A Stranger’s Touch (9 page)

Brad was just about to cover her eyes with the blindfold when voices carried from the next room, drifting through the open archway to reach her.

“What the hell?” Brad frowned and moved toward the doorway. “We’re not open yet.”

“You are now. Both open and closed for the evening.”

The familiar voice sent a chill down Roxi’s spine.

She lifted her head and groaned when she caught sight of Kastor standing in the archway. He had his hands on his hips, his leather jacket parted to reveal the gun holster at his waist. Behind Kastor stood two men, mirror images of one another. Both were bald and both sported tattoos of skulls on their clean-shaven heads. Their eyes were cold and empty, just like Kastor’s, except his held the unmistakable glint of cruel intelligence when he looked at her.

“What are you doing here?” Roxi’s voice came out thin and frightened, and she hated herself for that show of weakness.

“So this is where you work. It is shameful. Your mother would be humiliated if she knew of your filthy acts.”

Roxi narrowed her eyes. “You leave my mother out of this.”

“As you wish.” He dipped his head in mock acknowledgement of her words. “It is
you
I want.”

Her blood turned to ice. “I thought I made it perfectly clear the other night. I am not interested.”

“Yet here you are, naked for all the world to see.” Kastor sneered. “They can have you, but not me?”

Fear traveled through Roxi, cleaving a wide path in its wake. Her belly clenched and the bite mark on her shoulder throbbed and heated. “You misunderstand what I do.”

“You are a whore.”

“Gentlemen…” Brad held up his hands. “The gallery isn’t open yet. If you’ll take a brochure from the front hall, you’ll see that Roxi is here to be appreciated and respected. I’ll not have you talk to her like that in my place of business.”

“Did no one ever tell this man it is impolite to interrupt when others are speaking?”

The sign Kastor gave one of the goons behind him was so subtle, Roxi nearly missed it. But the man didn’t. He pulled his gun out of its holster and before Brad could take a single step back, the goon pistol-whipped him across the face.

Brad grunted and collapsed in a heap on the floor.

* * * * *

Donovan had been wandering the cold streets for hours, still reeling from the afternoon’s events. He clenched his fists at his sides and kept his gaze down as he walked, nearly bowling over anyone unlucky enough to get in his way.

His wolf had gotten away from him today. For all his control, he hadn’t been able to restrain the beast. It had leapt through his skin and into the world, as hungry for Roxi as Donovan had been. He couldn’t blame the wolf—not entirely—but the creature’s actions had repercussions for them both.

Donovan had been cultivating the willpower to shift on demand since he’d turned fourteen and had first become aware of the beast lying dormant inside him. Until then, it had been quiet, content to wait for Donovan to approach manhood. The transformation from man to wolf had been painful and confusing, like human puberty, only a hundred times worse. It had taken Donovan years to feel confident he wouldn’t suddenly sprout fur in weird places just from talking to a pretty girl.

Not that it mattered much as long as he was among his pack, where those types of reactions were expected from teenage boys. And in the small village of Thompson Falls, Alberta, everyone was pack. The clan had deep roots in the area, having been around for hundreds of years. They guarded their privacy fiercely, and came together to ensure outsiders—human and shifter alike—never settled among them.

He’d have been happy to live out the rest of his life right there in Thompson Falls, the way his father and brothers still did. But Samantha had felt trapped in their small village, stifled by ancient customs and traditions she abhorred. So when she ran away, taking his pride with her, Donovan had no choice but to follow. He’d thought he could bring her home. He’d been so damn naïve. It never occurred to him that she wouldn’t want to return. Not that day. Not ever.

She never even considered how her actions would affect him. A wolf shifter without a mate was incomplete. And one who’d lost his female because he wasn’t strong enough to keep her by his side, well…he became the laughingstock of the pack.

Scowling, Donovan climbed the stairs from the Central Park North subway station two at a time and emerged onto 110th Street. Weaving his way through a couple of tourists snapping pictures of each other among drifting snowflakes, he entered the park and found himself in a place that was as close as he could get to home.

The northern-central part of the park wasn’t popular with tourists, who gravitated toward the west side or the various attractions like Belvedere Fountain or the John Lennon Memorial. Out here he most often ran into locals, and on days like these, even folks who normally made this route a part of their jogging or biking circuit stayed indoors.

He needed to be close to nature in a way New York’s concrete buildings didn’t often allow. Out here, he could at least imagine running free. He wouldn’t, of course. He wasn’t foolish enough to give his beast free rein. He’d scare tourists and locals alike, and the last thing he wanted was animal control on his ass.

