Dark Wolf Rising Page 12

  “Figuring out what we’re going to do about the idiot assholes running things at that club,” Jeremy supplied, his gruff tone making it clear what he thought of the situation. He sounded as ready to kick ass as Eric felt, but this wasn’t a situation they were going to be able to charge right into.

  “Jeremy’s right,” he said. “But first, we need to know exactly what we’re dealing with.” Pushing away from the counter, Eric hooked the empty chair in front of him with his foot and joined those who were sitting around the kitchen table. “We need to find out why they have all those human girls working there, and what the hell they’re doing with the drug they used on Chelsea. We also need to find out if the Youngblood pack has finally washed their hands of the Donovans. That might explain their partnership with the Whiteclaw.”

  “Either that,” Wyatt offered, his dark eyes hard with worry, “or they’re looking to beef up their numbers because they plan on making a move against us. The whole goddamn region knows we’re ripe for the picking.”

  “Shit,” Brody muttered, pulling a hand down his scarred face. “We could have handled the Whiteclaw or the Donovans on their own, but they’re going to be a pain in the ass together. We should have seen this coming.”

  Mason shook his head, a disgusted look on his face. “We’ve been so focused on keeping the pack together, we’ve lost sight of what’s happening around us. We’ve been worried about the troublemakers who wander onto our land, when it’s the ones controlling things beyond our borders that we need to be focusing on. The ones plotting in the background. It could turn out to be a mistake that ends up costing us.”

  “It’s more than likely already costing those girls at that club,” Eric said grimly, finishing off his beer with a final swallow. “We need to know what’s going on down there. And to find out what’s happened to Chelsea’s sister. Whoever the girl is with, it’s someone who has a connection to that place.”

  “Wyatt and I can get a surveillance group on the club,” Carla said, “but it would help if we could get to someone on the inside of the operation. Is there anyone we can talk to from either the Whiteclaw or the Donovan family who might give us some answers?”

  Sayre Murphy’s soft voice floated in from the hallway. “You could ask Sophia Dawson.”

  Jeremy sighed as he shot a chastising look toward the empty archway. “Sayre, what have I told you about eavesdropping on Bloodrunner business?”

  A second later, his sister-in-law came into view, an impish grin on her face. At eighteen, she still looked more like a girl than a woman, though it was clear she was going to be a stunner, with those blue-gray eyes and all that curly, strawberry-blond hair. Eric pitied the poor boys up in Shadow Peak who would no doubt lose their hearts to the waifish girl.

  “I didn’t mean to overhear,” she explained, “but Torrance said I could use the computer in the office, and your voices just drifted in. If you didn’t want to be heard, you shouldn’t have been talking so loud.”

  Looking as if she was fighting back a smile, Jillian said, “Sayre, what did you mean about Sophia?”

  Pushing her hands in her pockets, the girl propped her shoulder against the archway. “She was dating this guy from the Whiteclaw pack last summer. His name is Brandon something or other.”

  “What happened?” Cian asked, and from the corner of his eye Eric could see that the Runner was watching Sayre like a hawk about to go in for the kill.

  Sayre’s grin faded as she shifted her gaze over to the Irishman. “She broke things off because he started giving her the creeps. Got too serious on her.”

  “She got commitment issues?” Cian murmured, locking his hands behind his dark head as he regarded her with a hard, steely stare.

  With a shrug, she said, “I can’t say, Hennessey. You’d know more about that than I would.”

  Cian scowled. “I’ve never laid a finger on Sophia Dawson.”

  Sayre gave an exaggerated gasp. “Wow. You mean there’s actually a woman in this state over the age of eighteen who you haven’t nailed? I’m shocked. But I was referring to your own commitment issues. I figure it takes one to know one.”

  The kitchen went unusually silent, everyone seeming a little stunned by the strange interchange between the womanizing Runner and Sayre. Finally, Mason cleared his throat and said, “What does everyone think of Sayre’s suggestion?”

