Half-Breed Read online

  The leader is responsible for the welfare of his pack in all aspects of life, including health. So if someone had an accident, the pack looked to him for help. Unless the Alpha found other means, he was their healer. That worked out fine after Dane got the Club up and running, assuming you were okay with his training methods. Anyway, he stopped his experimenting after several years into his werewolf life and took up another hobby: sociology. Go figure.

  * * * *

  "What happened to the ... uh...” Something happened to me to get these injuries. Bits and pieces came back in ways that didn't make sense. “Who ... or rather, someone..."

  "Dane said you might have a concussion,” Scott said. “He found some blood in your hair and thought it belonged to the rogue. But he felt around and found a knot the size of an egg on the back of your skull."

  "What did the hotel people say?” That wasn't the question I wanted to ask, but I forgot the more important one because this one slipped into place.

  Scott started rubbing my bare arm, warming it up for me. “We told them someone broke into you room while you were away. Which wasn't far from the truth. Since they didn't take anything, we didn't bother pressing charges. The staff gave us their apologies and took the room off the bill. They even offered you an upgrade, but we declined it."

  "But the body ... and the blood."

  "Taken care of. The turned over furniture we left because we knew the hotel would want to report the incident to their insurance company, if not the police. It's bad business if you can't keep your hotel guests safe. Anyway, since we didn't make a big deal about it, neither did they. The room's not perfect, but you'd have to look pretty hard to know what to look for."

  "Rogues.” I tried pulling the question out of my head. “Something ... How many? Any more?"

  He shook his head. “Every scent inside the den has been accounted for. Some of us went out last night to take care of the hides after we finished cleaning up your room."

  Bolting upright didn't come easy, but at least my good arm managed to support me. “Last night? What day is it? What time?"

  "It's around nine in the morning."

  "Nine?!” The covers felt like they weighed a ton, but I peeled them back and threw my feet over the edge of the mattress. More pain thundered through my head. “That means I missed at least two phone calls from Matt. Shit.” The cold room air held me in place. I took a few gulps, praying the room would stop swaying.

  "Where do you think you're going?” Dane appeared in the doorway. He marched inside the room and eased me back under the covers. “You're staying right there. You can't even stand on your own two feet, let alone go anywhere."

  "I need to call Matt. He'll worry if he isn't already.” I didn't have time for this. I tried pushing passed Dane again, but his strength was too much. “You don't understand. He already thinks I'm crazy because of this stupid hunt looming over my head. The last thing I need to do is give him proof."

  Dane sighed. “How about I bring you your cell phone? Tell him something came up and that you'll be here for a few extra days. By then, you'll be as good as new."

  Flabbergasted, my mouth opened twice, but the only thing that came out was air. I couldn't believe how easy he made that sound and how hard it was in reality. He has no idea what I've been going through. I wanted to choke the last strands of oxygen out of him. Taking a moment, I gathered my thoughts ... but more flabbergasted air exhaled instead.

  Fisk waltzed into the room, smiling at me. “We ordered some breakfast, Angel. Hope you're up to it, seeing as you missed dinner last night."

  Dropping my head, I closed my eyes. How could everyone be so nonchalant? No wonder I had been so reluctant about coming back to the Club. I had a dozen and half reasons for staying gone. The one about being surrounded by lunatics?—the proof was staring me in the face. I could only handle my own insanity, not the entire Club's.

  "I'm not hungry, I need my phone, and more important"—I glanced at my body—"where are my clothes?” That last part came out by mistake when it dawned on me that I was sitting in panties and a makeshift tube top.

  Dane pulled the comforter up to my waist. “After you've had something to eat, I'll bring you the phone. I promise."

  That was his style, able to find loopholes in the simplest of requests. It was a miracle he didn't drive me crazy years ago.

  One of the guys brought me a plate filled with pancakes, sausage, eggs, toast, a fruit bowl, and hash browns. It didn't take a genius to know that a human piled everything on. When I finished less than a third of it, Dane brought me prescription painkillers from his stash before allowing me to use the phone. I took my medicine like a good little girl and made my call to Matt. He didn't pick up, so I left a voice mail.

