CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

Comfortably perched on a barstool, Bree gave The Tavern a once over. One of the many businesses the pride owned, it wasn’t quite a bar. Nor was it a restaurant or a pool hall. It was a little of everything, really, and it catered to everyone—it served good food, had a long bar, played sport events on the widescreen TVs, and even had an arcade. It also had a private room where patrons played cards, mostly poker.

A shifter band performed there some nights. Other times they had comedians, hypnotists, or pulled out the karaoke machine.

Bree liked the atmosphere. Liked the burgundy leather cushioned booths and bulky armchairs. Liked the sports paraphernalia that lined the brick walls. Liked the scents of beer, hot food, leather, and oiled wood.

“Here you go, girls,” said the bartender, Gerard, as he placed two Cosmos on the bar.

Elle gave their pride mate her brightest smile. “Thank you, G.” She took a sip of her drink and hummed. “I forgot how much I like these.” She gestured at the corner booth. “Bree, I swear, those two women look really familiar. I can’t place them, though. Did they take the same pole dancing classes that we did?”

“I’m not sure,” replied Bree.

Gerard blinked. “Wait, you two took pole dancing classes?”

“Only for the fun of it.” Bree lazily waved a hand. “Relax, we don’t have plans to become strippers. We’re too lazy for that.”

“Totally true,” said Elle.

Gerard walked away with a snicker.

Fanning herself with a coaster, Elle said, “It’s busy tonight, even for a Saturday.”

Bree nodded. It was loud and hectic. People talked, ate, laughed, and yelled at the TVs. Slot machines bleeped and pinged. Darts whizzed through the air and thumped into boards. Balls smacked into others, sending them shuttling into the pool table pockets.

Most of the patrons were members of her pride. Many were seated at the heavy tables or booths, their eyes locked on the wall-mounted TVs. Meanwhile, waitresses weaved their way around the tables, taking orders and collecting deserted bottles, dirty dishware, empty glasses, and crumpled napkins.

“Uh-oh,” sang Elle. “Moira just arrived.”

Shit. Bree’s cat uncurled from her ball and bared a fang. “How fun.” Her feline hated Moira since the little bitch shot Bree a look of utter contempt pretty much every chance she got—and true to form, she did it right then, too. Bree smiled in return. The other female lifted her chin and headed to a table at the opposite side of the Tavern.

“So … have you acknowledged his presence yet?”

Bree sipped her Cosmo. “If by ‘he’ you mean Mateo, no. It would only encourage him to come over here, and that would end badly for him.” He’d been playing pool with Alex, Vinnie, and some of their other pride mates for the past few hours. “Besides, I’ve been busy shooting Alex the occasional death glare. Cockblocking motherfucker.”

He’d been good to her last night after she’d helped Devlin. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had checked on her after a tough omega encounter. Couldn’t remember anyone ever fussing over her or massaging her head until she fell asleep. So she’d been feeling all warm and fuzzy about it … right up until earlier when he scared off a guy who’d sent her a drink. Now yeah, okay, the guy had a reputation of being something of a player, but that didn’t give Alex the right to interfere.

If she didn’t detest scenes so much, she’d have stalked over there and punched the wolverine square in the face. Instead, she’d settled for spitting in his food as she passed his table to use the restroom, making sure he saw it. Far from ladylike, sure, but wolverines loved their food—targeting it was a surefire way to piss them off. His glower would have quelled a lesser female.

Bree glanced his way just as he slapped cash down on the green felt of the pool table. A wad of crash. Alex always seemed to have money. He gambled like it was his job, and he was exceptionally good at it.

Elle scowled at his back. “I love my cousin but damn he can be an asshole. I think it’s safe to say you’re not gonna get laid by anyone here tonight. Ooh, we could leave and hit Enigma,” she suggested, referring to a nightclub exclusive to shifters where patrons often had sex right on the dance floor. “I love it there. You up for it? I feel a night of getting supremely shitfaced coming on.”

“Is that such a good idea? Last time we got that shitfaced I woke up with pierced nipples.”

“You can’t deny that you like those piercings.”

