Dark Wolf Unbound (Heart of the Shifter #2) (17 page)

B
ryn McKenzie would
be
dead by Thursday.

And it was going to be an ugly, terrible death.

It was almost two in the morning, she hadn't slept yet, and she knew she wouldn't. She just waited in the bed in the hotel room, staring at the ceiling, listening to the low conversation of the men in her living room.

Men who had been assigned to protect her.

Men who would fail.

They thought they knew how to keep her safe, but they hadn't seen what she had seen...which was why she had to die. No one who'd witnessed that particular murder would be allowed to live, and she knew that.

She'd known it when she'd gone to the police and told them what had happened.

She'd known it when she'd agreed to testify at Jace Donovan's trial.

She'd known it when her team of highly skilled police officers had set her up in this hotel room, determined to keep her alive long enough to testify.

And yet she'd done all of it anyway, and she would stay here and hope she was wrong, because a woman had died in front of her, and Bryn was the only one who knew who had done it. There was no way she could stay silent when the man who'd killed that innocent woman went free.

She was trying to do the right thing for once in her life. After her mom had died when she was seventeen, the guilt had driven Bryn into a self-destructive hell to hide from the pain. She'd been fighting her way back ever since, but she still felt like the shadows of the accident and the subsequent dark time in her life were always haunting her. If she died trying to bring justice to the monster who'd slaughtered an innocent woman, then at least she'd die trying to do something worthy with her life. But she didn't want to die yet, not until she'd made sure that the man who'd killed Kate Stephens paid for his crime. It wasn't enough to want to make a difference. She had to actually make it. If she could stay alive long enough to testify, then maybe she could begin to understand why she'd survived the car accident that had killed her mother.

She knew she might be assassinated before the trial, and she'd accepted that risk, but God help her, she didn't
want
to die, and she really didn't want to die the way Kate had died: slowly, agonizingly in a pool of her own blood, with her throat ripped from her body.

Bryn squeezed her eyes shut against the images that wouldn't leave her mind, the image of that horrible moment, that brutal attack, the screams that hadn't stopped ringing through her mind since it had happened. "Breathe, Bryn," she whispered, trying to slow the sudden racing of her heart. "It's okay. Right now, you're perfectly safe. No one has hunted you down yet—"

She suddenly became aware that the living room had gone silent. The men had stopped talking.

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she bolted upright in bed. Was this it? Was it happening now? She leapt to her feet, grabbed the gun with the silver bullets from her nightstand, and backed into the corner, aiming at the door of the bedroom. She'd already dragged the heavy hotel dresser and couch in front of the door, but she knew it wouldn't save her. Her hands were shaking, and sweat was pouring down her back. Dear God. How had they found her?

There was a low growl from the living room, and she froze, fear paralyzing her.
Dear God. A wolf.
Then one of the men screamed, and a frenzy of growls and snarls erupted from the living room. Gunshots. Crashes. Howls. Screams.

Dear God. The men were being murdered.

She looked down at the gun in her hands, and she grimaced at the sight of her shaking fingers wrapped around the metal. Trained, armed men were being slaughtered out there, and she thought a gun would help her? She had to get out, to run while she had time. Frantic, she raced to the window. She was on the fifth floor. Too high to jump. Another crash sounded from the living room, and more gunshots.

There had to be handholds. She wasn't going to die tonight, and she wasn't going to die the way Kate had, slaughtered by a werewolf. She shoved the gun into the waistband of her jeans and reached for the window—

A hand clamped down over her mouth and someone dragged her backward, away from the window.

A silent scream erupted from her throat, and she fought frantically, desperate, but whoever held her was a thousand times stronger than her. God, no, she wasn't ready to die—

"It's a rose," her captor whispered into her ear. "A white rose for friendship, a red rose for your heart, and a blue rose because the impossible is always possible."

She froze in disbelief. She hadn't heard that poem since she was fourteen, and wildly in love with her best friend, Cash Burns, who had disappeared without explanation one dark night. It couldn't be him. She hadn't heard from him or found any trace of his existence in thirteen years.

"It's me, Bryn," he said. "Don't make a sound."

Tears filled her eyes as she recognized his voice, a voice she'd never thought she'd hear again. Why was Cash in her room? How was he here? She nodded once, and he immediately released his death grip on her mouth.

She spun around, and her heart seemed to stop at the sight of him. She remembered a thin, gawky fifteen year old, but standing before her, illuminated by the moonlight, was a heavily muscled man with piercing green eyes so intense they seemed to bore right through her. His hair was dark and long, ragged. His black T-shirt stretched across his muscled chest, and several long-healed scars crisscrossed his left temple. He was pure danger, elemental male, and wildly sensual, a man she never would have recognized as her childhood friend. "Cash?"

