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  “Be there in thirty, stall him.” The line went dead and he closed his phone before shoving it into his front pocket.

  He pulled his shirt over his head and turned to the bed. Sam was sitting up, a sheet pulled up over her breasts. Now that was a damn shame.

  “You’re leaving?” she asked.

  He strode the distance between them, cupped the back of her neck and pulled her in for a quick, hard kiss. It wasn’t nearly enough but it would have to do until he could get back. His chest got tight. Leaving her didn’t feel right. Duty dictated he leave, love demanded he stay and watch after her.

  “Were you supposed to work tonight?”

  She shook her head. “Bar’s closed for the next two nights—too risky with the moon and the holiday.”

  He stepped back before he lost his self-control and pulled the sheet from her hand. “Good. Stay here. I’ll get a hold of Jeremiah so you aren’t alone.”

  Her chin lifted in stubborn defiance. Jesus, she was the sexiest woman he’d ever met.

  “I don’t need a babysitter.” A red flush colored her cheeks and she lifted a hand to sweep her bangs off to the side. “I’ll be fine here by myself for a few hours. I promise not to rifle through your drawers. Or closet.”

  He smirked. “Rifle away. I don’t have any secrets and my porn collection is relatively small. Make yourself at home, get something to eat. Take a shower if you want. The mayor is a pain in my ass. If this goes the way I think it’s going to, I’ll be tied up all night.”

  “I’ll be here when you get back.”

  His chest went tight. Fuck it. He grabbed her ponytail and drew her head up until her lips met his. He stroked his tongue into her mouth, his gut tightening with lust at the first wet slide. She moaned, let go of her sheet and buried her hands in his hair. Nails scratched against his scalp and sent tremors of pleasure racing down his spine.

  That was why he’d cuffed her. He captured her wrists and drew her hands away from him. Pinning her hands behind her back, he pulled from the kiss to nip at the bow of her upper lip.

  “You touch me and I lose all reason.”

  She nodded and pulled away. Her gaze met his. “I’m not waiting up for you.”

  He grinned and pocketed the key. “Didn’t ask you to. You’ll get the idea I’m home when you wake up with my fingers in your pussy and my mouth on your clit.”

  Heat darkened her eyes. “You’re an ass.”

  His smile spread even wider. “Love you too, babe. Sleep tight,” he said as he strode for the door with an extra bounce in his step. In less than twenty-four hours, he’d really make her his.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sam woke to the featherlight caress of something trailing up her thigh. Warmth tingled across her skin and she moaned at the soft sensation.

  Trent.

  She’d eaten, taken a shower, looked through his closet and found no secrets except he had a serious lack of dress clothes. After watching TV for a few hours, she’d crawled into his bed and fallen asleep surrounded by his scent.

  “Umm…I missed you. What took you so long?” she murmured, her voice husky with sleep.

  She opened her lids and sucked in a breath. Menacing green eyes stared back at her. Holy shit, not Trent. Dean gave her a cruel smile full with the promise of pain.

  “Happy birthday, Sam.”

  Her scream was as automatic as breath. She scrambled back on the bed only to have a hard, hot hand clamp down over her mouth, cutting off the majority of her air supply. Dean moved on top of her, pinning her to the bed.

  His weight anchored her to the mattress, made it hard to breathe through the mounting panic. With her mouth covered, she drew in sharp, quick breaths through her nose. The scents of sex, leather, blood and liquor poured off him and made her sick to her stomach.

  “Be a good girl,” he purred and pulled out a long, sharp knife from the back of his pants.

  He twisted the blade back and forth in front of her face as if making sure she saw it. How could she miss the jagged, wicked-looking serrated teeth? Stars danced in front of her eyes from lack of oxygen and she stopped struggling against him. He moved his hand, uncovering her mouth.

  She sucked in a breath that tasted foul, like the hand he’d held over her mouth. He pressed the blade against her throat. Every time she swallowed, the edge dug into flesh.

  “You’re not going to scream again, are you? Not that there is anyone around to hear you, sweet setup your cock-sucker boyfriend has here.”