No, she couldn’t. They’d hurt like a bitch at first, though.

Bree’s eyes inadvertently darted to Alex again, as if drawn there. Her gut knotted. He was leaning against the wall, a pool cue in hand, talking with one of his group. And his unblinking stare was fixed on her.

Well, if he thought she’d blush or avert her gaze, he was out of his mind. She flicked up her eyebrow, sent him a haughty look, and then turned back to Elle.

A celebratory roar came from the patrons who were watching the game. Bree gave the space another once-over, always alert for signs of trouble, since it wasn’t uncommon for fights to break out among shifters. And what was when she noticed … “Moira’s heading our way.”

“Ugh, how fabulous,” muttered Elle, her grip tightening on her glass. And Bree knew the redhead would smash it over Moira’s head if the situation got ugly. The female might be Elle’s cousin, but Elle had never liked or respected her.

Bree’s cat peeled back her upper lip at the newcomer and swished her tail. Nope, she wasn’t a fan of this bitch.

Reaching the bar, Moira grinned at Gerard. “A mojito please, sweetie.” Her eyes slid to Bree and went hard as glass. “Well, you certainly succeeded in breaking my mother’s heart, if that was what you were hoping for.”

Bree inwardly sighed. She’d figured the conversation might head in this direction. “Moira, while I love to hear your whiny little opinions, you should know that the level of fuck I’m giving couldn’t possibly be any lower.”

“You know what? I think you just don’t want Gerard to hear how you’re betraying my brother.” Moira turned to the bartender.“Oh, she told my mother that she’s so sure Paxton isn’t coming back that she’s decided to build a life without him. She doesn’t seem to care how he’ll feel when he comes home and finds her shacked up with someone else—that is what I’m assuming you eventually intend to do, Bree.”

“It’s that or grow old alone,” said Bree, wondering if maybe Moira knew that Bernadette had posted the necklace. Possibly. “I’d prefer to not do the latter. And I won’t let you or your family make me feel guilty for that. I deserve to be happy, the same as everyone else.”

Moira’s face reddened. “No, you don’t. It’s your fault that Paxton’s the way he is. It’s only fitting that you pay for it by being alone and miserable.”

Bree let her gaze briefly flick upward. Heaven help me. “This again, Moira? Really?”

The bitch moved toward her, but her head abruptly snapped to the side when a male hand curled around her upper arm. Alex.

“Back off,” he warned Moira, all menace and danger.

The female swallowed. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Wrong,” Alex bit out. “Bree’s my business. You fuck with her, you deal with me. Simple.”

“All right,” drawled Vinnie, slowly approaching. “Let’s all stay calm. You know how much Gerard hates having to clean up blood.”

Moira rubbed the arm Alex released. “Don’t any of you even care what she’s doing?”

“And what exactly am I doing that’s so terrible?” Bree questioned.

“Rejecting my brother’s claim on you!” Moira spat.

Conscious that the noise level in the bar was fast dying down, Bree lifted one shoulder. “I doubt he’d care, even if he was alive.”

Moira froze, staring at her curiously. “You really do think he’s dead, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter if he is or he isn’t.” replied Bree. “Either way, he won’t come back here.”

“Oh, it matters,” insisted Moira. “Because I can tell you one thing, Bree. My brother was always awful at sharing, even as a toddler. He may not intend to claim you, but he’ll never let anyone else have you.”

Alex guided the female away from the bar. “Okay, you’re done.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” said Elle, slipping off her stool.

“You hear me, Bree?” Moira shouted even as Alex and Elle herded her toward the exit. “If you get involved with anyone else, you’ll be signing their death warrant! Paxton will have eyes on you! He’ll know—” Her words cut off as the door closed behind the trio.

Bree exhaled a heavy breath, ignoring all the eyes she could feel zeroed in on her. Her cat hissed when they sensed Mateo cautiously approaching. No, no, that would be very, very bad.

Vinnie tapped on the surface of the bar to get her attention and then gestured behind Gerard. “Go take a minute in the break room.”

She didn’t need to be told twice.

