“Until next time, Dallas Caldwell.”
And with that, the vampire dematerialized.
I cursed.
Lacey was lying pale and far too still, blood streaming from her wrist. I wrapped her in my down vest, making it a few steps only to fall to my knees. The nagging sensation that had been troubling me ever since I’d been sure I’d felt her dying just after the vamp had ghosted out with her slammed into me with the force of a freight train.
“What the hell?” I whispered.
Her breathing and pulse were weak, but steady. She hadn’t regained consciousness, but by every external sign, she was here, solid and alive in my arms—
And invisible as a ghost in the pack bond.
4
Lacey
PICTURE ALMOST GETTING TURNED INTO A BLOOD SMOOTHIE by two vampires, watching your best-friend-slash-secret-Viking-wolf-crush get stabbed in an effort to defend you, then waking up to discover someone had totally made off with your pants.
Worst. Hangover. Ever.
I came to swaddled in a waffle shirt that smelled like smoked meat, laundry detergent and said best-friend-secret-Viking-wolf-crush.
Which was good. If he was alive, I could so kill him later.
It was close to sunset, the shadows from the lamp someone had switched on in the corner of the room stark against warm taupe walls. The small bedroom was filled with furniture made from heavy oak and soft buttery leather. A painting of a herd of Texas longhorns stood over a large cedar chest by the window. Beside my bed, a clear bag of saline swayed on an IV pole, a thin plastic tube snaking down to my wrist. My other arm was wrapped in bandages. I knew this room. It had been mine for the year I stayed with the Caldwells. Gritting my teeth, I reached over to pull out the IV line. No way was I staying tied down.
That year with the Caldwells, other than a brief stint where August had fallen ill and had to be driven out east to see a battalion of specialists, Sofia Montemayor-Caldwell had served as my sire in Dallas’s absence. Under her tutelage, I learned to track in both human and wolf form. I learned to defend myself with a blade, a firearm, a length of wire, and my bare hands. The world was now full of enemies too terrible to imagine, enemies who would soon be coming for me. At night, I hunted, releasing the wolf’s instinctual drive to kill. I loathed and craved every moonrise. My wolf was addicted to the chemical high, constantly seeking its next fix. And never did I hate myself more than in the seconds when massive teeth descended from my grotesque jaws, my bones snapping one by one while I shivered through the pain of the change. When the sun rose I curled in the corner of the shower to cry, struggling to come to terms with life as a human girl trapped in a monster’s skin.
My training was brutal. Unforgiving. At least twice a week Sofia’s sessions ended with broken bones. Her favorite word was again. I assembled and reloaded a rifle blindfolded. Half a second too slow. Again. Ran the perimeter of the ranch. Did I think she wanted me to smack my feet so loudly it scared off every coyote from here to Llano? Again. I later wondered if her plan had been to keep me so busy, I wouldn’t have time to dwell on everything I had lost. Most days, I preferred the lie. It was easier to compartmentalize my old life, to shut out all thoughts of Dallas, and especially of my mother except on the one day per week I was allowed to call. Someone had taught Sofia to be a survivor, to dominate in a world of shifters ruled by men. And I could never go back to being the small, broken girl who had been dropped upon her doorstep in the night. This much I understood from the moment I glimpsed the fine spiderweb of scars circling her left wrist. Rule one in a wolf pack: everything, on some level, came down to power. Show weakness, and you were dead. But at night, as the moon rose and despair flooded my blood with the sharp, vicious thoughts of the wolf, all I wanted was to feel like me.
Tossing back the faded quilt, I tried to stand. The room spun. I clawed for the wall, instinctually drawing on the wolf’s sharpened sight and hearing to steady myself. Nothing happened. Panic roared in my ears. My muted human ears.
I screamed.
The door burst open.
1) Sudden movements really weren’t the best idea when you’ve nearly had your arm chewed off by one of the fanged and undead.
2) Ordinarily werewolves burned through painkillers like they were candy. So the fact that I was having visions of bright pink unicorns getting into my latest batch of raspberry lemonade cupcakes? So not good. The unicorns, that is. My cupcakes were amazing.
3) Speaking of cupcakes. Never, ever wear pink cupcake-print panties on the day you plan to be attacked by vampires. Especially not if you belong to a pack of dudes willing to steal your pants under the guise of medical care, then charge into the room like a werewolf SWAT team.
Seriously. I was going to kill them.
“What the hell?” Dallas growled. “I leave you alone for one minute—”
His eyes zeroed in on my barely-there panties, which, ugh, cupcakes, and his mouth came open.
“Hey.” Brody, our Alpha, slapped his younger brother upside the head. “Eyes front, soldier.”
Even West, who had zero interest in my lady-parts, coughed. Major, Brody’s golden retriever, bounded across the room and immediately began sniffing situation cupcake with great interest.
“Major,” Brody barked, ears reddening.
To be fair, I probably smelled like a giant box of cookies. Major was Blair’s secret taste-tester despite the fact that his training regimen this month as per Brody included a super intensive organic, low-sugar, preservative-free, dye-free diet designed to see if impurities in his system were triggering hyperactive outbursts. Rather than, say, being a golden retriever. Just yesterday he’d given his bark of approval for the special bone-shaped vanilla-peanut butter cookies we’d be selling this week for our four-legged clientele. Which were delicious. Not that I’d sampled them in wolf form. Really.
With one more tail wag, Major bounded happily back to one of his cushions in the corner. The room immediately spun like a Tilt-o-whirl. Dallas caught me before I could faceplant on the floor.
“Okay, killer. Back to bed.”
“Not. A. Word.” I clawed at the hem of my waffle shirt, pulling it down over the offending cupcake situation. Because this day just kept getting better and better.
Dallas smirked, managing to look both annoying and unfairly hot. “I can be a gentleman.”
“That’s debatable.”
He carried me back to bed. I swallowed, trying not to breathe in the intoxicating, spicy scent of his cologne as he tucked the quilt back around me.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low. A dark blond strand of hair fell loose from the knot at the back of his head, swaying between us. I clenched my fingers, fighting the urge to tuck it back behind his ear.
“Your shoulder—"
“It’s fine. Nearly healed.” He worried the scar at the edge of his lip. “Scared the hell out of me, sweetheart.”
I studied Dallas’s profile, willing him to meet my eyes, the memory of us frozen yards apart in the final seconds just before the vampire crashed into me from behind causing my gut to clench.
“Council’s on the way to bag the dead vamp.” Brody propped his hands on his service belt. “We’re lucky this didn’t turn out a whole lot worse.”
Which was pretty much Brody-speak for, You scared the crap out of me and don’t do it again. At least someone was treating me normally.