Dire Needs Page 13

  He stared at her. “You won’t be again.”

  This time, she chose to believe him.

  Chapter 18

  Once they got home, Vice forced Liam to eat, although that was the last thing the young wolf wanted to do. Jinx called him a mother hen and ducked before Vice could box his ears.

  “Don’t you have two teenagers of your own to raise?” he asked.

  “They both got laid,” Jinx replied as he shoved half a sandwich in his mouth. “My job here is done for the moment.”

  The sun had long since come up—and he and Jinx would need to check out the mausoleum again for supernatural activity. There had been rumors that it was where Seb conducted spells, but when Jinx checked a month earlier, he’d found nothing but a few ghosts who weren’t helpful. If it proved to be only outlaw Weres meeting there, well, they’d take care of that too.

  The Dires should’ve been outnumbered, but even with immortality on their side, they kicked ass. The weretrappers couldn’t keep up, which was why different werepacks requested the help and expertise of the Dire brothers.

  They were like the mercenaries of the wolf world, as evidenced by Harm taking out twenty weretrappers in no doubt the space of ten minutes without anyone inside the bar noticing.

  These men had been born warriors; shifted or not, they worked in tandem with their wolves. They’d had hundreds of years to perfect themselves, but in truth, Vice had to admit it was mainly instinct.

  “Are you telling Rifter I left?” Liam asked.

  “Yep. We don’t lie to him unless it benefits me,” Vice said. “He needs to know about your mate.”

  Liam’s face hardened. “I get to take care of that, according to tradition.”

  That was true, and Vice had no intention of interfering. Although he’d never mate himself, he certainly understood the formalities associated with it. Granted, he didn’t respect any of it all that much, but hell, he didn’t respect too much of anything. “Why didn’t you tell us about her?”

  “Her name is Max,” Liam said, and it was obvious he didn’t want to say more about her right now. “She no doubt thought I was dead, killed when my father was. Or at least I thought—maybe Teague and Tals told her I’d escaped.”

  “They might still think you’re dead.”

  “Part of me wishes I was.” Liam stared at Vice. “Teach me the ways.”

  “Yeah, okay, just give me a week, wolf.” Vice snorted. He lit another blue smoke, offered it to Liam, who refused.

  Probably the smartest thing that kid did all day. Because even staying alive was pretty fucking stupid. Plenty of people were going to try to kill him daily, for the rest of his life.

  Someone would eventually succeed.

  From the look on Liam’s face, Vice knew the young wolf would never forget the sight of that slaughter. Vice knew he’d never been able to shake the sight of the aftermath of the Dire Extinction from his, and that was centuries ago. And still, “You hid.”

  “I was there—I saw them skin him alive. They cut his head off—it’s still in their clubhouse. He hasn’t gotten a proper burial and I have to live with that,” Liam said fiercely. “My father made me swear on my mother’s grave that, no matter what happened, I wouldn’t reveal myself. He said I’d be the only hope—that I needed to find you. That the Dires would train me.”

  “You’ve never killed before?”

  “Not humans.”

  “You killed the witch,” Vice pointed out.

  “She gave me no choice—I tried to just stop her.”

  Vice shook his head disapprovingly. “I’ll have to teach you a hell of a lot more about the world.”

  “I’m not sheltered—I know things. I want to take control of my pack.”

  “Too young,” Vice said, and Liam shot across the table at him. Found himself under Vice’s boot, but it was a hell of a good try. Took a lot of balls. “Like I said, junior—too young.”

  “Then, teach me.”

  Vice rolled his eyes but let the young wolf up. “I’m not old enough to be a parent.”

  “Thousands of years. Seems like you should be somewhat mature by now,” Jinx said, and Vice bared his teeth at him.

  “We need to bomb the mausoleum,” Liam continued, ignoring the sparring between the Dires.

  “We’re declaring war, then,” Jinx reminded him quietly. A war in which they might have only partial help from the Weres and could bring the police—and the rest of the human population—onto them. The Weres who might be talked into helping would be wary of helping the Dires and bringing attention to themselves.