Bree slipped off her stool and disappeared behind the bar. But she didn’t go to the break room. She headed straight for the rear exit, pushed open the heavy door, and stepped out into the dimly lit back alley.

Exhaling a sigh as the cool night air fluttered over her skin and ruffled her hair, Bree sat on the step and let her head fall back to rest on the door. She’d been dealing with Moira’s crap for years. It was never her words that got to Bree, it was that she so often insisted on making a scene.

Moira liked to have an audience, liked attention and drama. Bree was the opposite. Having her dirty laundry aired where all could overhear it … yeah, that was never fun.

She faintly heard the opening and closing of the side exit door, and then the sound of footsteps advancing up the side alley. Elle? Probably. Or maybe Alex. Hopefully not him. If it was Mateo, she’d absolutely lose her mind.

A gust of wind swept over her, bringing with it the scents of rotting garbage, damp cardboard, and something that didn’t belong. Fox.

Her eyes flipped open, and she righted her head. Bree jumped to her feet just as two objects sank into her skin, making her hiss in pain. Furious, her cat shot to full alertness and lunged for the surface, wanting to shift and deal with the threat.

Bree looked down at her arm and thigh. Darts. The metallic scent of drugs tainted the air. Oh, shit.

The culprit stepped out of the shadows, a tranquilizer gun in his hand. Bald. Stocky. Mustache. He’d been sitting at a corner table in the Tavern, she remembered.

Motherfucking motherfucker. It would be senseless of her to call for help—it was far too loud in the Tavern for anyone to hear her.

A strange feeling of lightness fluttered through her; a feeling she couldn’t quite put into words. Goddamn drugs. She knew she’d soon pass out. She also knew she’d take this asshole down before she did.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I just need to—”

She launched herself at him, shifting mid-air.

Ears flat, the little cat rumbled a furious growl and wrapped around the arm that held the gun. She bit deep into arteries and severed muscles, tasting blood. He cried out, and the weapon dropped to the ground with a clang.

He shook his arm, trying to dislodge her. The cat held tight with her teeth and claws as she attacked him—biting, clawing, mauling, hissing. Some of her human-half’s clothes still clung to her body, but the cat didn’t let them hinder her.

A fist slammed into her skull once, twice, three times. The cat just sank her teeth deeper into his arm, scraping bone. He roared in pain. That only spurred the feline on.

He tried to pry open her jaws. The cat let him. Then she scrabbled up his arm, wrapped her body around his head, and curled her bushy, black-ringed tail tight around his throat.

Her vision clouded by sheer rage, she rumbled a dark growl as she shredded his face and tore strips out of his scalp. His screams and curses were muffled by her thick, silvery-gray fur. He stumbled and teetered, shaking his head hard. The cat didn’t release her prize.

The air rang with snarls, hisses, growls, and agonized cries. She relished the scents of his pain and panic. Relished the taste of his blood in her mouth.

Hands grabbed her tight and tried yanking her away. They failed.

Those same hands beat at her body, trying to make her release him. They failed.

Adrenaline pumped through her, but so did the drugs. Her vision began to blur. Her limbs began to feel heavy. A sense of wooziness crept up on her. The cat knew she was weakening.

She needed him to shift—his fox was smaller and would be easier for her to defeat. But the male remained in his human form.

He twisted and charged at the wall; slammed her against it. Again. And again. And again. She only dug her claws deeper into his face for purchase. That wrenched yet another scream from him.

He retaliated hard. Punched at her head and throat. Raked at her back and flanks with sharp claws. Pain rippled through her body, but her tough hide and thick fur helped protect her.

The cat ignored the pain. She kept on savagely attacking him even as she continued to weaken. But then he sharply twisted her hindleg, sending a streak of fire shooting up her leg and spine. She yelped, and her hold on him slackened.

He snatched her away from his face with a roar of anger and threw her at the wall. Her skull hit the brick with a crack. Agony crashed into her head, and dots obscured her blurry vision.

She landed on her feet. But her legs, weak from the drugs, quivered so hard they almost went out from under her.