  In Eric’s opinion, the idea had potential. If Sophia went to see Brandon in Hawkley, the Whiteclaw pack’s hometown, she might even be able to get close to Perry, if that’s where the girl had been taken. Sophia and Perry were close in age, and lived similar lifestyles from the sound of things, despite the fact that one was human and the other a Lycan. They might meet up by chance in the town, or even be introduced, depending on how willing Brandon was to cooperate.

  They all weighed in with their opinions, the consensus seeming to be that so long as Sophia didn’t do anything to put herself in danger, their best bet of getting some quick intel was to send her to Hawkley to question this Brandon guy.

  “Okay,” Sayre said. “I’ll call Sophia and ask her if she can come down to the Alley in the morning. Just watch out for Max. He’s going to be pissed if she agrees.” Max Doucet was Brody’s nineteen-year-old brother-in-law. He was also a human who had been changed to Lycan by a rogue wolf, and a soon-to-be Runner in training.

  “They’re not dating now, are they?” Michaela asked, looking concerned. Considering the fact that Sophia had a reputation for being a party girl who often got involved with the wrong crowd, Eric didn’t blame her. He knew exactly what it felt like to be protective of a sibling. Especially one who had known their share of grief.

  “Not yet,” Sayre replied. “But it hasn’t been for lack of trying. Max likes her. A lot.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Eric rubbed one hand against the edge of his jaw. “I think I should pay the Whiteclaw a visit, as well. Explain what I was doing at the club.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Jeremy asked, lifting his brows. “And what explanation will you give them for the dead guy you left behind?”

  Eric rolled his shoulder. “I’ll just make it clear that I had unfinished business with the human and he got in the way.”

  “I gotta hand it to you, Drake. You are one ballsy son of a bitch,” Wyatt murmured, slapping him on the back as he headed toward the refrigerator for another beer.

  “I also think we should have Monroe run a trace on Perry Smart’s number.” Monroe was a Fed whose sister was married to a male from the pack and a good friend of the Runners. “I doubt it’ll turn anything up, since they’re probably expecting it, but it can’t hurt to try.”

  “If you get me the number,” Mason said, “I’ll call Monroe.”

  Eric gave him a nod. “I just have to get it from Chelsea.”

  “Good. And now that we’re done with that for the moment...” Cian drawled, lowering his arms as he leaned forward and braced his elbows on the table. He settled his dark gaze on Eric. “Let’s get back to the juicy topic of the day.”

  “Yeah? And what would that be?”

  “You, boyo.”

  With a tired sigh, Eric scrubbed his hands down his face, wishing the Runner would leave him the hell alone. “You can cut down on all the drama, Hennessey. Chelsea Smart is not my mate.”

  The Irishman lifted his brows. “You sure about that?”

  Wyatt snorted. “I think he’d be able to tell if she was.”

  “Would he?”

  Wyatt rolled his eyes. “From what I’ve been told. Didn’t your mama ever teach you about scent recognition?”

  “That’s how it works for the rest of us, yeah. But who knows with a dark wolf? Those feckers are weird. I mean, just look at the one we have right here.”

  Eric responded by flipping the Runner off, which had all of them laughing.

 
“Ah, Drake,” Cian murmured, balancing his chair on its back legs again as he tipped his beer at him and grinned. “This is gonna be so much fun to watch.”

  Chapter Eight

  After a long, scalding shower to soothe her sore muscles, Chelsea had snuggled up on the queen-size bed in the guestroom and crashed. She didn’t know how long she’d slept, but it was dark outside when she finally pulled herself out of bed.

  As she made her way back to the bathroom to brush her teeth, she was still a little stunned by how beautiful Eric’s home was. When he’d told her about the Alley, she’d imagined wilderness living, but the cabin was fully modernized, with gleaming hardwood floors and a rugged décor that looked like something out of a Pottery Barn catalogue. And the techno gadgets she’d seen when she passed by his office were all upscale and current. She still wasn’t quite sure what he and his friends did for a living, but whatever it was, they sure as hell weren’t hurting for money.

