Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

N ew Orleans, Louisiana

2048

T he journey from the United Kingdom to America had been long and arduous. Its current host had held up well and had become a willing participant to the killing it needed to sustain itself, as long as it allowed him to engage in rough sex beforehand. The host had reveled in the ecstasy of both the carnal activity and the kill.

Those who wanted to destroy it had been waiting in England. Even though it had not originated there, England had long had a larger population on which it could feed and many places of magick and power where it could hide. But it and the host had barely gotten away. Fortunately they had not left any clues to their next destination when they'd left.

It fled back to its homeland, where it had been born of a primordial evil that lived in the great swamplands near New Orleans. It had left the swamp from time to time—either to feed or just to alleviate the boredom that came from immortality. At first, it had needed long periods to rest between the short bouts of chaos it manifested, but as it grew, it learned to feed off its hosts, enabling it to sustain itself and savor the fear and mayhem it could create.

It had a plan. It would kill the old wisewoman, the one who had helped the wolves, after killing her progeny. And it had determined that the best way to exact its revenge on the wolf pack that had caused it so much harm was to strike at its heart—first it would murder the children of the one who ruled there, then the alpha and his mate, and finally, it would destroy the great plantation itself, that had stood since the time of Lafitte. It was finally time.

W olf Meadow Ranch

Galveston, Texas

2048

H er trip to England had been unsettling. She was the only one left of her friends who was unmated. Not that she wanted to be. Shit, that's not true. Piper Nichols had known the wolf she wanted to be with for as long as she could remember. The problem was, he'd left her standing in the gazebo at Rivière Du Loup and joined the Navy. Most of those that knew them both said that he was so brave and that it was an honor to be chosen to serve his country. That was a crock of shit.

Rémy had run away because he was too much of a coward to stand up to either, if not both, of his parents. He'd been a fool not to have known she spoke the truth when she begged him to take her with him. No, instead he'd slunk out the next morning before anyone had arisen without any goodbyes other than a note to his family.

She had managed to avoid seeing him again ever since. The older they grew, the easier it was to stay away from Rivière Du Loup on the rare occasions Rémy came home. The longer it had been since that night he'd left her, the further apart they became. Now he was some kind of superhero soldier. Every time she did see him, anywhere other than at his home, he was never alone—he always had numerous women and she-wolves hanging all over him. The last thing he wanted or needed was a cowgirl in faded jeans, worn boots, and silver spurs.

U ndisclosed Location

Somewhere in the Middle East

T heir mission had seemed fairly simple and straight forward—retrieve a downed pilot and get him back to safety. Their intel had seemed good and was from what they had believed was an unassailable source. They'd made a HALO jump in the darkness that would allow them to land about fifteen klicks from the small village in which the pilot was being held.

HALO was a military acronym for a High Altitude, Low Opening jump. Generally it meant they left the airplane at over thirty thousand feet and free-fell to less than a thousand feet before deploying their dark parachutes. Combined with the night sky, they would be hard to spot, even though there was a full moon and a starry sky.

It was a textbook jump—no injuries and the unit landed in a tight cluster. Getting out of their harnesses quickly, they buried their parachutes, ensured everyone was locked and loaded and headed toward their target destination. Slipping into the village, they made their way slowly and steadily to the building that was supposed to be where he was being held.

As they crept down the alley, Rémy was feeling as though they would be able to get in and get out without a single shot fired. Wrong. The explosion behind them rocked the very ground they were standing on and sprayed them with a shower of building parts including shards of glass. Knowing they were under fire, time became of the essence. The pilot was in more danger now than ever before.

Another explosion. Closer this time. Close enough that the shock wave damn near knocked them all to the ground. Even with his ears ringing, he could hear voices raised in anger and fear. They pressed forward. The sound of automatic rifles being fired and running feet from behind them assailed his ears. They picked up the pace, splitting into two halves in order to assault the building from its two entrances.

As Rémy entered, he realized they'd been set up—a concussion bomb was ticking down to detonation.

"Out! Out! Out!" he shouted, his men turning to try and get to safety.

But the enemy was waiting for them and began firing. He felt two bullets make impact—one in his left thigh and another grazing his right bicep. Anderson was down; Rémy and Berluti grabbed him under his armpits, hauling him to his feet trying to get to something even vaguely safe. Ducking and dodging through the alleyways, they were being chased and bullets peppered the walls of the buildings on either side.

Ignoring the pain in his arm, he reached up to engage his comm unit. "Jackson! Jackson!"

"We're hit but moving. We'll fall back… fuck! Get out Rémy. We're surrounded," replied Jackson.

There was a violent crunch in his ear as the three men they were separated from, pulled their comms stomping them into the ground to destroy them. Shit! They had to fall back to a safer locale, assess their own wounds—fixing what they could—and figuring out how to rescue not only the pilot but their comrades as well.