Woozy and tired, the cat nonetheless focused on her prey. She hissed. Coiled. Sprang so fast she was a blur.

The human toppled backwards, hitting the ground hard. He screamed as she dug her fangs and claws deep into his face once more. She viciously bit and—

The cat then felt something hard and cold nudge her flank. The gun. He shot her again.

Striding back into the Tavern, Alex frowned. Bree was nowhere to be seen. She wouldn’t give even a hint of a shit what Moira—who was still ranting outside to Elle—thought about anything. But he knew that being the center of all that attention would have left Bree feeling awkward and uncomfortable. He wanted to check on her; wanted to be sure she was okay.

Alex stalked over to the bar and slapped his hands on the wooden surface. “Where is she?”

Gerard gave him a wary look. “Break room. Vinnie told her to go have a minute to herself.”

Alex skirted the bar and followed her scent down the hall. But it didn’t lead him to the break room, it led him to the rear exit.

“Where’re you going?” Gerard called out, trailing after him.

Alex shoved open the door, and an array of smells assaulted him—Fox. Drugs. Blood. Pain. Fear.

Red-hot fury slammed into him as he caught sight of a large male—his face and arm both shredded and bleeding heavily—trying to drag a weak but thrashing pallas cat along the ground. Son of a fucking bitch.

Gerard yelled Vinnie’s name at the top of his lungs as he rushed back inside, but Alex barely heard him over the sound of his beast roaring in his head. The animal rushed to the surface, forcing the shift.

The wolverine narrowed his small, piercing eyes at the male who’d dared to touch his cat. The hairs on the beast’s back lifted as he bared his sharp teeth and stuck up his bushy tail. A long, deep, rumbly growl rattled out of him.

The fox shifter dropped the cat. “Oh, shit.” He ran.

The wolverine charged. His large, webbed paws thundered along the ground. The fox was fast, but not fast enough. The beast pounced, crashing into the male’s back, and shoved him to the ground.

With guttural growls sawing at the wolverine’s throat, he savagely attacked his prey, sinking his long, curved claws deep into the male’s back. He sliced through cloth and skin over and over, stomping so hard on the fox’s spine he fractured bones.

Blood oozed from the vicious, deep gashes that crisscrossed the fox’s back. The coppery scent of it rushed into the beast’s lungs. It fueled his fury. Incited and goaded him to attack again and again.

The fox tried to buck him off, but the wolverine’s stocky, muscular build was far too heavy. The male swung his arm backwards, aiming for the animal’s head. The wolverine caught the limb with his powerful jaws and clamped down, crushing bone and tasting blood. The crack mingled with the fox’s scream.

Footsteps pounded along the ground. The wolverine released the broken, mangled arm and snarled at the people approaching. They slowed but didn’t stop. When one of them got too close to the sleeping pallas cat, the wolverine snapped his teeth in warning. The female stumbled to a halt, breathing hard.

“Don’t kill the fox,” said the male at front of the group. His Alpha.

The wolverine only growled.

Vinnie Devereaux eyed his nephew’s beast warily. Not a lot disturbed Vinnie—he was born that way according to his mother—but the sound of a wolverine’s growl? That soul-chilling, hackle-raising, bone-rattling sound that he’d only otherwise heard in werewolf-themed horror movies? Yeah, that would unnerve just about anyone.

Wolverines might look like small, stocky bears when in their animal form, but they were built to kill. Their powerful, steel-trap-like jaws could crunch bone, and their sharp, curved claws were ideal for hooking, shredding, and digging. Moreover, their incredibly tough hide meant they could take a beating and keep on going.

In sum, they were hard to hurt and even harder to kill.

“No, Elle,” he said quietly to his daughter, sensing she wanted to get to Bree’s cat, who was sprawled on the ground, unconscious. He was presuming the tranquilizer gun a few feet away from her was responsible for that. “He’s not going to let anyone near her.”

Elle glared at him. “But—”

“You can hear her heart beating nice and steady. She’s fine.”

“She’s fucking drugged is what she is,” clipped Mateo. “I can smell it. And she’s hurt.”

