Of the five band members, Nate was the one labeled by the press as “the shy one” or “the quiet one.” He was the one who didn’t do relationships. He was the one most likely to be tucked up in bed with a good book while the others were out raising hell. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even talked to a woman. Heroic? He wouldn’t know where to start.
When he’d finished burying the body, he came back to the woman, wiping his hands on his jeans. His thoughts were focused on the problem of how to get her to safety. If that house on the edge of the forest was the scene of a werewolf get-together, the last thing he wanted to do was walk in there. But if it was where she had come from, he needed to return her to her friends. Was she a werewolf? If she had come from that party, it seemed likely she was. None of my business. He’d pledged to get her to safety, not judge her.
What if she’s not a werewolf? What if you walk into that house with her and they have no idea who she is? A darker scenario presented itself. What if they say they know her, but it’s a lie? He had no reason to suppose the werewolves at that party were not law-abiding citizens. Most werewolves in the mortal realm were. But this woman was alone, vulnerable and...well, she was fucking gorgeous. What if they welcomed her with open arms because they had plans for her that were similar to the feral werewolf’s intentions?
No, there was no alternative. Nate Zilar, celebrity by day, werewolf hunter by night, was going to have to walk into a house full of werewolves. He had cast himself in the role of hero, and now he had to live up to it. He was going to make damn sure this woman was safe before he left her anywhere.
She was conscious of so many things as they approached the house where the party was taking place. How much her head hurt. The cold flesh of her legs. How her bare feet were scratched and muddy. She wore Nate’s sweatshirt with nothing underneath it. If it wasn’t for his strong arm around her waist holding her up, she’d have fallen several times.
Oh, and this man she was trusting? He’d killed a werewolf back there in the depths of the forest. Sliced its head right off and buried the human remains like it was part of his everyday routine. And she had stood by and watched. Not the decapitation, but the aftermath. As if what he did was normal. I might not know who I am, but part of me feels I should not be okay with this. Yet she was wrapped in a surreal bubble where everything else was gauzy and his protective presence was all that mattered.
Although she couldn’t see Nate clearly in the darkness, she got the impression of power and energy. The moonlight gave her glimpses of strong features and dark coloring. Those things meant he was an attractive man, but they didn’t explain the instantaneous connection she felt to him. He rescued you from a wolf. Of course that meant there was a connection. But it was more than that. It had been a bright, instant flame, sizzling the air between them. And it showed no sign of subsiding.
Overriding everything else was a hazy sense of something she could barely describe. Of not belonging. Of being in the wrong place, wrong time, wrong everything. Her hurt head tried to tell her what it was. Or maybe her hurt head was the problem.
“I can’t just walk in there.” She indicated the sweatshirt that barely reached the top of her thighs. “What if they don’t know me?”
“Don’t worry. I’m going ahead of you.”
She wished she could get a proper look at him in the moonlight. Something flashed through her mind. Something about prospects. About what the word really meant. How having prospects wasn’t about power and wealth, it was about how well a man would take care of you. It was a fleeting thought, gone almost as soon as it appeared.
They were in the backyard of the house now, and she could see a few people nearby standing around drinking and talking. On the immediate edge of the yard, where it joined the forest, a group of three young men appeared to be attempting to restrain someone.
“Roko, wait here. This could be a trap.” The man spoke in an urgent tone.
“Too right it could.” The response was panicky, almost terrified. “You know what he’s capable of, Teo. He could have snatched her from under my nose.”
Nate moved forward. “Wait here.” He motioned her to step back into the shadows.
It was too late. The man called Roko had already caught sight of her. Breaking free of his friends, he started toward her. “Violet! What the fuck...?”
She frowned. Surely she would remember this man if she knew him. He was very handsome. As he reached her, Roko made a grab for her hands. She shrank away from him in alarm, moving instinctively toward Nate.
Nate positioned himself between them. “Who are you?”
Roko bristled. He scanned her face, his expression changing, becoming even more annoyed. “This is a joke, right? Tell this guy to butt out.”
As he spoke, something was happening inside the house. There were shouts, crashes and sounds of glass breaking. Looking up, she saw what looked like a dozen people erupting from the house into the yard. They appeared to be running from something.
Roko turned to his friends. “You said we’d be safe. You promised they wouldn’t find us here.”
As he spoke, he gave a signal to his friends. Kicking off their sneakers and shrugging out of their outer clothing, they shifted. Just like that. No big performance, no whisper of sound, no creaking of bones or sprouting of fur.
Within seconds, the young men were gone. In their place, a pack of sleek werewolves dropped to their haunches, shaking themselves free of the final remnants of clothing that had been shredded during their transformation. Baring huge fangs, they crouched low, preparing to face the group that had emerged from the house.
Nate pulled on her arm, drawing her back into the shadows where they could see what was going on, but not be seen themselves. Her instinct was to run from this scene, but she understood what he was doing. Roko—the man who had just shifted and become a werewolf—knew her. There were clues to her identity here.
The five werewolves who approached from the house dwarfed Roko and his friends. Huge and black, with eyes that glowed gold by the light of the moon, it was clear they meant business. The crowd that had followed them from the house was a combination of humans and werewolves, and the atmosphere thrummed with a cocktail of fear and anticipation as the two opposing packs lined up.
Crouching low, the black wolves rippled with muscle and menace. Vicious snarls rent the night. The space between the warring forces crackled with rage. Roko and his pack barely had time to answer back before the black werewolves sprang at them. The fury of the attack was so intense she felt its force even from her hiding place in the darkness. Instinct made her draw closer to Nate, and he placed a steadying arm around her shoulders.
In the golden glow of the garden lamps, blood sprayed and fur flew. It was clear from the start that Roko and his pack were hopelessly outclassed, but they fought bravely. The black wolves tore into them, ripping chunks of flesh from the smaller werewolves, forcing them onto their backs and into submission. It was clear this was an organized fighting force, used to working as a team, used to getting what it wanted.
Within the watching crowd, there were screams and shouts of outrage.
“Can’t we stop this?”
“Who are they?”
Even as some of the partygoing werewolves who had emerged from the house made a movement toward the fight, it was already over. The black wolves, having subdued Roko’s pack, were shifting back into human form. Five naked, muscle-bound men stood over the injured werewolves.
One of them addressed himself to the partygoers. “Apologies for any inconvenience. We won’t disturb you any longer.” Reaching down a giant hand, he grabbed Roko by the fur at the scruff of his neck and hauled him to his feet. “This is what we came for. He has something belonging to our master.”
Dragging