  “I can get recruits,” Liam said confidently.

  “Young ones like you?”

  “Young. Strong. Clean slates,” Liam said, and Jinx shot a look at Cyd and Cain, the two young wolves who were already better fighters than many older Weres, simply because of the constant company they kept.

  “It’s our fight, not theirs,” Vice argued.

  “Then I’ll make it ours,” Liam said.

  “I know where some of them gather weekly,” Cain offered, and all the men turned to stare at him. “What? I’m not allowed to do recon?”

  “We made the right decision to walk away last night—if we did anything, they’d know we’re onto them,” Jinx reasoned, and Vice knew he was right. Let those words of wisdom attempt to take hold in his brain, in place of the rapidly building rage.

  “We have to get the leaders of the outlaw pack to talk,” Liam said.

  “They would take death over dishonor,” Jinx said. “And death is absolutely what we’ll give them.”

  “But not until we put the plan in place.”

  “What is the plan?” Vice muttered. “So the pack starts selling black market Weres to the trappers. What do they gain? A promise to make their pack powerful? Why would the trappers—who hate wolves more than any other supernatural group—agree to that?”

  “They probably didn’t. I have no doubt this is Seb’s doing.” Jinx looked grim, and Liam paced uneasily.

  Black arts wasn’t a subject to be taken lightly. Weres and Dires didn’t touch the stuff—they already had enough problems.

  Vice was so up for a fight. If wolves were selling out their own, they were all in more trouble than they thought.

  “If we fight, you can’t participate,” he told Liam.

  “Fuck you.”

  Vice leveled the young wolf with a gaze. “Dude, you’re the Weres’ great fuzzy hope. If we lost you, Rifter would kill us.”

  “I’ll call Rifter down here,” Jinx said. “He’ll want to know all of this—the outlaws and Max.”

  “Did you ever stop to think she could’ve been a plant all along?” Vice demanded of Liam.

  “She’s human—she didn’t know wolves existed until—” Liam stopped suddenly.

  “Ah, now the little boy gets it. Weretrappers are human, right? You never considered that?”

  “No. Never,” Liam said staunchly, although there was a slight waver in his tone now.

  Wolf instincts weren’t often wrong, but in this time of trapper and witch, you couldn’t be too careful. And Vice was never one to mince words.

  Liam moved faster than Vice thought, jabbing a quick punch to Vice’s jaw. It glanced off him and it made Vice laugh at the surge.

  In seconds, he had Liam pinned. “Stupid move. I know you’ve heard the rumors about my self-control.”

  “Don’t you talk about her—she’s mine to deal with.”

  “She’s your biggest vulnerability. You want to lead, you need to get rid of that shit.”

  “What would you know about a mate?” Liam snapped, and Vice did as well, throwing the young wolf across the room into the plaster wall. Liam yelped in pain and slumped to the floor.

  To his credit, he struggled to get to his feet, but Vice didn’t allow it. Slammed him down hard, again and again.

  Liam got up each time—shakier and wobblier, with blood coming from his nose. “Is that all you’ve got?”

&n
bsp; “You do have a death wish.” Vice clenched his teeth as he tried to stop his switch from flipping completely.

  The man had amazing hands. Gwen sat forward in the bath, arms wrapped around her knees as Rifter remained behind her, rubbing her shoulders. He massaged the kinks from her back and her neck, and she fought sleep because she didn’t have enough time left. Sleep was not on her short list of things to do, but spending time with this man was.

  “Shit, these bruises are bad,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

  She looked over her shoulder. “Must’ve happened at the house.”

  “I knew I was too rough.”

  “No, it wasn’t you,” she insisted. “It was a tough night—my house exploded. I’ve been bruised since then.” He’d been rough during sex, yes, but he hadn’t manhandled her to the point of bruising, for sure. But since he didn’t seem reassured, she decided to do so for him.

  She stood then, the water rushing off her body. He started, holding the towel but not handing it over. The fire in his eyes was like a lit switch, and she liked it.