Blood matted her long, gray coat that was tipped with white—a coat usually so fluffy and pretty with its frosted silvery appearance. “I don’t think all that blood is hers.”

Elle clenched her fists. “Dad, you’ve got to let me get to her.”

“Don’t worry about her; I told Gerard to call Helena,” Vinnie assured his daughter, referring to one of the pride’s healers. “She’ll take care of the cat’s wounds.”

The wolverine’s beady eyes narrowed, flitting from person to person. Blood stained his dark snout, paws, and the cream fur around his face. Most of the wolverine’s dense coat was a dark brown, but there was a single stripe of cream fur on his flanks that also tinted the top of his bushy tail.

Vinnie spared a glance at the whimpering male trapped beneath the animal. His butchered, broken body was quivering with pain and terror. If the blood he was coughing up was anything to go by, he had some internal bleeding. Nope, he wasn’t going to survive those wounds. Vinnie needed to question him fast. But getting the wolverine to release him … no, that wasn’t going to be easy at all.

Mateo took a step toward the pallas cat, and the wolverine roared.

“Step back, Mateo,” Vinnie snapped.

“He has to know I’d never harm her,” said the other male cat.

“All that beast knows right now is that she’s hurt and vulnerable—he won’t want you touching her, and you’d be a damn fool to test him.” Vinnie had met several wolverines in his time, but none so fiercely hardcore as Alex’s beast. It was straight up forty pounds of nightmarish ferocity and unmatched ultra-aggression that no creature with any sense would dare anger.

Seriously, it might be no more than two and a half feet tall, but the wolverine was a killing machine that would fuck you up like a boss, and not much provocation was required. He’d then go on about his day, no more affected by a confrontation than he would be by a droning fly.

But this situation here … this was different. Someone under the beast’s protection had been harmed. He would not be content to walk away and leave the kill to Vinnie; he wasn’t going to allow anyone to finish when he’d started. And while Vinnie had no issue with the wolverine mauling the living shit out of the fox, it was always a little disturbing to watch the animal eat its victims.

“Don’t kill the fox yet,” he told the wolverine, trusting Alex to convey the meaning of the words to his beast. “We need to question him first. We need to know who he is and what he wanted with Bree.”

The beast, well, it threw back its broad head and roared. Yeah, it had received the message. And it apparently didn’t like the thought of releasing its new toy.

The creaking of door hinges reached Vinnie’s ears, and then fast footsteps headed his way.

“Helena is here,” said Luke.

The wolverine’s eyes slammed on the newcomer as she sidled up to Vinnie.

“She’s here to heal Bree,” Vinnie told him, knowing the animal would recognize her as their healer. “You need to let her close, and you need to back off so we can question the fox. Or don’t you want to know if there are more threats to Bree out there?”

The beast stared at him, its gaze unblinking.

“You can guard the cat while Helena heals her, if you want. But not if you’re all the way over there. So, would you prefer to stomp on the fox or watch over Bree’s cat?”

An annoyed chuff escaped its snout and fogged the air. The wolverine’s gaze darted from the cat to the fox and back again. Finally, it slowly stepped off the fox—but not before spitefully raking its claws down his shredded back one last time.

Luke winced. “Ooh, that had to hurt.” The prospect of that seemed to delight him.

Licking its bloody muzzle, the wolverine padded over to the unconscious cat and stood over her like a sentry. He eyed Helena closely as she approached, baring his teeth at her in warning. But he made no move to stop her as she bent over and touched the cat, sending healing energy into her small body.

Tate squatted beside the fox and took a good look at him. “He’s alive, but I doubt he’ll be that way for much longer.”

“Yeah, I see that.” Vinnie crossed to his eldest son. “Flip the fucker over.”

Tate did so, and he wasn’t careful about it. The fox let out a gut-wrenching scream that eventually faded into a pitiful whimper.

Tate pushed his fingers into a deep injury on the fox’s side, earning himself a weak snarl. “That looks real sore. I can make it worse, or you can just answer our questions.”

“What did you want with Bree?” Vinnie asked the fox.