Another shout echoed from the living room, jerking her attention to the door. The door was closed, but the dresser and couch were ajar, showing how Cash had gotten into the room. Clearly, the heavy furniture had been nothing to him, with his strong frame.

"It's my job to kill you. We have to make it look good." He pulled out a heavy knife. "Scream like I'm ripping you up." Then he dragged the knife across his forearm, spilling blood all over the carpet. "Scream. Now."

She screamed, a scream that tore from her throat and never seemed to stop. Cash was bleeding all over the carpet, taking the injury to his arm without even flinching. Good God. Who had he become? She backed away as he dragged the comforter off the bed.

"Lie down on it," he ordered. "I'll wrap you up when I take you out through there, and they won't know you're still alive. But we have to move fast. They'll be in here in seconds."

She gaped at him, a million scenarios rushing through her head. The door of the bedroom shook as something flew into it. There were fewer human screams now, and more growling and howling. "You're with them? With the werewolves? How?"

His eyes glittered. "Now, Bryn, or I can't save you." His voice was low and urgent. "They have to think you're dead."

She understood suddenly why he'd cut himself. The wolves needed to smell blood on the comforter. "Won't they know it's your blood?"

"Yeah, but they're distracted. It should be enough. Now."

She had a split second to decide whether to trust him, a man she hadn't seen in over a decade, who was now, apparently, killing people for a pack of werewolves. He was a stranger, but he was also Cash, and he was her only chance. She'd believed in him once. She had to pray that his heart hadn't changed the way his body had. "Give me the knife."

He handed it to her without question, and she dragged it across her own forearm. He swore as she cut herself, leaping toward her and yanking the knife out of her hand. "What the hell was that for?"

"It had to be my blood. They'll know." Her knees buckled and her head spun as the pain hit. She bit her lip, fighting back gasps of pain as she cradled her arm to her chest.

He caught her, his hands framing her waist as her knees started to give out. "Shit, Bryn. You haven't changed at all." But his voice was affectionate as he helped her down to the floor. "I missed you, babe."

"You didn't miss me. You ditched me, vanished from my life without a word." She stretched out on the floor, yelping when her injured arm brushed against her knee.

"I missed you," he repeated, his voice softer this time. Their eyes met, and she saw in them the person she'd once known, who she'd trusted with her life so many times before.

She nodded once, then lay down. "If you get me killed, I'll never forgive you."

"A threat that still works with me." He winked at her, then paused just long enough to trace his fingers across her cheeks. "Bryn," he said softly, his touch achingly familiar, and yet, so different from what it had once been.

A wolf howled in the living room, and he swore. "See you on the flip side, babe."

She nodded. "Okay." She kept eye contact with him as long as she could, and she didn't miss the flash of regret across his face before he flipped the blanket over her.

She sucked in her breath and rolled over, letting him truss her up in the stuffy fabric. Her arms were trapped against her sides, and her legs were locked together, entombing her in the comforter. She was utterly defenseless. Panic hit her, and she started to struggle, unable to stop herself.

"Bryn." His voice as a low whisper, and she felt him touch her shoulder through the comforter. "It's just like when we were kids. Be dead."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Just how good are you?" she asked. "There are wolves out there! What if they come after me?"

"I'm a serious, fucking badass, babe. I'm a thousand times what I was as a kid. I'll keep you alive, I swear." His voice radiated cocky arrogance, just like it had when they were teens, only now his voice was deep, sliding over her skin like a sensual caress.

Heat flushed her body, and she thought back to the number of times that he'd stepped up and taken the heat for her, the way the bullies in the school always left him alone, terrified of the raw strength and power in his thin frame. Back then, he'd been the badass that no one expected, and now, he was pure muscle and man, apparently on the payroll of a pack of wolves. Which would trump, his loyalty to the pack, or to her? "What if you have to kill them to keep me alive?"

He paused for a long moment. "Then I'll kill them."

She felt the truth in his voice, and tears filled her eyes. God, it had been so long since anyone had stood up for her the way he always had. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed that feeling of knowing that she didn't have to fight her battles on her own. "Damn you," she said softly.

He laughed quietly, squeezing her ass through the comforter, a move that had been obnoxious when they were teens, but that now sent heat cascading through her. "I love it when I make you cry. You ready?"

She knew he wasn't asking if she was ready. He was asking if she trusted him. She let out a deep breath, and spoke the truth. Cash had always been the one she believed in, and she still did, despite the gaping emptiness of time since she'd last seen him. "Yes. Let's go."

"That's my girl." He scooped her up and slung her over his shoulder, his arm locking her down against him as he headed for the door that separated them from the wolves that had been sent to kill her.