  With her brush in hand, working out the tangles in her hair, Chelsea made her way from the bathroom, down the hallway, and found three women sitting on the sofas in the living room. They all moved to their feet as she entered the room, making it clear they’d been waiting for her. A petite redhead with big green eyes introduced herself as Torrance, explaining that she lived there in the Alley with her husband, Mason, who was a friend of Eric’s. The beautiful blonde was named Jillian, and Chelsea thought the name sounded familiar. With a warm smile, Jillian told her that she was married to Jeremy and they lived in the cabin nearest to Eric’s. The last woman was a stunning brunette who was married to a guy named Brody, and the couple also had a cabin there in the Alley.

  “It’s nice to meet you all,” Chelsea said, feeling a little stunned. They were so beautiful they made her feel like a frumpy schoolmarm.

  Torrance perched on the arm of the nearest sofa. “Eric tells us you’re a professor.”

  “That’s right,” she replied, thinking, Oh, God. I really am a schoolmarm! “I teach Women’s Studies at the university in Smythe.”

  “Wow,” the one who’d introduced herself as Michaela remarked with a friendly smile. “That sounds so interesting.”

  “It is. Though I have a feeling it’s not nearly as interesting as things around here,” she murmured, getting the uncomfortable feeling that these women had been sent to the cabin for a reason—and not just to make friendly chitchat.

  “Yeah,” Jillian drawled, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “This place is something else. In fact—” she gave Chelsea a sheepish grin “—that’s actually what we’re here to talk about.”

  “Oh?” Chelsea felt a sickly smile settle on her lips, wondering what in God’s name they were about to tell her. Was this one of those freaky love communes? A religious cult? Some kind of underground militant movement ready to take over the world?

  “Let’s get some coffee on first,” Torrance said, no doubt sensing Chelsea’s panic. “I think we’re going to need it.”

  Michaela gave a smoky laugh. “It might take something stronger, Torry.”

  “A bottle of wine, then?” Torrance asked, heading for the kitchen area that was all decked out in terracotta stone and stainless-steel appliances.

  “I think we left a nice red here the other day,” Jillian said. “Just grab that and I’ll get the glasses.”

  When they were all settled back in the living room, wine in hand, Torrance, who was sitting with Michaela on the opposite sofa, started the conversation. “First of all, how are you doing?”

  Chelsea took a deep breath, trying not to be nervous, and said, “Pretty well, considering the circumstances. Eric’s not exactly the easiest person to get along with, but I owe him for saving my life last night.”

  Jillian, who was sitting beside her, gently patted her knee. “Be patient with him, Chelsea. He’s had a hard time of it lately. So if he comes off a bit rough at times, don’t hold it against him.”

  She wanted to ask for details, but held back, since it felt wrong to be doing it behind his back. But once she found out what the big secret was, she knew there was a possibility that her opinion might change. If something weird was going on here, she was going to want to know everything that she could.

  Setting her wineglass on the low coffee table, Torrance leaned forward, resting her crossed arms on her knees, and carefully said, “Chelsea, it’s important that you know we’re all here for you, and we all want to see your sister make it out of this safely. But to do that, there’s something we need to talk about.”

  “All right,” she whispered, wetting her lips, painfully aware of her pulse coming faster...and faster, roaring like the engine of a train that just kept gaining in speed, shooting down the tracks with no concern for either her safety or her sanity.

  Please, God, don’t let it be anything weird. Or scary. Or creepy...

  Torrance took a deep breath, then quietly said, “I know this is going to seem like a strange question, but what do you know about Lycans?”

  She blinked, not certain she understood. “You mean like in the Underworld movies? The werewolves?”

  A soft smile touched the corner of the redhead’s mouth. “Yes. That’s one interpretation.”

