Motor City Wolf (16 page)

“Mine,” he murmured as he finally caught his breath and rolled them both to their sides. He was so swollen and she was so tight he didn’t even try to pull out.

He yanked the covers up over them both as Fee snuggled her face into a pillow and her butt against his groin.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, yawning. “All yours. And you’re all mine. Don’t you forget it.”

As if he ever could—or wanted to. He smiled into her hair while he reached out with one hand to turn off the bedside light. “Get some sleep. I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”

Fee chuckled. “Oh, good.”

The sound of shattering glass woke Greg from a sound sleep. He didn’t want to wake. Fee was curled up on his chest, and the bed was warm and scented with sex.

The smell of smoke penetrated his brain, along with a flash of light and heat.

“Fee, wake up.” He shook her and climbed out of bed, grabbing the down comforter as he went. He threw the cover down over the flames, and stomped them out while Fee stirred to wakefulness. The clock said it was roughly twenty past three.

Another window shattered and another Molotov cocktail flashed to life.

“Come on, princess, grab a robe and something for your feet.” Greg dumped the vase of flowers onto the second flame and ground out the remaining embers with his feet. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

“Right.” Moving swiftly, she ran to the closet and found a pair of lounge pants and a sweatshirt, along with some slip-on tennis shoes. He had to admit, that was smarter than a robe.

Glass shattered out in the sitting room.

“Come on, let’s go.” After dumping a bucket of melted ice onto the third fire, he pulled her to the door of the suite. Once there, he shifted into wolf form and led the way down the stairs. His nose wasn’t telling him anybody waited at the bottom, but he wanted to be sure. He shook his head, telling Fee to wait inside the staircase. She nodded and stopped moving, while he nosed open the door and sniffed in the breezeway. Nothing but Peter and his guards.

Shifting back into human form, Greg said, “I want you to crawl across the breezeway to the main house. The windows of the breezeway make it too exposed to walk through.”

“Got it.”

Greg stood to watch as Fee went down on her knees, following him across the glass-lined walkway.

Another flash-bomb crashed through the window, raining glass down on them both. Fortunately, the flaming liquid missed Fee, but not by much.

“Just run.” Greg shifted back into wolf form and leaped through the broken window after the arsonist, ignoring the shards of glass that scored his skin. He listened for Fianna to make the main house and slam the door behind her, heard her yell at the top of her lungs for help.
Good!
Then he focused on his prey.

Fianna threw open the door to the main house and looked for the guard who was supposed to be posted there. There was no sign of anyone, so she turned toward the stairs, intent on waking George and Jase, along with whatever other help she could rouse.

As she turned the corner, she came face to face with Sofia, and the matte black barrel of a pistol.

“Don’t move a muscle,” the other woman said with a husky growl. “You don’t have any elf friends to beam the gun out of my hand tonight.” Sofia jabbed the gun toward the back of the house before pointing it at Fianna’s belly. “I hear gut wounds are a slow way to die, bitch. Not to mention I’ll take out those abomination half-breeds you’re carrying. Now keep your mouth shut and start walking.”

A bolt of shock and fear swept through Fianna at the threat, only to be replaced in an instant by white-hot fury. Nobody,
nobody
was going to hurt her babies. She couldn’t take the gun by magic and she’d never been taught to fight with anything but a bow or dagger, but somehow, she was going to take this woman down.

The first thing she had to do was buy time. Greg would find her. There were guards all over the place. Squaring her shoulders, she moved through the hallway as slowly as she could manage without angering her captor.

Clearly, one way or another, Sofia intended to kill her. The woman was insane, and she wanted Greg. Fianna had to be out of the picture, which meant dead.

As they passed through the kitchen toward the back door, Fianna looked for anything she could use as a weapon. But the werewolf female had better night vision, and her hand was on the bloody trigger. Outside, the situation would be less controlled. Maybe Fianna would stand a better chance.

“Open the door slowly and quietly.” Sofia jabbed the gun into the small of Fianna’s back.

“Whatever you say. Just please don’t hurt me.” Appearing weak and fearful could only help. Sofia’s vanity was likely to be her greatest weakness. Fianna sniffled loudly as she unlocked and opened the garden door.

“Well, there she is, just like you promised.” An inhumanly deep voice greeted them as soon as they’d stepped outside and shut the door behind them. “Well done, my pet.”

“I told you she wouldn’t be any problem.” Sofia leaned up and kissed the male. When Fianna got a glimpse of his face in the night, she felt sick.