  He leaned in, brushed most of the dripping water from her body, but he left her damp. And before she could stop him, he lifted her like she weighed nothing at all and placed her bare ass on the top of the tall wooden dresser. She struggled for a second because of the height, always a fear of hers, but when Rifter spread her legs and dipped his mouth to her sex, that fear was forever erased, replaced by something far more pleasurable.

  She grasped his shoulders, pushed her ass so it balanced on the edge of the wood. She was helpless, open to his mouth and his tongue as his hands balanced her hips and the sensations shot through her. It was almost too much, a shock to the system, like last night, and she willed herself to stay in the moment, to not let her illness take over.

  The first orgasm blossomed almost too quickly for her to enjoy it—her body tightened and she needed more. Rifter knew it, didn’t stop, laving and licking until her body was poised on the verge of coming again. Buried his face inside of her and tried to make her forget everything and anything…

  One hard flick of a tongue on her clit and she did, yelling and clawing at Rifter’s back. This time, he kissed along her thighs for a few minutes as she caught her breath before taking her down and holding her back against the dresser.

  His sex pulsed between them—but he was most definitely holding back. And she wasn’t about to beg, understood he was worried about hurting her. But God, her body craved him like a drug. She was already intoxicated by everything about him—his scent alone drove her crazy. They couldn’t go on like this for much longer—her body wouldn’t be able to handle it. Something feral inside of her was ready to snap, and hard, and he seemed to understand, nodded a little at her unspoken thoughts. Pressed his body to hers as the last of the orgasmic tremble ended and the pure, unmitigated exhaustion hit her.

  She put her face to his chest and breathed him in, and he, in turn, carried her to the bed. Sometime when she was in the bath, the sheets had been changed. These were just as comfortable and still smelled like him.

  Rifter turned his head to the door at the same time she heard voices. To her, it was a mash-up of different voices, but he listened intently like he was hearing every word clearly.

  She’d learned in med school that sometimes people who had migraines had heightened senses—and migraines were along the same nerve path as seizures. Lately, every sense was on overdrive and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was somehow getting stronger, not weaker. Which meant she was in total and complete denial. And she planned on staying there until the end. And in this bed too, police or no police.

  “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  “I think my brothers are arguing,” he said as his phone began to ring. He grabbed it and immediately rose from the bed and pulled on jeans. “Food’s on its way and I’ll be right back.”

  “Are you… leaving?”

  “Not the house—just have some business to take care of downstairs,” he told her. “Will you be okay for a little while?”

  She shrugged, for the first time realizing that she was, in fact, a prisoner here, despite the nice trappings. “What choice do I have?”

  “Jesus, Gwen.” He pressed his lips together and his stance tightened like he was preparing for a fight.

  She wouldn’t give him one. “I don’t like being controlled, but I’m here and I’m safe. And when I think about what happened with the fire… if everything had gone as planned…”

  “Nothing ever does,” Rifter told her. “And you still ended up in my bed, just where you belong.”

  Chapter 19

  Rifter left Gwen with a tray of food Cyd brought up and more content than she’d been. He hated that she thought she was in a prison, because capturing and holding anyone wasn’t his bag.

  Except for Harm—he’d hold that fucker, preferably with hot tongs.

  When he strode into the kitchen, he found Vice and Jinx there, with Liam and Cyd and Cain. Stray came in behind him, holding a small video surveillance camera so he could keep an eye on Harm.

  He flashed the screen Rifter’s way for a second so he could see the bruising on Harm’s forehead from where he’d been dropped the night before. Rifter nodded in satisfaction, took the cup of coffee Cyd handed him as Vice told him, “The outlaws are definitely in bed with the witches and weretrappers.”

  “Do you think the outlaws are spelled?” he asked after downing half the caffeinated drink in one gulp.

  “I think they’re doing more than casual dabbling into black arts,” Jinx said.

  If so, it made them vulnerable and put them all at risk—the witches could turn a spell around in ways an unpracticed wolf couldn’t. And since Seb’s coven was rumored to be conjuring demons, the danger had been turned up more than a notch.