  Shaking her head up and down, or moving it back and forth, would have resulted in injury so she did nothing except stare up at him with cold fear and mounting anger.

  He ran his gaze down her naked body and the lust filling his eyes had her skin breaking out in a cold sweat. She’d gone to bed naked, anticipating Trent, not some crazed asshole.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked.

  “Aside from wishing you a very happy birthday…” He cupped her breast, pinching the flesh and drawing a cry of pain from her lips.

  The knife at her throat dug in as if daring her to move or scream.

  “You’ve got three seconds to get off me,” she hissed, concentrating on anything other than the way it felt to have his slimy hands on her. He’d switched to kneading the other breast.

  “Or what?” He leaned forward and drew his tongue up the side of her face, licking her from chin to the corner of her eye. “You haven’t opened your present yet. Me and the boys played with her a bit beforehand, but she didn’t mind.”

  She? Oh God. Brenda.

  Sam shuddered and clenched her teeth. She searched for the place inside of herself that housed her magic. Dean rubbed against her thigh, his cock obscenely hard and filling her with horror. Would he try to rape her? The ramifications sank in. If she wasn’t a virgin she would never be able to access her powers, never be able to bond with Trent.

  In the absence of magic, she drew on bullshit. “I’m a witch, asshole. You don’t want to mess with me.”

  Manic laughter bubbled from his slightly cracked lips and he moved off her.

  “Right. Nice try that. I know all about you and your little ritual. Took awhile to work her over, but Brenda can be quite chatty after a good long fuck.” He looked down the length of her body, pausing at the space between her thighs. “I hear you’re a virgin. Your boy, he took out my pack, killed my brother. So we’re going to take something away from him. We’ll bind you to one of us, use your magic to draw him out. Then maybe we’ll make him watch as we fuck you and slit your throat under the full moon.”

  Cold dread paralyzed her. This was so much worse that she could have ever imagined.

  “That’s right, sweetheart. I know all about your Samhain ritual, told my boys about it. We’re going to have some fun, make a game out of it. We’ll fight to see who gets to fuck you first, then we’ll take turns. Brenda will be there, she took on the pack like a pro, spreading her creamy thighs and squealing the entire time. Fuck, gets me hard just thinking about it.”

  “Stop screwing around, Dean. She’s gotta stay a virgin until sunset,” a man said from the doorway, authority rang clear in his voice.

  Dressed in studded leather, like the guys from the bar the other night, he looked into the room with a disapproving glare. Dean withered under the stare and gave her a good idea of his pack status.

  The man leaned his broad shoulder against the door jam and crossed meaty arms over his chest. His black leather jacket creaked. “Got word the boyfriend’s heading back this way. We gotta get things set up.”

  Trent.

  “I wasn’t gonna fuck her,” Dean said with a pout and moved off the bed. “Just get a little taste of the goods. She smells sweet.”

  The guy in the doorway passed his gaze over her and licked his lips. “I’m Alpha now, anyone gets to sample the goods before the fight, it’s going to be me.” He grabbed his crotch and pulled away from the wall. He stepped into the room and unzipped his pants.

  Vomit
rose in her throat.

  “Why don’t you get your sexy ass over here and give me a taste? I bet you give great head.”

  Sam scrambled back on the bed and looked wildly around the room for anything she could use as a weapon. Her gaze landed on a set of keys on the nightstand. She shot her arm out and swiped the metal before springing out of bed. Dean caught her by the back of her neck before she even managed to two steps.

  He tightened his grip and threw her to the floor hard enough for her head to hit the ground. Stars danced behind her lids.

  “Stupid bitch,” he spat.

  “Got to admire her spunk,” the alpha said and crouched in front of her.

  He gripped her chin and drew her face up so she had no choice but to look at him. The more she struggled against his hold, the harder he held her.

  “Make no mistake, princess, you’ll be sucking my cock before the end of the night. If you’re good, I’ll go easy on you when I fuck your ass. Now get up before I lose my temper.”