The male looked up at him, his torn-up face creased in blinding agony. But there was a defiant glint in those eyes that said, “I’m dying anyway so do your worst.”

“I can have my healer tend to those wounds. And no, that isn’t a friendly offer. Nor am I saying I’ll allow her to heal you in exchange for information from you. I’m saying that although you may be dying, that’s fixable. I can have you healed and then tortured over and over and over. Oh, don’t look so horrified.”

“You knew what you risked when you decided to come after one of ours,” Luke cut in. “You knew you’d never get out of this situation alive if you were caught. What you probably didn’t know is that Bree is under the direct protection of a wolverine shifter. They’re kind of the lovechild of hell itself, aren’t they?”

The male cast a fearful glance at the beast, who growled at him in return.

Vinnie crouched at the fox’s side. “I don’t have to tell you just how pissed that wolverine is right now. He wants at you again. And trust me when I say that if I let him have you, it won’t be a case of him clamping his jaws around your throat until you suffocate. No, you won’t get a quick death. You’ll endure the beating of a lifetime that won’t stop until he’s bored—which could take a long, long time, because he likes his food to be alive, screaming, and shaking with terror.” Vinnie gave a baffled shrug. “I don’t see the appeal in it myself. But the heart wants what the heart wants, right?”

Tate circled the fox as he said, “The beast won’t just take a chunk out of you here and there. No, he’ll settle in and dine on you. They can eat all day long and never seem to get full. Did you know that wolverines eat skin, bones, and even teeth? They’re all ‘waste not, want not.’ So … care to tell us who you are yet?”

Still tremoring from head to toe, the fox licked his split lip and then winced. “My name is Augustin.”

“Augustin,” echoed Vinnie with a bland smile. “I like that name. I don’t hear it a lot these days. Well, Augustin, what did you want with our Bree?”

“It was just a job,” he replied, his voice shaky. “My boss sent me to take her. I had strict orders not to hurt her, just to retrieve her.”

Vinnie’s jaw hardened. “Retrieve her?” Like she was a damn object. “Just who is your boss, and why did he send you after one of my cats?”

“He doesn’t want her. His client does.”

Standing upright, Vinnie folded his arms. “Explain.”

“I work for a retrieval agency. My boss is a lone shifter. All his employees are loners. People come to him when they need something found or returned to them. We’ve never had anyone ask us to retrieve a person before. I don’t know what the client wants with her.”

“The client’s name?”

Augustin shook his head. “I don’t have it. My boss will.”

“And who is your boss?”

“Giuseppe Marino.”

Vinnie had never heard the name before. He glanced at each of his sons, who both gave a slight shake of the head.

“Giuseppe wasn’t going to take the job,” Augustin quickly added. “He said he didn’t want to risk making an enemy of your pride. But the client offered him forty grand.”

Vinnie whistled. “Forty grand. A price like that can make a man do stupid things, I suppose. You were very helpful, Augustin. Don’t you think so, boys?”

Tate nodded. “I do. I really do.”

“He didn’t even make us pry the info out of him,” said Luke.

Vinnie scraped his hand over his jaw. “I suppose I should reward him with a quick death. He earned it by being so cooperative. But … he’s also responsible for the rake wounds that were all over Bree’s cat.”

Augustin’s eyes widened. “She savaged my face!”

“You shot her with fucking tranqs,” clipped Tate. “What did you think she’d do?”

“She was supposed to pass out instantly! My boss said that two would be enough to take her down! I didn’t expect to have to fight her!”

“Then both you and your boss are dumb,” said Vinnie. “Pallas cats don’t go down easily.”

Augustin tried to rise but was in too much pain. “I didn’t want to hurt her,” he told Vinnie. “It was self-defense. I never would have harmed her if she hadn’t attacked me.”

Vinnie leaned toward him slightly. “And I don’t give a rat’s chubby ass.” He nodded at the wolverine, who’d been watching the fox closely. “The bastard’s all yours.”

Rumbling another of those nightmarish growls, the wolverine stalked toward the fox. Moments later, agonized screams once more echoed through the alley.