Page 49 of Deadly Ties

Crap. Crap. Crap.

Arben’s in trouble, Roan’s coming after us, and I have to get two sleepy omegas to a city three hours away in the middle of the night. With no car. And no pants.

I turn on the bottom step, ready to charge back to the bedroom to find my cell, but a sound from across the room makes me freeze. And then every hair on my body lifts as I catch a faint scent. It’s hidden under suppressors, but my wolf is so close to the surface, we can’t miss it.

Alphas and gun oil.

“Don’t move, Erikson.”

There’s three of them, all dressed in tac black with headsets, neck gaiters, and SIG Black Mambas. A short-barreled, all-round package, perfect for the urban psycho.

“Fuck you, perve.” I can’t see their faces, so I take a moment to suck in their scent, quickly cataloging it against every alpha I’ve ever met. Not something most shifters can do, but my beast likes to know who’s who in the zoo. “My ass might be hot, Raptis, but it’s not worth going to war over.”

The alpha closest to me lifts his weapon higher, making sure it’s pointed straight at my balls. “We’re not here to listen to your bullshit. Down on your ass, hands behind your head.”

The guy behind him has a pair of silver cuffs in his hand. Titanium, military-strength, and shift proof. Once those suckers go on, unless you have a master key, the only way out is with a plasma torch.

“Take another step, and my wolf is going to come visit,” I tell Cuff Guy. Since I’m naked, and he’s wrapped in enough Kevlar to protect a tank, there’s no way he can shift as fast as me. My bare ass might just have the upper hand here. “Just tell me what the fuck you want and get out.”

The three guys shift subtly towards Raptis, which doesn’t surprise me. Darius Raptis is a hired gun who works exclusively with his pack brothers. That means they’re not just a unit, but family, and he’s the top dog in their pack. He’s also based out of Boston, which should come in handy right now. “Bisha might be paying you, but Lucas Ferrier is our new pack alpha,” I tell him. “We moved into his estate a week ago. You still want to start trouble with your territorial alpha?”

As Head Alpha of all East Coast packs, Roan Bisha technically controls us all, but these guys were born on Ferrier soil. This is the definition of conflict of interest, and unless they’re planning a coup to take out Boston, they’d be insane to pursue the contract. Ferrier would have every right to hunt them down and turn them into floor rugs.

“Like I said,” Raptis murmurs, “not here to talk.”

Which means he’s only here for the omegas.

“Then you’re fucking dead.”

Shift. Leap. Blood. Meat.

It’s simple.

My wolf doesn’t like to chat either. And the way he rips out of my skin is so visceral, I feel myself disappear for a moment. From too many voices in my head, to none at all. Because my wolf is all instinct, and right now it’s to decimate the threat in front of us.

All four SIGs try to track him, but he’s little more than a shadow, darting for the nearest stack of boxes and coming up behind one of the meat-sacks. He sees only the body and the weapon. One to eat, the other to avoid.

He hamstrings the guy with a flick of his claws, and while he goes down with a gurgle, springs towards the next one. He takes him out with a full body tackle, knocking the weapon from his hands, and twists to his feet to rip out his throat. I see the rifle butt coming towards his head, but he ducks it, streaking off to the next set of boxes. The second guy is back up, the three of them converging around the one with the shredded hamstrings. It also puts them against the staircase, and a howl spirals up my throat as Raptis turns and leaps up them, heading to the second floor.

The nest. The omegas.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

I try to stop my wolf, but he can’t let that threat go. He charges for the kitchen island, leaping over the plastic-wrapped bar stools and skidding across the marble. His claws cut deep furrows in the stone as he regains his balance, and then he’s leaping for the staircase.

“Fucking hell!” One of the meat-sacks lifts his weapon, but instead of a bullet, a dart explodes from the end and thuds into the wall. My wolf hits the railing, claws scrambling, and then we’re over. But there’s another explosive pop. My wolf’s legs crumple under him and he gains another stair before he starts to slip backwards. A hand grabs his scruff and he tears the knuckles open, but a boot slams into his head.

“Just lie down, you fucker!”

There’s a lot my wolf can fight, but the shit in his bloodstream rolls him onto his back, the meat-sacks panting down at him. And I have a fleeting moment to kick myself. I should have just commanded these guys to eat their guns.

Instead, my wolf arches his head back and howls.

Elvana

A strange popping sound drags me up out of my dreams. Before I even open my eyes, I know we’re in trouble. Rory’s scent has faded from the nest and there’s a new alpha stench in its place. And then I hear the howl, so raw with terror and fury, it echoes in my soul.

My wolf tears through the last threads of sleep, and the room swings into focus, sharpened by her night vision. Rory left a lamp burning on the desk, but it’s out, the only light coming from the moon filtering through the drapes. Her gaze rakes over the figure sitting in the chair, taking in his military clothing and gun. He stinks of blood and anger.

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