  The effects of the Demerol began faster than I thought they would. I fought a losing battle trying to wait for Matt's phone call. As fate would have it, my phone rang loud enough to give me a slight boost in my motor skills. I looked at the illuminated green screen that had Matt's name and number etched in dark green letters on it.

  "Where the hell have you been?” he asked. “Do you have any idea how many times I called you last night? Some idiot at the front desk said you moved to a different room with some friends, but he didn't know where.” He kept ranting and raving about something, his interjected shouts and curses bobbing me out of my sleepiness. I yawned a few times, but he obviously didn't care because he wanted himself above anything else. “Do you know how close I am to coming up there?"

  I almost missed that. Shaking my head, I slurred, “Where are you?"

  "I'm home."

  Damn if I wasn't wide awake after that.

  Chapter 20

  I fell asleep sometime after talking to Matt. My mind was racing, but those damn pills dragged me under the sandman's castle. I woke up early evening, unable to recall some of the details of our phone conversation. However, the one about him being home registered loud and clear. Had it not been for the prescription painkillers dulling my motor skills and senses, I would have left the moment my eyes cracked open.

  Graham assured me that he took the contract off Matt's head, though neither he or Dane promised to stay out of my life. My uncle spent a good part of the day apologizing for bringing me into this under false pretenses. I know he didn't mean for me to get hurt, but it never would have happened had he not played games with my husband's life. For that, I couldn't forgive him.

  Against my better judgment, I stayed until the following morning. Dane didn't like the idea of me leaving before my wound healed enough for him to remove the stitches, but he understood when I told him that my husband would come after me if I didn't. Thank goodness he had that much insight. But before leaving, I looked him in the eye and promised him that we'd talk about the Club. He didn't say whether he knew what I meant. He simply nodded his head and kissed me on the cheek.

  The only good thing that arose from this was Riley admitting his wrong and apologizing for the incident back at the rogue den. Who was he kidding? When our paths crossed again, he'd try a different provocative move. I suggested he seek psychiatric counseling from Scott.

  The drive back to Atlanta gave me more than enough time to think. I thought about calling Matt and telling him I was on my way, but it was too soon to talk to him and I had no answers for the questions he'd most likely ask.

  As for the Hunting Club, the werewolves were staying the next couple of days to help Decker get back on his feet. They claimed that they didn't have a problem if I stayed, too—like they needed another invalid on their hands. Graham gave me an open invitation to stay at his Charleston home and heal up before going back. Not! The guys came up with excuses that range from my training session going into overtime to me visiting family. Those excuses might have worked, but I wanted to see my husband. Not run away from him. Most important, I wanted normalcy again.

  Lives changed at a moment's notice and no one was promised an unscathed return. Pulaski and Decker were proof of that.

&n
bsp; I pulled into the driveway half expecting Matt to burst out of the house and gather me up in his arms. That didn't happen. The Mirage was gone and he didn't leave a note.

  Pain burrowed into my shoulder ever since I took the sling off before leaving North Carolina. After a few stabs of agony and pulling more stitches than it was worth, I abandoned trying to look natural. I'd have a chance to play it off later.

  One by one, I unpacked the bags from the Land Rover and put everything back in the house where it belonged. By the time I finished, the pain had expanded to my upper back, neck, and shoulders. Working through the aches, I washed my clothes—again—including the ones I wore. After wiping down my suitcase with disinfectant, I scrubbed my sneakers, hiking boots, and all my gear. With all the wilderness signs erased from my person, I dragged my tired, sweaty carcass upstairs and into a hot bubble bath.