A
nya Diaz felt
as if invisible fingers were sliding down her spine in a sensual caress of lethal danger. Fear rippled through her, and for a brief second, she wondered if meeting this unknown contact was worth the risk. She couldn't afford a single mistake, and she really couldn't afford to die.

She swallowed, her mouth dry, wishing she'd ordered water instead of tequila that she'd never drink.

She feigned a look across the room, slanting a sideways glance behind her, trying to ascertain the cause of the sensation along her spine. Her breath caught when she saw a man, well over six feet, wearing a black leather trench coat, standing several yards behind her, his gaze boring into her. His dark hair was short, his blue eyes so intense it was as if they were made of pure fire. Even through his coat, she could tell he was heavily muscled, a predator more than a man. He was unshaven, his dark whiskers making shadows fall across his angular cheeks. He looked like he lived in untamed wilds beyond the reaches of civilization, a man who lived by his own rules, not the ones society tried to impress upon him. He was pure sex, deadly sin, and unmitigated danger…and he was staring at her.

Her heartrate began to escalate as his gaze dropped to her mouth, his eyes darkening as if he were imagining what she tasted like, what she would feel like against him. Desire pooled in her belly, desire that was completely out of character for her. She'd learned her lesson long ago about letting her need for a man rule her, and she never bothered to notice men anymore…but it was impossible for her to drag her gaze off him.

She felt as though his hands were gliding over her skin, touching every inch of her body as he assessed her. She shivered, trying to shake off the desire pulsing low in her belly, the need he was awakening in her, even though she'd never seen him before in her life.

He was clearly there for one reason, and that reason was her.

Except he wasn't the person she'd come there to meet. He was all wrong…but she couldn't stop her response to him.

He walked toward her, moving with the lithe grace of a predator. As he got closer, a cold chill seemed to wrap around her, the chill of death, and danger. She stiffened, sliding her hand along her lower back for the dagger she'd hidden beneath her shirt. It was small, but she was very good with it. She'd known how to defend herself since she was three, but as he neared, doubt flickered through her. He radiated raw power, the kind that could devastate his prey without him so much as blinking.

He was a man who delivered death, she was sure of it. Her heartrate sped up as he neared, and a cold sweat broke out between her shoulder blades. She didn't know if she could defeat him, and she didn't have time to try.
Keep walking
, she urged him silently.
Just keep walking.

One dark eyebrow quirked at her, and for a split second, she thought he'd heard her silent command. Then his gaze dropped to her mouth again, sending searing heat cascading through her. She caught her breath, as he raised his gaze to hers again. His expression didn't change, and his stride didn't falter as he walked right past her toward the bar.

She let her breath out, her hands shaking with relief as she wiped her wrist across her damp brow. The intensity of her response to him was shocking. What was going on?

He took over a seat at the bar, still staring at her. Her moment of relief fled, replaced by rising tension. He wasn't even trying to hide the way he was watching her. His gaze was locked on her, watching and assessing her every move. The way he'd eased onto the edge of the bar stool, relaxed yet primed to react in a split second, made him look like a wild panther, a predator so agile and lethal that he could take her out in a single leap. He was too dangerous to be handsome, and too elusive to be appealing, and yet, there was something about him that was drawing her in. Something compelling. Something...

Yes. You want me.

A deep, darkly seductive male voice rolled through her mind, making her belly clench with desire. Had he just spoken in her
mind
? The voice was sensual, rough, erotic, with a hint of accented culture that made her think of black tie dinners and foreign royalty instead of the dangerous predator sitting so still on his perch.

Don't hold back.
His voice slid through her mind again, a sensual caress that made her belly tighten with desire.
Think about kissing me. Think about my hands sliding over your naked skin—

"Stop it." She glared fiercely at him. The satisfied gleam in his eyes told her that it
was
him in her head. "I didn't invite you in there. Get out."

He didn't smile, and he didn't back off.
What's your darkest fantasy? Handcuffs? A threesome? A little pain...
As he spoke, images of each scenario flashed through her mind. Her naked, silken ties around her wrists—

"No." She jerked her gaze away from him, breaking the connection. She fisted her hands, quickly weaving safeguards in her mind, invisible walls that encased every last thought, every feeling, every bit of herself that wasn't physical. Within a millisecond, he was out of her mind. Her lungs expanded in a sudden relief as the sensual sensation of being caressed along her spine vanished. Had it been
his
touch she'd been feeling on her back? Some metaphysical extension of his mind that felt like a real caress and seduction? What kind of power did he carry? And why was he directing it at her?

His expression didn't change, but he seemed to become even more still.

She met his gaze, daring him to try again.