Peter. Sofia kissed her own father like a lover.

Before she could react any further, Peter grabbed her wrists and twisted them behind her back. His hands changed, became scaly rather than smooth flesh. The laughter that rang out as he handcuffed her and slapped a strip of duct tape over her mouth sent chills of horror down her spine. He certainly wasn’t human or even lupine. Yellow eyes glowed at her as he tossed her over his shoulder. A moment later, he felt like Peter again, another middle-aged werewolf male—still far stronger than she.

Whoever—whatever—it was carried her off at a run through the woods.

As usual, the bleach-over-vinegar scent blocked his ability to detect who he was tracking, but he was able to track someone. Either Vince hadn’t been the arsonist, or someone had been working with him. Whichever it was, Greg would happily rip out someone’s throat for turning his friend into an addict and getting him killed. He still had trouble believing that Vince was the one who’d shot Fee. It made no sense—the two had always seemed to get along fine.

He found one of the four guards unconscious in the bushes. He’d been drugged, no question about it. The smell alone was distinctive.

Then it hit him. He knew that smell, and not just from Vince.

Sofia!

Fuck it, why hadn’t he put those pieces together?

Of course that conniving bitch was behind this. She was probably the one who’d gotten Vince hooked in the first place.

Each of the other guards was knocked out, as well. One was beginning to convulse, like Fee had.
Damn it.
Greg ran for the front door and changed as he reached it. A guard, one of the older ones, opened the door. One nice thing about being around other wolves, no one questioned nudity very much.

Greg quickly relayed the information, including that Fianna should be somewhere in the house. He didn’t say anything about Sofia.

The guard got on his radio. “Nobody reports having seen Miss Fianna. Peter’s on his way, and someone is waking your grandfather.”

“Tell whoever’s upstairs to wake my brother, too. And have him bring me down some pants. I’ll meet them by the breezeway. Right now, I’m going to try to track down my mate.” Greg shifted back into wolf form and ran through the house.

He picked up Fee’s scent right at the entrance to the breezeway. Instead of turning left into the heart of the house, she’d turned right, toward the back hallway. Worse, the scents of bleach and vinegar were overlain with hers. Somebody had Fee.

Greg’s anguished howl probably woke most of the house.

His claws scrabbled on the marble of the corridor as he followed the scent at a run, straight to the garden door. The guard supposedly posted there was gone, like the one at the breezeway. Dead? Unconscious? In on it? Greg had no idea. He had to shift to unlock and open the door, then back again as he raced outside, following Fee’s scent toward the woods.

Right outside the back door, another scent joined Fee’s and her attacker’s. Greg paused, sniffing the ground.

Peter?

Help was already on the way. Wonderful. The problem was, from this point on, the scents changed. Fee’s grew weaker, as if she was being carried rather than walking. And Peter’s shifted in some subtle way, almost as if there was a hint of smoke or sulfur about him. Some weapon perhaps?

Greg didn’t stop to analyze the changes. He ran down the trail. It wasn’t cold—they’d passed this way only minutes before.

About a hundred yards from the house, he heard the door open and close again. Voices and footsteps sounded behind him, along with the padding of paws.

“We’re behind you, Greg.” He recognized Jase’s voice and George’s bark, along with his grandfather’s deep growl.

Greg kept moving, into the woods. The trail branched, but Fee’s scent was like a beacon, one he could follow in his sleep. He loped along, ears perked. Surely Peter had her freed by now. The man wasn’t the Prime’s bodyguard for nothing.

After a few more yards, Greg heard a click a fraction of a second before a metal trap snapped shut on his front leg. Bone cracked and flesh shredded. He let out an involuntary howl. His paw hadn’t been severed, thank the gods, but the pain was almost enough to make him pass out or vomit. Knowing his family was behind him, he tried to shift and call out a warning.

Nothing. The damn thing had to be silver-plated. One weakness of lupines was silver. If enough of it was lodged in the flesh, it could prevent the change.
Damn it.
He howled again and yipped out a warning bark. Sure enough, the footsteps behind him slowed.

The beam of a flashlight struck him first. “You okay, bro?” Jase approached on bare feet, his light flicking the ground and reflecting off the metal trap. “Fuck. Wolf traps. Watch your steps,” he called over his shoulder. He picked up a big stick and used it to trigger two more traps as he made his way to Greg and sank down on one knee. He held the flashlight in his teeth. With both hands, he probed the mechanism of the trap until he was able to release it.