"Shit, Rémy, what are we going to do?" asked Berluti.

"Keep moving, Sal. They're falling behind. We need to see how badly Andy is hurt."

They wove their way through the now vacant streets, putting more and more distance between them and their pursuers. He and Berluti entered a dark, vacant building and leaned Anderson against a wall. They didn't dare use light and night vision goggles were of little use to examine damage. Rémy ran his hands over Anderson's body locating three wounds. The ones in his shoulder and knee, while serious, weren't life threatening. The third was far more problematic—it was center mass and had hit him in the abdomen. No way to tell how much damage had been done. If any of them got out alive, it would be a miracle, but Andy's chances were slim to none.

Enemy combatants surged through the doorway. Shit, they'd been quiet! Rémy erupted off the floor, bringing his HK MP7 up and firing, hitting one man in the chest and another squarely between the eyes. He heard Anderson scream and swiveled his head to see what was happening. He didn't get a chance, the butt of a rifle hit the side of his head and his whole world went black.

Rémy Gautier breathed in slowly, consciousness returning and with it pain. He had no recollection beyond their capture—no idea of how much time had been lost or if they were in the same place they'd been ambushed. There was no question they'd been betrayed. They'd been lured into the central part of the village where a well-coordinated attack on his unit had been accomplished.

He wasn't sure if he was glad to have awakened again or not. Every nerve and muscle rippled with wave after wave of pain and anguish. He was wolf and so was inherently stronger and more able to endure torture, but he knew that even he had a breaking point.

Day after day, the pattern was the same. If he wasn't awake when his enemies entered his cell, they threw cold water on him to ensure he was cognizant of all they intended to do. Each time he passed out, more water splashed over him. They didn't repeat the same tortures; they changed it up so that he and the others couldn't prepare themselves for the pain.

His arms were stretched overhead, shoulder-width apart and shackled to a large beam. There was just enough chain available that he could grasp it, pull himself up to relieve some of the strain on his shoulders. But his hands were sweaty, and the chain was slick with blood. He could haul himself up for a moment but couldn't sustain the position, and agony flared when he lost his grip and hung limply.

The rest of his unit was dead, having either been wiped out in the attack or succumbed to torture. He had heard their screams for days, but now there was only silence. Their unit had been betrayed and the only reason Rémy had endured so long was his drive to find the person responsible. He needed to make them pay so he could get back to her.

He closed his eyes and focused on her—recalling the shape of her face and her green eyes and those riotous red curls falling around her shoulders. He remembered how she had felt that night as he pressed her body against his. His captors had pushed him past the point where the pain could really touch him anymore. He'd found a place between life and death and hung there waiting… but for what, he wasn't quite sure.

If he surrendered his will and allowed himself to die, there would be peace—at least for him. But he would never see her again, never feel her body beneath his as he drove his cock up into her, breaching her with his knot and tying her to him. His death would wound his family deeply. They would live on because that was what Gautiers did. They survived.

He'd missed Skylar's bonding ceremony. She'd become mate to one of his best friends. He was sure there were those who thought that she and Travis were an odd couple, but they were wrong. Rémy had known for years Skylar was destined for Travis. The two were fated. And as spectacular as both of their parents' relationships were, Rémy was certain those pairings would pale in comparison to his sister's. There was something special about his big sister and his best friend was going to have his hands full.

The terrorists who were responsible for his current sorry state were good at their jobs, he'd give them that. They'd beaten and burned the soles of his feet and used battery cables hooked to a generator to send electricity ricocheting through his body. But they'd also sterilized and cauterized any penetrating wounds, ensuring he stayed alive. He had information they wanted, and they were determined to have it.

His eyes were almost swollen shut, his head hung low, his chin almost resting on his chest. He floated somewhere within the void between consciousness and unconsciousness. He closed his eyes for a moment. He was so tired.

"Don't you die on me, Rémy," whispered his fated mate in a soft Texas drawl.

He could see her beautiful laughing face, the sun glinting off her copper hair and her eyes shining with merriment. Piper laughed often—not some silly schoolgirl giggle, but the hearty laugh of a woman who lived and loved enthusiastically in the way of their kind. Her mother, like his, was one of those who had defeated the evil that was Ramon DeMoncada—maybe not completely defeated, but at least dealt him an almost lethal blow. It had been his own father who had tracked the bastard down, taken his head, and sent it wrapped in a box to the Ruling Council.

She smiled at him and for a moment he could almost feel her fingers brushing the hair out of his eyes. "There's a big battle coming, and I can't fight it alone. You need to get out of this mess and come home to me. We've got work to do. I'll be waiting."

"Piper," he whispered as the vision began to fade.