  “We’re as much at risk with that human upstairs,” Stray said, with his annoying habit of reading Rifter’s mind, and Rifter wondered why he simply refused to acknowledge his ability outright.

  There was always a fucking reason, but Rifter didn’t have the time or patience to deal with him now. Instead, he raked his claws against the wall next to Vice, who, for once, attempted to look contrite even though he hadn’t said a word.

  And then he turned to Jinx and Stray and ruined the moment. “Told you he was hooked on the human—she’s like heroin to his wolf.”

  “Let’s focus on the real danger,” Rifter told them, and finally he got no argument. He turned his attention to Liam. “We did some real damage to the weretrappers’ main building after Rogue and I were rescued. We burned the facility to the ground—razed it and left before the police and firemen arrived to investigate. It’s in the weretrappers’ best interest not to attract the attention of the law. It’s the only thing that’s stopped this war from growing out of control, and we need to keep it that way.”

  But the weretrappers were by far not the only worry. The pack uprising and subsequent war were brewing, and it left them all vulnerable. Having the wolf who would be king added yet another wrinkle to an already impossibly complicated situation.

  “You could step in and lead them,” Liam said.

  Rifter had him pinned to the ground in seconds, the boy wolf under him, his throat bared in deference to the bigger, badder wolf.

  Smart boy. “Don’t you think of ordering me again, Were.”

  The guilt over the fact that stepping into that position would simplify things was always in the front of Rifter’s mind, something he and the young wolf’s father had discussed.

  But the thought of overseeing a pack where Weres happily mated and had families, while the Dires had none, was too troubling. Better to stay separated.

  “If you won’t lead, then you need to let me,” Liam growled.

  “You are nowhere near ready.”

  “I don’t have the luxury of time.” The young wolf paced as soon as Rifter let him up, the refrain now familiar to all of them. It wasn’t a hollow request or one made
because it was expected of him. The young wolf wanted to live up to the responsibility of becoming king. “If I cannot take back control soon, my pack will be lost, absorbed into the outlaws. And then, who knows how many will turn to the lure of the trappers? There are stories of outlaws turning in my pack members to the weretrappers for money and power—that’s hard to resist for young Weres who have no leadership.”

  The young wolf turned back to Vice and said simply, “Train me.”

  It was a command, an order that should have made Vice break him in two, and Rifter watched with interest to see what his brother would do.

  Vice simply nodded, realizing as Rifter did that the passion in the younger man was impossible to deny.

  And then Stray was up so fast his chair was knocked back. “Harm’s awake.”

  Rifter turned to Cyd. “Bring Gwen up some more food and make sure she doesn’t leave that room for any reason until I tell you otherwise.”

  Rifter was the first wolf in the room, followed closely by the others. He’d barked for Liam to stay behind with Cain, and the Weres complied, no doubt because of the ferocity of the order.

  Now he stood over Harm as the large wolf blinked several times and attempted to get his bearings. Rifter allowed it because he wanted Harm fully aware of what was happening when he ripped him to shreds. Already, his canines were lengthening and it was hard to keep Brother Wolf down.

  In time, you’ll get yours, he promised, and that appeased the wolf momentarily.

  “Rifter.” Harm’s voice was hoarse, fear mixed with pain, and his eyes went lupine. The silver chains would stop his shift, but he was suffering. “Is she… okay?”

  She? Why the hell would he be worried about Gwen? “I’m not answering your questions, you bastard. You fucked us good—turned us in, and now you’re going to pay in a way no Dire’s ever paid before. And I’m going to have a hell of a good time doing it.”

  “I did it… to save… her. Gwen.” Harm paused, took a deep breath like he was trying to get a strong hold on his wolf. Rifter couldn’t stand it any longer, grabbed Harm by the throat and slammed him against the wall, the chains pulling taut on his legs. With his strength, it wouldn’t take much to rip them off his body, but he needed to leave something for the others.