The wolf had quieted since tasting Roxi. When Donovan turned his attention inward to check on the beast, he found him curled up and content, finally at peace with the world in a way he hadn’t been since Samantha left.

Donovan frowned. No, that wasn’t true. He’d never known his wolf to be happy. Resigned, sure. Often moody and restless. But content? Never.

“Fuck,” he murmured under his breath. Even now, the bond the wolf had created between Donovan and Roxi was growing stronger. His bite would leave a scar on her skin, but wouldn’t change her in any other way. She could have a normal life without him, never knowing he’d claimed her at all.

Things would never be that simple for him. He could still taste her blood on his tongue, and the heady flavor made it hard to think about anything but being with her again. Remembering the way she’d writhed, her seductive body undulating with her movements, caused need to ricochet through him.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t all he remembered. He could still see her eyes, wide with fear and shock, as she stared at him while he shifted from wolf to human. And the horror written all over her face when she realized he’d bitten her. He had so much to explain and no idea where to start.

He slowed as he neared a bench, his mind still whirling. A thin layer of snow had accumulated on the wooden surface. He brushed it off with his palm then sat on a corner and pulled out his cell phone. This was one phone call he’d never planned to make. But he’d initiated the mating ritual with a human female, and she wasn’t the only one to whom he needed to come clean.

“Hello?”

The sound of his father’s voice, gruff like his own but crackled with age, made his chest tighten. “Dad.”

A sharp, indrawn breath reached his ears. “Donovan.”

Homesickness turned the ache in Donovan’s chest to lava. He’d stayed away too long, but the last time he’d been home the pack had treated him like an outsider. They’d made it clear he wasn’t welcome among them until he returned with a suitable mate who could take Samantha’s place. The pack had lost a female. They blamed Donovan. He owed them, as much to rebuild their numbers as to redeem himself.

“You’ve found a mate, eh? It’s about bloody time, son.”

Donovan’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “There’s something you should know. My mate… She’s not… Well, she’s…” He took a deep breath, realizing he had no idea how to break the news to his father. As the Alpha of the Thompson Falls pack, Doug Armstrong’s word was law. Rigid pack rules and traditions had been drilled into Donovan’s head since he was a small pup, and he knew better than anyone what Doug expected of him. Of them all.

“She’s what?” The impatience in his father’s tone was unmistakable. “Spit it out already.”

Donovan sighed. He’d always envisioned strolling into Thompson Falls with a beautiful shifter at his side, a female his pack would accept unconditionally. In his fantasies, she was a remarkable specimen of a wolf shifter. Now he pictured Roxi, stunningly beautiful, sure, but vulnerable and delicate.

The wolves would descend on her like starving jackals on a wounded deer. They’d mock, taunt and test her until they stripped her of every shred of confidence she possessed. She’d never be one of them, no matter how hard she tried. Without the shifter gene running through her blood, Roxi had no chance of being accepted by his pack. They’d make her miserable until they chased her out of town. Was that really the kind of life Donovan wanted to subject her to?

He’d been able to protect her from the overly bold patrons at Moderne. But could he protect her from his own kind?

“She’s human,” Donovan blurted out. He braced himself for the tirade sure to follow.

“Donovan.” The old man uttered his name on a sigh, like he’d just breathed his last. “What am I going to do with you?”

The emotion in his father’s voice sent a wave of uncertainty crashing into Donovan’s soul. He thought he knew all of Doug’s different guises. The strong, authoritative pack Alpha. The disciplinarian father intent on shaping his sons into outstanding wolf shifters. The sweet-talking diplomat who negotiated treaties with other packs and human settlements. But the vulnerability in his voice now was completely foreign.

“The wolf chose her.” Donovan scrubbed a hand over his face. His fingers had long ago gone numb from the cold, and he could barely feel his jaw when he touched it. He sighed. If he was going to come clean, he needed to tell the whole truth. “We both chose her. She’s…” His mind drifted to her flawless skin, her beaming smile, the way his name sounded on her lips. “Perfect.”

“Not for the pack, she isn’t.”

As much as Donovan hated to admit it, his father was right. “I won’t be returning home then.” His stomach bottomed out as he uttered the words. It made the most sense that he should stay here, in New York, where wolf shifters were so much more civilized. They followed their animalistic impulses behind closed doors at places like The Wolf’s Den. Roxi would never have to be exposed to his pack’s behavior.

Doug swore, loudly and creatively. “No. That’s unacceptable. You’ve already been gone too long. You have to come home. Now.”