  Laying my head against the rim of the soaking tub, I found myself with more thinking time on my hands. Though we had suffered a loss, which was not all that abnormal considering our line of work, we came out on top. We had stopped the rogue pack with Decker and me still able to walk away on our own two feet. Well ... at least I walked away eventually. Dane couldn't have asked for better results, considering our eight month lull. Psychologically we were still on the mend, but we needed a good trip out to prove that we still had what it took to be on top of our game.

  But Pulaski...

  Sure we needed some work and fine-tuning to bring us back on top. But taking into account our enemy, we could train and learn every skill out there and we'd still have to face reality. We weren't invulnerable. Though I hated myself for admitting it ... perhaps our friends needed to die to prove that point.

  Once again, tears blistered the bottom rims of my eyelids. However, when the tears slipped down my cheeks, I let them fall. I hadn't allowed myself to cry as much as I should have. This time I did.

  When my bath ended, I took out our first-aid bag and cleaned my wounds before bandaging them back up. I thought about fashioning a sling, but the longer I could pretend like everything was okay, the better. I found some of my own prescription painkillers from when I had oral surgery more than a year ago. Unlike most werewolves, I had risked going to the dentist and walked out needing root extraction surgery. It'll be another eight years before I'll ever go back. After downing one of the pills, I dressed in sweats and stayed in bed the rest of the day.

  My hand touched his side of the bed, smoothing across the comforter. His wonderful dimples would appear and his smile would entice me for a kiss. Our noses would rub together, before our lips would touch. He'd pull me into his warm body, making sure he covered every inch of mine. I couldn't wait to see Matt sleeping beside me tonight.

  * * * *

  My eyelids heaved open. The comforter covered part of me and a cool breeze brushed the edges of a partially buttoned shirt that replaced my sweat shirt.

  A strange man stood by our dresser with his back to me. What the heck was he doing in my room? Anger flared inside me.

  Quietly I sat up, threw back the blankets, and eased to the side of my bed. The cold air perked goose bumps along my bare legs.

  Where did my pants go? I'd worry about rape later. Right now, I needed a weapon.

  Taking one of the pillows off the bed, I crept across the floor, keeping the interloper's back in my sight. This intruder would learn a one hell of a lesson about sneaking into someone's house and having his way with one of the inhabitants. Though I wouldn't call a pair of jeans and wrinkled shirt burglar fashion. Still, he had no right desecrating our home by making himself comfy.

  Staring at the back of his head, I clamped the pillow over his face in a smothering hold. He let out a muffled scream and began clawing at the pillow. Using all my strength, I shoved him against the dresser, rocking it on the legs and rattling the pictures on top. Yanking him around, I slammed him onto the floor. Finishing the job had crossed my mind, but my shoulder screamed in so much pain that I took off out of the bedroom.

  My feet went part way down the stairs before I hopped over the banister and jetted to the hall closet. I yanked my crossbow kit off the shelf and unzipped the bag.

  I couldn't think of anything other than protecting myself and our property. If Matt came home and found some maniac inside, he could've put a bullet through my husband's head. That guy had to be a leftover bounty hunter who never got the message that my husband was off limits.

  Hands gripped my shoulders from behind just as I mounted an arrow into the carriage. My elbow slammed into a set of ribs. I spun, and wound up with the tip of my arrow about an inch away from a pair of green eyes.

  "Can we talk about this?” Stephan said, shaken. He held one hand up in surrender while the other braced his ribs.

  My heart skipped leaps and bounds. Stunned, I stood there in silence, feeling like a fool and trembling from head to toe. What the hell was wrong with me? I could have killed one of our best friends. My God, he must think my dear, sweet Matthieu married a madwoman.

  I lowered the crossbow and pulled him into my arms so fast that when he stumbled into my injured shoulder, I hardly winced from the pain.

  "I'm so sorry,” I whispered, fighting back a fresh set of unshed tears. “I am sooooo sorry."

  Stephan's hands went around my waist. “It's okay,” he whispered.

  That did it. The sobbing started and I couldn't stop.

  Warm, tender hands touched the tops of mine. I pulled away from Stephan and found Matt half smiling at me.

