Heir To The Pack (The Cursed Pack Book 1) (26 page)

CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE

“Gah.” Annie threw her
notes down on the table. She padded about the room, looking out the window to
check for Dash’s return every few minutes.

Daisy watched her, saying
nothing.

“What?” she said to her
mother, at last.

“I’m trying to decide
whether to distract you or let you pace a hole in the rug.” Daisy lifted a
hand, tilted it from side to side. “It’s fifty-fifty. I think I’ll stick to
watching movies with Jack.”

Jack continued to stare at
the television, sucking his thumb. She ought to make him do something more
educational, but she honestly didn’t feel like forcing the issue.

She opened her mouth to
return snark at her mother, but the creak of the main door interrupted her
train of thought.

“Dash.” She pivoted on her
heel and walked briskly to the atrium.

The tall, dark-haired man
gliding across the room silently was not Dash. He was alone. He smiled at her
across the room, his eyes darkly luminous. His smile raised every hair on the
back of her neck.

Michael.

Something was wrong. The
fact the guards had let him, the challenger, into the suite. The silent way he
moved, like he was stalking prey. The very smile on his face. It was all wrong.

Her brain, every instinct,
every muscle screamed
run
, but she
feared turning her back. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek and
returned his smile. Where were the guards, damn it?

Raising her voice as loud
as she dared without shouting, she said, “Hello, Michael. What brings you here?”

“I thought we might have a
chat,” he said. “Where’s Grandma and the boy?” He raised his head high and
breathed in, scenting the air.

“Oh,” she said airily,
waving a hand, and stepping firmly into his path. She didn’t know what he was
up to, but she didn’t want him coming any closer to her family. “Off playing
outside somewhere.”

“Really? I saw Dash and
Gaelan run off, earlier, and then Dash’s aunts went out. But I haven’t seen
your dear mother or your little boy leave the suite today.”

He’d watched them all day,
waiting for an opportunity. He’d planned this.

She hoped to God Daisy had
heard her. The TV played in the room behind her, and would cover small sounds
of hiding or escape.

In her most polite voice,
she said, “What was it you wanted to chat about?”

He took a sidestep. “Why
don’t we go into the living room, where we’ll be more comfortable?”

“Oh, I’m very comfortable
right here.” She folded her arms in a show of bravado she didn’t feel.

His hand shot out and grabbed
her wrist, twisting it, hard.

Pain shot up her arm. She
let out a little “oh” despite herself.

 
“Let’s go into the living room,” he said,
his voice dropping to little more than a growl.

Weighing the odds, she
gave a tiny nod. He dragged her along beside him, holding her arm in such a
tight grip her fingers tingled. She may have cried out when he’d first grabbed
her, but she clenched her teeth, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of
doing it again.

The living room was empty,
the TV still playing the fish movie. Good. She didn’t know where they’d gone,
but right now, she had to trust and hope that Daisy had taken Jack and gotten
the hell out of Dodge.

Michael used her arm as a
lever to throw her onto the couch. Her shoulder cracked. The pain forced her eyes
to water. She struggled to sit up, to keep her focus on Michael. Nothing was
broken, she was sure, and it wasn’t her dominant hand. Just a soft tissue
injury. That hurt like hell.

The casual way he hurt
her, the way he spoke to her, his body language, all of these added up to one
thing. He meant to kill her. Likely, he meant to kill her mother and Jack, too.

A cold rush of terror
flooded her veins. She didn’t want to die. But to save her child, she’d make
that sacrifice.

Annie sat up, her gaze
firmly on Michael.

Where were the guards? Were
they dead? She couldn’t wait for someone to rescue her. Her mind raced through
possible weapons in the suite.

The lamp on the table was
heavy, but he was fast, and by the time she picked it up, he would be on her. She
couldn’t see anything else obvious.

Her best hope was to stall
for time until Dash returned.

“What was it you wanted to
talk to me about?”

“You stupid bitch,” he
said, his face twisting with rage. “When you first turned up with the boy at
the town house, I thought I’d be able to use you. Take your body, and your
mind, and get rid of the boy in a freak accident. Then I realized what you
were.”

He walked close up to her,
towering over her. What exactly did he mean to do to her? She bit her lip,
trying to keep the panic under control. If he was going to rape her—sick
and weak as the prospect made her feel—it would give Dash time to get
back, and Daisy and Jack time to escape. She held her breath.

He leaned close, scowling,
and spat on her.

She recoiled, disgusted.

Michael laughed, stepping
back. “Stupid bitch.”

Wiping her face with the
back of her sleeve, she reminded herself it was only spittle. It would wash
off. “What is it you want?” She kept her tone as calm as she could. “What have
you got against me, Michael?”

He stared at her, his dark
eyes holding her still. And suddenly they changed. Just his eyes. Not his body.
Silver slid across his irises like a third eyelid, and the temperature in the
room dropped.

Her breath came out in a
veil of fog.

Not a good sign.

“You are my ancient enemy.
You, and that brat of yours. I can’t believe he was even born. Neither of you have
a right to exist.”

He had something against
Jack. There could only be one reason for that. She put the pieces together. “You’re
in league with Shura.”

He threw back his head and
laughed. It was bad enough dealing with a psychopath, worse that he had to
laugh like a textbook bad guy. The thought gave her comfort, put her back on an
even keel. She would not allow herself to be killed by a stereotype.

“You really are stupid,
aren’t you?”

She fought the ridiculous
urge to mention her IQ of 150. He was close enough to the edge without her taunting
him. The idea brought hysterical laughter up her throat, but she swallowed it. Instead,
she said, “Why don’t you lay it out for me?”

“I
am
Shura.”