Indecision tore through Donovan. He yearned to go home. Until a few days ago, returning to Thompson Falls was all he wanted. But things had changed. Roxi had thrown his world upside down and now he craved her with every cell in his body. “I can’t.”

“Bring the human, if you must. We need you. The pack…” Doug sighed. It was clear he wanted to say more, but held back. “Just come home.”

Loyalties warred within him, so strong that even his wolf raised its head. Things were off at home. He could hear the exhaustion in his father’s voice and it worried him. But being with Roxi was paramount now that he’d marked her. And her safety came first.

“I’m sorry.” Donovan set his jaw. “I just needed you to know what’s happened.”

The silence stretched on until Donovan thought his father might have hung up. But then Doug said, “I’m glad you called,” and the tension drained from Donovan’s shoulders.

“Does your human know what you are?” Doug asked.

“She knows. She just doesn’t understand.”

“Then you’ve got to explain it to her.”

Sunlight burst through a dark cloud above Donovan’s head, making him squint as he stared at the bright snow blanketing the ground. His pulse quickened, and he gave voice to the uncertainty rolling through him. “What if she doesn’t accept me?”

“You’ve marked her?”

He remembered the way his teeth felt sinking into her flesh. The taste of her still hovered on his lips, as heady as the moment he’d bitten her. “I have.”

“Then she’s yours. She might struggle with what you are, but she won’t turn away.”

Donovan gripped the phone tighter, realizing this was the reason he’d called. He’d wanted reassurance from his father. Reassurance, if not outright acceptance. “Thank you,” he murmured as he rose from the bench.

His soul felt lighter than it had in years. His beast was joyful inside him. He still had to find a way to make things right with his pack, but that would come. He needed to take things one at a time, and the first order of business was seeing his mate.

Doug grunted. “Your brothers will want to know you called. They’ll ask about your mate. What should I tell them?”

Donovan drew in a deep breath. A smile broke out on his face and he quickened his steps. “Tell them her name is Roxi.”

Chapter Seven

Brad wasn’t moving.

Raw terror filled Roxi’s veins. Tears stung her eyes. She jerked in the harness but the bonds were too tight. She was utterly helpless, strung up like a side of beef and fully at Kastor’s cruel mercy.

Kastor stood at her side. He’d been watching her for the past few minutes, his icy gaze raking her body like groping fingers. She shuddered under the scrutiny and clenched her jaw to keep from saying something that might enrage him further.

As it was, he looked absolutely furious. His eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared as he gawked at her. She didn’t want to imagine what he concocted in that evil head of his. So she kept glancing at Brad, hoping he’d stir. He didn’t. She had no way of knowing whether he was unconscious, or worse.

“He needs a doctor,” Roxi blurted out. “Help him!”

Kastor didn’t even glance in Brad’s direction, but he lifted a hand toward Roxi’s chest. She braced herself for the inevitable tweak of the nipple. Every man went for her nipples first. She guessed it had something to do with the little buds being tight in the cold gallery, but it could have just been due to some hardwired male impulse to play with them.

When the sharp, open-palmed smack landed on the side of Roxi’s breast, she didn’t even try to stifle the scream that fled from her lips.

“You order me to do things?” Kastor slapped her a second time, hard enough to bring a sheen of tears to her eyes. “You are delusional of your place in this world, whore.”

Roxi cried out, louder this time, when he hit her again. Maybe her wails would alert someone walking by. “Pplease, I—”

“Gag her,” Kastor commanded.

To Roxi’s horror, one of the goons stepped forward to do as he was told. He grabbed the blindfold from Brad’s unmoving hand then walked over to Roxi. He pried her jaw open, slid the strip of silk between her lips and tied the makeshift gag behind her head.

“I won’t be humiliated.” He reverted to speaking Greek, which didn’t hold a trace of foreign accent. His rage was even clearer in his native tongue. “My mother wants me to marry you.
Marry. You.
” He repeated the words, stressing each one. “She has no idea you’re a dirty slut. But I know, and I won’t be played for a fool.”

When Kastor slapped both of her breasts at once, Roxi’s scream turned into a muffled groan through the silk gag. He lifted an eyebrow and gave her a feral smile as he shoved two fingers in her pussy. “This is what you wanted, no? This is what you’re here for.”

She yelped and arched her back, biting down on the gag. The sting of pain traveled through her inner muscles into her stomach. Whimpering, Roxi narrowed her eyes as she glared at Kastor.

She was used to strangers exploring her body, but she’d been blindfolded every time. Under Donovan’s watchful eye, their caresses were usually careful, their touches light. Being handled like this by Kastor wasn’t just terrifying, it was obscene.