  My heart fell so hard that I could hear it thump on the floor. A lump clogged up my throat, keeping any heartfelt words at bay as more tears drenched my eyes. I left Stephan's arms and went straight to my husband's. I hardly noticed it when he lifted the crossbow out of my hand and handed it to Stephan. My body was too busy reveling in his delicious scent and the feverish warmth of this chest and arms.

  How could I be so stupid? What did the Hunting Club do to me? I was a supernatural Soldier of Fortune. Not some blubbering housewife who cried on a moment's notice. Then again, I nearly killed our best friend and thwarted who knew what kind of reckoning from the Georgia Pack. If this was God's way of slowly driving me crazy, then He had succeeded. All the lies, the Hunting Club, my secrets, none of that mattered compared to the man in my arms.

  "Honey,” Matt murmured, still holding me and petting my hair, “what's gotten into you?"

  "I'm sorry,” I cried, keeping my voice low. “Sorry for everything."

  "What's everything?"

  Feeling his body again meant the world to me. I kept my face buried against his heated chest, doing my best to block out our surroundings.

  Then the sounds of footsteps tapped into the corridor. I could sense the presence of more wolves converging around us.

  Matt's large hands rubbed up and down my back, soothing my trembling body to calmness. He wanted to protect me from all the evils outside our doors, but he never expected me, of all people, to bring evil into our home. I didn't deserve him. How he got stuck with me, I couldn't say.

  "I take it that thump upstairs was Bryce,” Matt chuckled, his chest bouncing against my face. “Someone should go check on him before he swears us off from house calls."

  Snickers riddled the hallway. I half-smiled too. The pressing bodies shuffled across the hardwood floor as several people mumbled their relief. A hand touched the back of my head, petting it, then a kiss and a soft cheek resting along the side. Aiyana's scent crept inside my nostrils even with my entire face buried in Matt's shirt. Oh man, did I miss this!

  Matt dipped his lips to my forehead and kissed me. “Would you rather we do this in public or private?"

  "Private.” I knew what was coming, but that didn't make it any easier. The question was, did I prepare any answers? Obviously not.

  He nodded, half-smiling at me.

  I couldn't recall how we made it to the guest room upstairs, but somehow we did. Matt closed the door behind us and I sat on the queen size bed.

&
nbsp; Peering around the room gave me time to gather my thoughts while recalling how much I loved this room in its simplicity. All the linens were white against a lavender wall and cherry wood furniture. Several vibrantly colored pictures adorned the wall, brightening the room without being tacky.

  Puffing up the white comforter, Matt sat next to me, one leg bent into him and the other dangling over the side. He reached his hand to my face, the back of his fingers caressing my cheek. “What really happened in North Carolina? You sounded drunk the last time we spoke. You don't even like the smell of alcohol, let alone drink it."

  I dropped my eyes and replied, “There was a family emergency up there."

  I extended my arms behind me and leaned back. Lightening bolt pain jolted me back into a sitting position. So much for acting natural.

  "Don't bother trying to hide it, Lex. I smelled the injury while tracking your scent to the bedroom. Why do you think Bryce is here?"

  "You called him.” A statement, not a question.

  "No. I called Stephan first and asked for their doctor's phone number. Bryce said you had a deep puncture wound in the middle of all that bruising. Like someone stabbed you first, then beat the shit out of you.” Though his half smile remained in place, something else slid behind his eyes. It was as though his anger poked around, looking for a weakness in my defenses. “Is that how you handle family emergencies when you don't have family up there?"

  Shit. Yeah, he knew I was hiding something all right. Matt sat back, probably waiting before jumping on me about my fantastical excursion. If he called anyone in my family, then he knew from the get-go that I was lying.

  "Did you talk to Genevieve or my parents?” I asked.

  He met me eyes. “You've got this all wrong. I'm the one who's asking the questions. You attack a person in our house and nearly killed another. Do you want to tell me what's going on or do I have to keep asking until you've made a deathbed for us?"