Perhaps it was the last of
too many shocks, but she couldn’t make sense of that at all. How could Michael,
a young Mexican werewolf, be Shura, an ancient Russian witch-wolf?

Michael—no, Shura,
Annie corrected herself—continued. “I killed his wolf spirit, and I wear
his human body like a skin. He was a good way to get close to the Oracle. Mean
old bitch. But she knew everything going on inside the packs, and the best way
to the leadership. It was a pleasure to kill her, to send everyone into a
panic. I hit myself over the head with a shovel. Made my eyes water, but nobody
even suspected me.” Shura laughed.

It was true. Michael had been
a victim. Annie had never thought he could have been the killer. She cursed
herself for being so stupid.

Shura wasn’t done yet. “Next
up: the destruction of all the packs.”

Annie’s mind raced. Michael
was Shura. It clicked into place. She wanted power. That made sense. But why
did she want to wipe out all the packs. “One wasn’t enough?”

Michael smiled broadly,
exposing the gums around his shining, straight teeth.

“Killing your pack was
comfort for a while, but everyone else went on. Living tedious wolf lives,
joining with mates, having puppies. I was out in the cold. Alone. If I couldn’t
have my son,” Shura said, “I don’t see why anyone else should have theirs.”

Annie struggled to follow the
twisted logic. “But why do you need to be Lycaon to do that? You wiped out the
Lost Pack with a curse. Couldn’t you,” she wiggled her hands, wincing at the
stabbing pain it sent through her shoulder, “magic up something else?”

“The curse was harder than
it looked. It took me hundreds of years to recover.”

Good
. Annie shifted her weight on the couch,
and winced again, realizing she was sitting on something pointy. Maybe it was
something she could use as a weapon. She had to keep
him—her—talking while she worked it into her hand.

“So why not kill Dash? Take
the leadership? What has any of this to do with me?”

Michael-Shura snarled. “This
body is not as strong as I would have liked. I want to make sure I win. That’s
why I’m here.”

“But aren’t you a powerful
witch?” Annie didn’t want to overdo it, but flattery was her friend. She
shifted her hand under her leg, trying to be subtle, feeling for the sharp
object.

“The dueling circle bans
magic.” Michael-Shura bent closer. “So, I thought I’d gain an advantage. If I
kill Dash’s lover—torture her and slaughter her would be best, but time’s
a bitch—he’ll be distracted during the fight.”

At the words torture and
slaughter, Annie’s focus sharpened. The world grew crisper, and clearer, and Shura’s
words grew slower. Annie’s heart sped. Her muscles tensed.

“If I have time, I’ll kill
the boy, too. But if I don’t get to him, so what.” He shrugged, chuckled. “He’ll
be dead inside a week, anyway.”

Not if she had anything to
say about it.

She shoved her fingers
harder under her leg, closing them around the object enough to finally identify
it. A plastic dinosaur. Jack’s toys had a way of hiding themselves in every single
nook and cranny in her own house, and it hadn’t taken long for him to mark his
territory here. Not much of a weapon, but it was all she had.

She gathered herself,
waiting for an opportunity for Shura to lose concentration, but she was focused
on Annie.

Until, from the balcony,
came a squeak, quickly smothered.

The witch took three steps
to the door and flung it open.

Now.

Annie threw herself on Michael’s
massive shoulders, tearing at his hair with her bad hand, trying to yank his
head back. He turned his face to her and growled.

Hard as she could, she
stabbed him in the eye with the tail of the plastic T-Rex.

He threw her aside,
screaming, and covering his face with his hands. Staggering across the room, he
roared like a furious bull.

Daisy and Jack stood in
shock and fear in the doorway. Her mom’s face faded to grey and Jack trembled,
clinging to her hand.

“Run!” Annie gestured
toward the front exit.

Jack bolted, and Daisy ran
behind him. Annie wanted to go with them, or at least to watch them go, but she
needed to slow Shura down. She knew she could not beat her, but she could buy her
family enough time to get away.

Slowly, she turned back.

The big man lifted his
head from his hand, the toy, covered in muck and gore, falling from his fingers
to the carpet. His face streamed with fluids. The one good eye held her in its
gaze, and he opened his mouth into a snarl. “I’m going to kill you now, you
fucking bitch.”

 
He ran at her, and she ran around the
couch, trying to keep it between them, but he kept coming.

She grabbed an end table,
her shoulder protesting in sharp pain, and held it up in front of her like an
old school circus lion tamer would use a chair.

Shura laughed. “I’ll give
you this, you’re no coward. But I’m tired of this shit already. I’ll give you
ten seconds to hide. Maybe less.”

With those words, Michael’s
body shimmered, his muzzle lengthening and teeth growing. Annie froze. Should
she run, while he was vulnerable? Or stand her ground?

A squelching pop marked
the sound of his eye re-forming.

She ran.

But not toward the front
door. She would not lead him toward Jack and her mother. Instead, she ran down
the hallway, the snarls and growls of Michael’s—soon to be Shura’s—change
going on behind her. She turned into Dash’s room, shut the door, grabbed a
chair, and wedged the back of it under the door handle. She had no idea if that
worked in real life.

Casting about for
somewhere to hide, she discarded first, the wardrobe—a trap—and
second, under the bed—not enough room. The only other place was the
massive bathroom, and that gave her an idea.

She sprinted across the
room, into the bathroom, and closed the door behind her, depressing the button
lock. Stupid, but it couldn’t hurt. From the basket in the shower she grabbed a
bottle of shampoo, and poured it all over the floor this side of the doorway. Slippery.
At least half a trap.

Next, she looked for a
weapon. If only Dash had a straight razor, but of course, his electric shaver
sat by the sink.