He twisted three fingers inside her sex. She closed her eyes, but found being in the dark was even worse. She hated not knowing what was coming, or how far Kastor would go.

Brad could well be dead. The gallery was closed. And Donovan wasn’t coming to work.

“You belong to
me
now. I say what you can and can’t do.” He beckoned to his goons with a flick of his fingers and the men stepped closer. “Your body is mine to give to whoever I want. I can order them to fuck you, whore, and you’ll thank me for it.”

Tears leaked from the corners of Roxi’s eyes. God, how she wished she’d told Leann and Gabbi exactly where she worked, and what she did for a living. Maybe then there’d be a chance someone would come looking for her. But Leann had still been angry when Roxi left for work, and no one but her mother, half a world away, would even think to worry.

Her mother, who’d set her up with Kastor in the first place because she feared what a stranger might do to her darling daughter.

A sob caught behind the gag.

Kastor’s hand went to his belt. Terror settled like a swirling cyclone in Roxi’s belly. Nausea rose into her throat.

Tied up, she had no way to fight back. No chance at all to defend herself.

Donovan had promised to watch over her and keep her safe. So where was he when she needed him most?

* * * * *

Moderne was tightly locked when Donovan got there. Unease ran down his spine. The gallery should have opened to the public fifteen minutes ago.

The snow that had started as a light sprinkle earlier that afternoon had given way to a blizzard in the past hour, so Donovan wasn’t surprised at the lack of people beating down the door. He supposed Brad could have closed up shop on account of the weather, but that didn’t sound like something the gallery owner would do. From what Donovan knew about the financial state of the place, Brad needed the money. He wouldn’t miss an opportunity to sell a piece just because of a little snow.

Donovan rang the bell then pounded the thick wooden door with the side of his fist. No one answered. He couldn’t even be sure anyone was inside, except that the fresh snow swirling around him hadn’t completely obscured the footprints that had been there when he arrived. He could make out five individual sets of prints, one of which was smaller than the others, with a dainty toe and a pointy heel. A woman’s boot.

Roxi’s, most likely. She always showed up at least twenty minutes early for her shift, which gave her time to undress and get strapped into the harness before the gallery opened.

“Roxi!” He pounded on the door again, harder this time, and for a lot longer. “Brad!”

No one came to the door. He’d have peered into the windows but Moderne didn’t have any. The frames were still in place, but the former owner had shuttered them years ago to protect against vandalism.

Donovan scanned his surroundings for anything unusual. Moderne was tucked away on 80th Street, a quiet, tree-lined street just off 5th Avenue. After the bustle of 5th Avenue, this little corner of New York, taken up by brownstones, a Laundromat and a couple of coffee shops, felt out of place. Still, the tucked-away impression worked in Moderne’s favor. This wasn’t the kind of art gallery tourists randomly wandered into during a sightseeing excursion, though many came anyway, enticed by word of mouth or the occasional blog post.

About twenty feet from where Donovan stood, a woman climbed into a cab. Exhaust billowed into the frosty air, condensing in the winter breeze. Further still, two teenagers threw snowballs at one another. Their hooting laughter carried past the howl of the wind, but did little to ease the apprehension that had seeped into Donovan’s bones.

Frustrated, Donovan tried Roxi’s cell again. The call went straight to voice mail. He might have taken his chances with her roommates if he knew the number to her apartment, but he didn’t. Next he called Brad, and when he didn’t answer, Donovan tried the gallery directly. He pressed his ear to the door to hear the phone ring once, twice, three times.

And over the shrill sound of the ringing telephone, his sensitive ears picked up something else.

A muffled scream.

Donovan’s wolf bucked against his chest.
Roxi.

The sound hadn’t been clear, but it was all he needed. He didn’t stop to think. Backing up a few steps to gather speed, he threw himself at the locked door, shoulder first. The wood creaked slightly but didn’t give way. So he did it a second time, and a third.

At the fourth relentless shove of his upper body, the frame splintered and the door crashed sideways, nearly coming off its hinges. The small entryway was brightly lit, and it took Donovan a few seconds to adjust after the dim evening shadows outside.

A harsh bark in a foreign language brought his head up. He snarled as two men rushed into the front gallery. They both held pistols pointed at his head.

“Fool,” one of them spat in heavily accented English. “You are dead.”

He couldn’t see Roxi, but he could hear her. Each smothered cry, every indistinct sob, fueled his body with adrenaline and rage. Fury clouded his vision in a sea of red. His wolf howled, demanding to be let loose.

For once, Donovan didn’t fight the beast.

