exited into the back alley. I only managed a step before a large, mangy, marmalade cat trotted out from behind a dumpster and darted toward me. He gave a loud, pathetic meow that warbled in the narrow space before he collapsed on his side.

I rushed forward, then sucked in a sharp breath and nearly fell back on my ass when I realized he wasn’t a cat, but an actual shifter. He was in such rough shape that I hadn’t even sensed him until I was close.

Then I realized why.

A bulky collar was clamped around his neck, preventing him from shifting. His abilities were so locked down that he might as well have been just an animal.

To have half of yourself completely cut off was beyond cruel.

The collar killed our senses, killed our connection to our beasts.

It basically killed a person’s will to live.

I knew because I was forced to wear one for close to four years before I managed to escape. Sometimes, I thought I lost my mind while wearing it.

And I’d be damned if I’d allow the same thing to happen to this shifter.

I took a deep breath and rubbed my hands together, working up my courage. Touching the collar was going to hurt like a sonofabitch. The device was basically a shock collar on steroids. The instant it sensed our bodies starting to shift, it emitted a jolt of electricity. The shock would interrupt the change, and our bodies would revert to their original form.

If I were lucky, rescuing the cat would just knock me on my ass and not drop me unconscious, but I didn’t hold out much hope. My beast always fought back, so the shocks would last longer and longer. Our brains weren’t meant to conduct such huge surges of electricity, and a nasty side effect of so many shocks was that it ultimately drove our beasts crazy.

Literally.

I’d seen more than one person gobibbledybecause of it.

I liked to think I’d been spared that fate, but I knew I wasn’t exactly normal.

Wearing the collar had damaged my wolf. I felt her like a second entity in my head. She’d always been dominant and demanding, but now she was a crazy ass, psychotic monster, urging me to do bad, bad things. But since most of those things kept me alive, I didn’t worry too much about it.

Whatever had been done to us made me and my wolf stronger than what should’ve been possible, strong enough to survive. Unfortunately, it was also why others were hunting us.

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