When the spears of agony were pulled out of his leg, Greg slumped to his side. Lying there on the path, he panted heavily and managed to shift to human. He gave the others a quick recounting of what he knew so far, before changing back. With each shift, his wound healed somewhat. With silver, it was going to take a while to regenerate completely. Greg forced himself through enough shifts to make the leg semi-functional, then struggled back to his feet.

Jase pulled the bandana off his dreadlocks and wrapped it around the still-seeping gash on Greg’s leg. Ivan took point in wolf form as they walked more cautiously down the path toward the pond, Jase’s flashlight leading the way. He kept triggering traps with sticks as they went. It was noisy as hell, but Greg didn’t care. Hell, it wasn’t like the bad guys didn’t know they were coming. Surprise wasn’t really an issue at this point. George walked right beside Greg on the side of his bad leg, their shoulders brushing so his weight would catch Greg’s if Greg fell. Somewhere in the distance behind them, there were others, and Jase yelled out a warning for them, as well. Greg focused on putting one foot in front of the others without falling down.

Fee. Cubs. Have to save them.

That was pretty much the sum total of his conscious thinking.

Not far from the pond, a new scent reached his nostrils.
Fire.
He nudged George and sniffed the air. George nodded and yipped softly. Ivan paused and even Jase whispered, “Fire. And close.”

On a normal day it was easy to just see the laid-back artist Jase was, but in a pinch, the U.S. Navy veteran showed a tougher side. Making almost no noise, he kept the flashlight in one hand and pulled a sleek black semi-automatic pistol from his back pocket. He lowered the light, so it only pooled a few inches in front of Ivan’s feet. “Silver tips,” he whispered. “Stay clear.”

The three wolves nodded as they crept forward. Greg’s leg was holding his weight as the damage started to heal. He edged his way forward, level with his grandfather. He gave a small whine, knowing the old man would understand it as thanks. A short sharp nod was Ivan’s response, but Greg knew he’d gotten the message. Together, the two alphas stepped forward, making the last turn before the clearing.

A scream rent the air, and Greg quit being careful. Hearing Fee’s cry sent him forward as fast as he could go.

“Greg, go back, it’s a trap.” Fee sounded more angry than hurt, so he slowed his steps to a trot. No way was he stopping. “It’s Sofia and—” A slap echoed through the woods, cutting off whatever else she’d meant to say. A garbled screech told him she’d been gagged rather than knocked out. He mentally smiled. His mate was
pissed.
Fianna would rise to the occasion to defend herself and their cubs. Greg couldn’t be prouder.

They reached the clearing and Greg skidded to a stop, Ivan right beside him and George bumping into Ivan from behind. Jase killed the flashlight—the fire in the clearing provided more than enough illumination.

A pile of woodchips and dead leaves had been mounded on the flat, grassy bank of the pond, and smoke rose while flames crackled. A pole protruded from the pyre, with Fee tied to it, hands and feet. A strip of silver duct tape covered her mouth.

They intended to burn her at the fucking stake? Or was this elaborate ending a trap to lure Greg in? Either way, someone was going to die for hurting Fee.

Sofia stood beside the pyre, laughing. Greg would have lunged at her, but the flames glinted off the gun in her hand, pointed at Fee’s abdomen.

“Ivan.” Peter stepped out from behind Fee. “You really don’t want to get involved in this. Believe me, it’s for the best. We can’t have a fucking
elf
as the Prime’s mate.” The words sounded obscene—as if he didn’t give a damn about packs or tradition but was just parroting someone else.

Ivan shifted and held out his hand. “Peter, you can’t mean this. They’re already mated. She’s pregnant, for heaven’s sake. I agree, your daughter would have been an ideal mate for the Prime, but it’s too late. Frankly, Sofia deserves somebody better than him anyway.”

Peter’s laugh grew, deepened and twisted. “Oh, I agree with you there. Pretty little Sofia has been loads of fun. She’d be wasted with that pathetic whelp you call an heir.” He licked his lips in a rude display that made Greg want to scrub out his brain with steel wool. Sofia was screwing her father?
Ugh.
“But she wants him. That’s the only reason he’s still alive. Becoming alpha female was the one thing she asked for when she came to work for me. If he agrees to marry her, Sofia will give the Fae bitch an easy death with a shot to the head. Otherwise it’s the flames.”