The shift happened smoothly, if not painlessly. His clothes tore and fell to the ground. He allowed the tenderness that came with elongating bones, shifting tendons and the formation of new ligaments to temper some of the rage swarming inside him so he could formulate a plan of attack.

A shot rang out. It whizzed past Donovan’s ear, missing him by a mere inch.

The two men looked similar, but Donovan focused on the guy to the right, the one with the itchy trigger finger. The man fired again but his hand shook violently with the apparent shock that made his muscular body quiver, and he missed by a mile.

Years of hunting feral wildlife had honed Donovan’s instincts to a razor’s edge. He joined forces with his wolf, the beast no longer a separate part of him but an equal partner. Together, they recalled each finely tuned attack they’d ever executed, and all that experience now coalesced into a single lunge.

Donovan flew through the air, paws flung outward, and landed with a heavy thump against the man’s chest. He went down hard, slamming the back of his bald head on the tiled floor. The gun slipped out of his hand.

Donovan went for the jugular. He would have torn it out, too, if Roxi’s stifled scream didn’t reach him just in time. Controlling his animal instincts wasn’t easy, but Donovan managed to hold his beast back long enough to readjust his aim. He took a large chunk out of the guy’s shoulder, and the man’s agonized howl sent a surge of icy satisfaction into Donovan’s blood.

Certain the first man no longer posed a threat, Donovan whirled on the second. The guy was holding his hands up, pistol uselessly aimed at the ceiling, as he made pathetic mewling sounds while backing out of the gallery.

Donovan was faster. He cut off the guy’s avenue of escape before he could take another step and growled, baring bloodstained fangs. The man pissed himself, dropped to his knees and made the sign of the cross.

Behind him, the first guy scrambled out of there, his footsteps ringing out on the tile.

Donovan had to make a decision, fast. He could go after the fleeing asshole, but that meant leaving Roxi alone with whoever was still in there. No way would he let that happen. He didn’t give a damn if these guys got away. He had their scent, and he could use it to track them to the ends of the earth if he had to.

Right now, though, he had a much more important job.

He leapt over the man cowering on the floor and raced through the next room. The displays were nothing more than blurs. He crashed into the final room and halted in the archway, taking in the scene spread out before him in sharp, vivid flashes of information. Brad on the floor, unconscious. Roxi naked in her harness, with half a dozen bruises marring her flawless skin.

And a man he didn’t recognize standing over her, pointing a gun at her temple.

“An animal? What sort of joke is this?”

From the corner of her eye, Roxi saw Kastor tighten his grip on his gun. He thumbed off the safety and her blood ran cold.

“Where is the intruder? Enrikos! Plauto!” Kastor hollered for his men, but no one answered.

A flicker of hope danced in Roxi’s veins as she eyed the wolf standing in the doorway. She knew this was no ordinary animal. Though Donovan looked different than he had in her bedroom—fully wolf now, without a shred of human remaining—the sheen of the dark fur was the same. His yellow eyes were fixed on the gun at her temple, and she could see the effort rippling beneath his skin as he struggled to hold himself back.

She was certain he wanted nothing more than to tear Kastor’s throat out, but while the man held a gun to her head, he wouldn’t dare.

“Enrikos! Answer me!” Kastor yelled out in Greek.

“He is dead.” She wanted to shake Kastor’s confidence, but the gag pressed against her tongue made the words come out garbled.

Kastor snarled at her but kept a keen eye on the wolf. “I heard gunshots.”

She had, too. Her heart leapt into her throat as she looked at the wolf, searching for signs of blood. Plenty dripped from the animal’s muzzle, but she couldn’t make out any bullet wounds and he didn’t seem to be in obvious pain.

“Show yourself, coward!” Kastor switched over to English as he peered toward the doorway. “Do not hide behind your mangy dog.”

The wolf snarled, showing bloodstained teeth. Kastor gasped, his calm façade slipping with each passing moment.

Roxi sucked in a breath and worked her right wrist against the leather strap. She’d nearly managed to loosen the restraint enough to slip her hand through. Nearly. She just needed a few more seconds, and she prayed Kastor wouldn’t notice her efforts.

With his free hand, Kastor grabbed Roxi’s breast and squeezed. “You are mine, bitch. No one is coming to save you.”

Donovan growled. His lean body tensed as if preparing to attack, ears twitching and nostrils flaring.

“I would not do what you are thinking of doing. You see, stupid dog, I have a weapon. This bullet will tear right through you before you can get close to me. And your master…” Kastor cocked his head, no doubt listening for any sign of another person beyond the next room. Satisfied when he didn’t hear anything, he nodded. “Is not coming to help you.”