  Sam bit her lower lip to keep from screaming out what she really felt. Maybe if she could stall, she could buy Trent time.

  “Where’s Brenda?” she asked.

  “The redheaded slut?”

  She clenched her jaw.

  A slow, creepy smile crossed over his face. “The pack needed something to tide them over. We plan on leaving her here for your boyfriend, a nice little preview of what we’re going to do to you. That cock-sucker needs a lesson. No one fucks with the Rippers, especially not no pussy.”

  Horror filled her at the thought of what Brenda must have gone through. Why hadn’t she gone to her dad’s? The pack…as in multiple…

  “Don’t look so stricken, beautiful.” He stroked the side of her face. “She enjoyed it. My boys rode her rough and she screamed and begged the entire time.”

  She curled her fingers in a tight fist. At the moment, she’d give anything to harness the ability to knock this asshole to the ground and kick him in the balls. “No one enjoys being raped, you asshole.”

  His hand was a blur. Pain exploded against her face and her head was knocked to the side from the force of his blow. The taste of rusted copper filled her mouth and she swallowed back her cry of pain.

  He grabbed the pendant around her neck and twisted the chain in his hand until the metal dug into the back of her neck. “Watch your mouth.”

  She drew her head up and remained silent. Dean grabbed her arm and lifted her to her feet. Her necklace snapped in the alpha’s hand and he carelessly threw it to the ground. Dean captured her wrists and drew them behind her before wrapping some kind of scratchy rope around them.

  The alpha turned and left, the wolf insignia in the full moon on the back of his jacket mocking her. Dean followed him and dragged her, toes scraping the hard floor, with him.

  “Don’t I get clothes?” she asked.

  Dean laughed and nuzzled her neck. He slapped her ass, the sharp sting sending bolts of fear down her legs. “For what, beautiful? I’m enjoying the show.”

  He led her through Trent’s house and outside. She blinked at the sun, high in the sky and realized she’d slept the night and most of the day away waiting for Trent. Where was he? She wished she had use of her hands to shelter the bright rays. Two big men got out of a red pickup at the alpha’s nod.

  “Come on now, let my boys do their job. Don’t need you distracting them.” To them, he said, “I want her in the bedroom, tied to the bed. Do whatever you want with her before you slit her throat.”

  Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She sucked in a breath and struggled against Dean’s hold. One of the men reached into the truck, ready to carry out their orders.

  “No!” she screamed.

  Dean wrenched her arms up and pain shot through her shoulders. He drew her forward and pressed his lips against her ear. “Settle the fuck down or I’ll shove my knife up your twat.”

  One step at a time, Dean dragged her along with him, her feet scraping on the gravel drive. Sobs shook her body. Her screams echoed. They veered from the gravel drive and tracked through the high grass in the direction of the woods. How much had Brenda been forced to tell them? The ground was cold and damp under her feet, making her calves ache. Her teeth chattered and she did her best to keep herself in the now, not to picture what had happened to Brenda. Not to imagine what her future held.

  In the distance, at the edge of the tree line, spirits floated above the ground, peeking in and around tall willowing trees. If only they could save her. In a few hours when Samhain began, maybe they might be able to.

  The moment they crossed into the dense pocket of woods, the grass gave way to prickling branches and dried leaves. In the distance, the steady rushing of the stream that fed the lake surrounding Trent’s house drew her attention. It was the same creek she and Brenda had grown up playing in with ’Miah. She’d been twelve when Jeremiah had kissed her there on a dare while Trent, much older, had taken his girlfriend back to the house to fool around. It was the same place, at fifteen, that she’d broken her ankle chasing ’Miah. When she took a step toward it, Dean growled and kept her trudging through the woods. Magic pulsed in the air, heavy and thick. Sam drew strength from it, gathered as much as she could and prayed she’d make it through the night.

  * * * * *

  Trent didn’t think his night, and the subsequent day, could get any worse. His eyes stung from lack of sleep and his jaw ached from the fist he’d taken to the face. By the time he’d gotten to the mayor’s last night, word had spread like a wildfire. He’d not only had to deal with the man’s anger and grief, but the outrage from the community.