He would never give them the information they wanted, and he had to hang on—had to find some way to get back to her. Suddenly there was a short, rapid eruption of gunfire from automatic weaponry and the door to the room in which they'd hung him was thrown open and six men burst in.

"We've got you, Commander," said one of the men, swinging his weapon over his shoulder out of the way and releasing Rémy from his chains. "You're all that's left of your unit, but we were able to finish the mission and we're going to get you home. Hang on."

"Come home, Rémy. There's nothing more for you there and your strength and courage are needed at Rivière Du Loup. Live, Rémy. I'm waiting."

"Piper," he whispered, seeing her again in his mind's eye.

Piper Nichols was the most beautiful she-wolf he'd ever seen—tall, willowy, with tits that would generously fill a man's hands as he suckled her nipple, her glorious red curls tumbling down her back. Piper's ass was a thing of perfection and when she wore a pair of chaps… Well, he had some incredibly dirty fantasies about things he'd like to do to her while she wore tight chaps, worn boots, silver spurs… and nothing else.

Six weeks later he was packing his duffel to come home for the last time. He'd signed his papers and was out for good but decided not to tell anyone anything, allowing them to think he was only coming home on leave. He was returning —not so much to Rivière Du Loup, but to her. Rémy didn't fool himself, he knew he had a long row to hoe with Piper. She'd managed to avoid him for years and had never answered one of his letters. When he'd finally asked Travis about her, Trav had admitted that Rémy's letters had arrived, but each time she was handed one, she would toss it into one of the numerous fireplaces in the ranch house.

"You hurt her, Rémy. Whether or not either of you ever said it out loud, she loved you. She knew you were her fated mate and you left her," Travis said over the phone.

"Hell, Travis, you know, better than most why I had to go. We were too young. I will never be alpha to my pack, and I can't imagine Piper not being at Wolf Meadow."

"I'm not saying I don't understand why you did what you did, and I even agreed with you when you left, but that was almost a decade ago."

"Has she found anyone else?"

"No. My sister is still yours to claim, but there's a lot I need to tell you when you get here. Let me pick you up at the airport or at the base tomorrow. I can get you up to speed."

"I've already made other arrangements. I have a friend who is meeting me at the base and has received permission to fly me to Rivière Du Loup by chopper."

"Don't kid yourself, Rémy. Even if we weren't in the middle of a supernatural shitshow, you'd still have your hands full with Piper. She isn't going to be easy to bring to heel."

Rémy chuckled. "I would expect no less. I'm sure your sister will want her pound of flesh and I'm quite sure I've got some begging and groveling in my future."

"Well, as long as you know what to expect," said Travis with amusement. "But if you hurt her again…"

"I know, mon ami, my life will not be worth spit."

"Problem is it'll be a contest to see if it's my mother, my father, me, or Piper herself who does you in. You know what a competitive family we are."

Ending the call, Rémy stowed his cell phone in his duffel and headed out for the transport plane. One of the private security firms was flying a group of their own men home from Ramstein and had offered him a ride to Belle Chasse Naval Base. He knew that they were looking to hire him, but right now the only thing he was willing to even consider regarding his future was how to get Piper back and whatever the hell it was that Travis had been talking about.

He boarded the plane and found a seat. The flight was going to be long, but he didn't care. He was going home, alive and in one piece. The remembrance that the rest of the unit had not been as fortunate sent a sharp pain through his heart and soul. He had written each member of his unit's family a personal note and enclosed the appropriate last message to their families. The men of his unit, like many other men, always left a last note saying goodbye to be forwarded to his family by whomever managed to survive.

He closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. Piper. His thoughts filled with her—memories, fantasies, and plans all vied for prominence in his mind. She was waiting for him. Even if she wouldn't acknowledge it or was unaware of it, she knew they were meant to be together. She'd saved him. The Navy might think it had been his fellow SEALs and the medical staff at Ramstein, but Rémy knew differently. The truth was his fated mate had reached out to him across the miles and years and pulled him back from the brink of death.

When he'd awakened, he'd begun the process of leaving the Navy. Luckily his tour was up, so all he'd had to do was to ask for the paperwork. His commanding officer had been sorry to see him go and had done his best to persuade him to stay—if not as an active SEAL then maybe as a trainer. When he'd declined, his CO had shaken his hand and said the offer would always be on the table if he changed his mind. Maybe he'd consider it if Piper had a hankering to live in California. From this point on, he vowed, Piper and her needs would come first.

Rémy felt good for the first time since his life had gone to hell in a handbasket. He still wasn't quite back up to snuff physically, so he would claim Piper first, then he would deal with whatever Travis had alluded to. Finally, he would avenge the lives of his comrades. Whoever had betrayed them was about to face a very angry, determined, and lethal wolf.