He did.

She felt him testing her protections, feeling his way through her mind, searching for the one gap she'd missed. Anya smiled, allowing the same satisfied gleam into her eyes that he'd had in his. "I'm good," she said. "Don't bother."

He didn't answer, his gaze flicking behind her.

She sensed the approach at the same moment, and she sat up more erectly in sudden anticipation, sensing that the person approaching her from behind was the one she'd come to meet. Her instructions had been not to turn around, and not to look, or the deal would be off. Someone leaned up against her seat, and a warm breath brushed over her neck.

Anya's heart began to pound. This was it. Her chance. "Is Julia still alive?" she asked, her breath frozen in her chest as she waited for news of her best friend, her only friend, the only person still alive who mattered to her.

Fingers drifted through her hair, and lips brushed over the back of her neck. A seduction, for anyone in the bar who was bothering to watch. A charade to protect them both. "For now." It was a woman's voice, breathy and sensual.

Tears of relief burned in Anya's eyes. Alive. Her best friend was
alive
. "How do I find her?" She slid her gaze toward the mirror behind the bar, taking a forbidden look at the woman she'd spent the last three weeks hunting down. Raven black, ultra-straight hair reached just past her shoulders, and her eyes were hidden behind dark glasses. Her lips were pale, her skin the color of a latte, and her simple outfit of a tight black tank top and fitted jeans made her look sexy, but unmemorable. Who was she? How did she know what had happened to Julia? How was she involved? She'd found the woman's email address in Julia's belongings, the only clue she had as to what had happened to her friend. It had taken weeks to track this woman down, and longer to convince her to meet…assuming the woman standing behind her was the same person who had answered her emails.

The man at the bar leaned forward, drawing Anya's attention off the mirror and back to him. He was staring at her even more intensely, his gaze boring into hers as if it were a dagger that could cut out her heart. She could feel him testing her psychic defenses, trying to get back in her mind.

She jerked her gaze off him, refusing to let him distract her. She closed her eyes to cut him off, so she could focus on the woman behind her. She couldn't afford to miss a word. "Where is Julia?"

The woman's breath tickled her neck. "You must go to the warehouse on the corner of Hartford and—"

Fingers closed around her wrist. Anya's eyes snapped open as she was jerked off her feet and across the floor. She slammed into the hard body of the man at the bar, and his arms locked around her. He stared down into her eyes. No longer were his eyes blue. They had shifted into dark, bottomless pits of death…and something else. Something more dangerous. Something more personal.

"I love you," he said, his whisper rolling through her, making sudden tears fill her eyes as longing swept over her. To be loved, to be held like she mattered, to be—

He kissed her.

Not just a kiss.

A kiss so tender, so beautiful, so seductive that it made her heart cry for more. Never had she been kissed like that.
Ever.
His lips were decadently soft, his tongue a sensual dance of promise and tenderness, his hands on her hips like he was her shield against the world. He was pure male, offering himself to her as her protector, her lover, the man who would never let her be alone again.

Her soul cried out for his kiss and his declarations with an intensity so strong that it made her heart ache with longing. The pain jerked her back into her own mind just enough for her to realize that something was wrong, terribly wrong. He was in her mind again, reeling her in, offering her the words and emotions that she burned for, as if he knew exactly what triggers would ensnare her. He was manipulating her, drawing her into his kiss…with a sinking heart, she realized suddenly that his kiss was his weapon, wielded with the skillful, ruthless finesse of a well-practiced assassin Why had he come for her? Sudden fear pulsed through her, and she knew it had to be because of Julia. Was he trying to keep her from talking to the woman? Or was he there to kill her?

She was in danger. Sudden, dire danger from him. She had to break his hold on her. She had to talk to the woman. She had to find Julia. She shoved at his chest, trying to raise her mental shields and boot him out of her mind—

He deepened the kiss, a searing hot kiss that seemed to ignite her very soul. His lips were hot and sensual, his kiss deep and intoxicating, sending desire sparking through every part of her body. Yearning filled her, a desperate need for him, for his kiss, for his touch, for everything he could offer her.

In the deep recesses of her mind, she knew it was wrong. She knew what she felt was unnatural, but the realization was faint, fading, too weak for her to grasp. He tunneled his hands through her hair, angling her head as he deepened the kiss, drawing her away from her mission and into his spell.

She couldn't stop herself from responding to his seduction. Her soul was crying out for him. She could sense the danger he presented. She could feel the emptiness of his soul. She knew that his whispers of love were lies he didn't mean. But it didn't matter. Something about him called to her, something far deeper than the seduction he was weaving in her mind.

She needed to stab him.

She needed to run.

But she couldn't.

She simply wanted
him.