  Trent had let one of the assholes get away and was doing shit to find him.

  One crappy situation had blended into another as the hours drifted and the sun rose, dawning a new day. In the end, he’d arrested four shifters, broken up three brawls, found a lost puppy—not in his job description—and babysat a weretiger who approached his first full moon.

  All he’d wanted to do was get back to Sam. He’d called her a few times and got no answer. Maybe she hadn’t packed her cell. Or maybe she was doing whatever it was she needed to do to get ready for the ritual. So he’d fought the burning need to see her the second he’d gotten into town and stopped to get her some flowers.

  He’d actually bought a woman flowers.

  His SUV bumped over the gravel drive leading to his house before he pulled to a stop and killed the engine. The sun was starting to set behind the tree line and in its wake, red, streaking lines drifted across the sky in an ominous warning. He grabbed the bouquet of wildflowers, his grip slick with sweat, and stepped out onto the gravel.

  The wind blew through the forest, bringing with it the gut-churning scent of fear and blood. Wolf. The place reeked. He tracked his gaze from the dark thicket of trees to the still waters of the lake before glancing at the front of his house. The door was ajar. His skin went cold and a tight knot of dread filled him.

  The flowers he’d spent twenty minutes picking out fell from his hand, crushed under his boots when he ran for his front door. His house, no longer welcoming, reeked of blood, sex and wolf.

  His chest went tight.

  “Sam!” he bellowed.

  He ran through the living room, hall, then hit his shoulder on the door jam when he pushed into his room. He stopped in his tracks. It wasn’t Sam. Rage and sorrow built in his gut until it exploded from his lungs in a ragged feline roar. Fury had him pushing forward, walking over Sam’s broken necklace and kneeling next to the bloodstained bed.

  Brenda—naked, bruised and splattered in semen—was tied spread-eagle to his bed. Blood from the wide-open wound at her neck had dried to her skin. Her green eyes were open and sightless, her mouth slack. Written on the wall in blood was a simple message.

  You fucked with the wrong pack. Come get your girl.

  “Jesus fuck.”

  Police training was the only thing keeping him from touching Brenda’s pale skin, the need
inside to comfort her broken soul almost unbearable. He backed out of the room, careful not to touch anything until he found out how the sherriff wanted him to proceed.

  Evidence was helpful for human criminals, but Trent’s nose didn’t lie. He knew who’d done this and when he found them, he’d put a bullet between their eyes no matter what the rules were. Technically if the assholes were in human form, he’d have to take them in. With the full moon in a few hours, he didn’t think he’d find them walking on two legs. Shifters were his domain and he’d failed Brenda. He should have personally escorted her home.

  He hadn’t and now he had a call to make, one that hurt.

  Out in the hall, he paused and pressed his clammy forehead to the wall. Vomit curled his stomach and he tried not to think about what his sweet, innocent Sam might be suffering. As a human, she wouldn’t be able to survive the things Brenda had most likely gone through. The skin around his nails ached and he curled them into his palms to help push back the instinct to shift forms.

  His mate, his woman, needed him.

  Phone in hand, he set about making a few calls—the sherriff to send out a crew and his brother, who didn’t pick up. Last thing he did was phone Brenda’s father, the local pack master.

  Hayden picked up on the fourth ring.

  “We got trouble,” Trent said in a low, even tone.

  A whiskey deep voice responded, “Those Nevada boys still giving you grief? Heard my daughter got mixed up with one of ’em. You send her my way, let me deal with her.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked everywhere except in the direction of his bedroom where Hayden’s daughter had been raped and murdered. “Hayden, I’ve got some bad news.”

  Silence.

  “Brenda.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s dead, Hayden. I’m sorry. I truly am. I’ve got the sherriff coming by to collect the evidence they need.”

  Hayden’s voice was rough with an uncurling growl Trent felt through the line. “Who did it?”

  “The Nevada boys.” His voice cracked. “They’ve got Sam.”