  Chelsea wet her lips again, surprised to find that they felt a little numb. No matter how nice these women were, she had a really bad feeling about where this was going. “I know that they’re not real.”

  “Actually, they are.”

  Another slow blink, her chest aching as her heart began to pound to a hard, jarring rhythm. “Excuse me?”

  “Eric and the others,” Torrance told her. “They’re Lycans, Chelsea.”

  She quickly shifted her gaze to Michaela and Jillian, hoping to see a grinning face so that she’d know this was just some kind of stupid joke—but they were both watching her with expressions of worry and determination. If she asked, they would both tell her that the words Torrance had just uttered were totally and completely true.

  Ohmyfreakinggod...

  Panic had her throat feeling tight, as if strong hands were wrapped around it, squeezing her air off. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she gasped, panting, unable to control the violent tremor that was shooting through her arms and legs. “This...this isn’t a joke, is it?”

  She would have loved to think these women were just delusional, but then wouldn’t Eric have warned her? And she couldn’t quite get the feeling out of her head that she’d seen something at the club when Eric had been fighting the guy with the blond hair. An inhuman flash of fangs? And then there was the way Eric’s gray eyes sometimes seemed to glow with an unnatural light. She’d been telling herself that she must have just imagined those things—but that no longer seemed the case.

  “I’m sorry, Chelsea,” Jillian murmured, gently rubbing her back, as if she were a child who needed comfort. “I know it seems scary, but it’s going to be all right. From everything that Eric has told us about you, we know that you’re strong enough to handle this. There aren’t many who know the secret, so we’re placing a tremendous amount of trust in you by revealing the truth. Just take a deep breath and try to calm down, okay?”

  She could feel herself nodding, and while her thoughts continued to churn in a dizzying swirl of confusion, she listened as the women explained about the Silvercrest Lycan pack that lived up on the top of the mountain, in the town called Shadow Peak. Then they explained about the Lycans they believed were involved at the club, and finally about the five men and one woman who lived there in the Alley. About how they were half human, half Lycan hunters whose job it was to protect the secret of their race from the human world, as well as to hunt down any wolves who turned rogue and became a threat to their human neighbors. They even told her why the Runners lived separately from the pack, explaining about the social divide that had always existed between those who were “pure-bloods” an
d the half-breed Runners.

  “And Eric,” she said, her voice tight with strain, “he’s one of the full-blooded Lycans? A pure-blood?”

  “That’s right,” Jillian told her, refilling Chelsea’s glass.

  She took a deep swallow of the wine, needing it to warm her insides, while trying to wrap her head around everything they’d said. “But he’s friends with the Runners? He stays here in the Alley?”

  Jillian nodded. “Unlike a lot of the Lycans in Shadow Peak, Eric’s never bought into all their elitist nonsense. He really is a good guy, Chelse. If he wasn’t, I promise I’d tell you.” A grin touched the corner of Jillian’s lips. “After all, we women need to stick together, right?”

  She downed the rest of her wine, set the glass back on the table and exhaled in an audible rush. “Okay,” she breathed out, bracing her elbows on her knees and dropping her face into her hands, “just let me think for a minute.”

  “Take all the time you need,” Torrance told her. “We’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready to talk.”

  Chelsea listened as they walked away, still struggling to stay calm, and hoping she could find a rational way to accept and deal with this new strange, mind-boggling reality she’d been presented with. More than anything, she knew she couldn’t afford to get hysterical, though the idea was certainly tempting. But if this was the world that Perry had gotten her stupid little ass mixed up in, then she was going to need Eric and his friends’ help. She couldn’t handle something like this on her own. It was too unfamiliar—too unknown. She was out of her depth, and she knew it. So she had to slip over the customary freak-out period she normally would have allowed herself, and face reality like a big girl.

  She might cry herself to sleep tonight out of sheer emotional exhaustion, but damn it, she wouldn’t fall apart before then.