InsistentHunger

Insistent Hunger

Lyn Gala

Paige has a small life in a small
town, and that’s fine with her. She’s happy with her chickens, her job as a
police officer and her questionable home-improvement skills. However, when her
rookie partner shows up on her doorstep one night, everything changes. He’s
panicked, bloody,
dead
—and still begging for help. And Paige is feeling
an unfamiliar desire, a primal need for her partner that leaves her shaken and
out of control.

Brady’s dark good looks have
attracted the attention of a monster, but that doesn’t mean he has to
become
a monster. Instincts might whisper about dark thoughts, but he’s trusted Paige
with his life on the streets, and he’ll trust her now. If trusting her means
learning to ignore his growing hunger for the woman and a visceral need to be
in her bed, so be it.

Chapter One

Paige woke. Her heart pounded and a vague sense of dread clung
to those first foggy moments between sleep and waking. She fumbled to get her
bedside lamp turned on low, and a bottle of lotion and two books tumbled to the
ground before she could find the switch. Yellow light spilled into the room and
everything was still in its place. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that
something was wrong.

With one hand, she grabbed her robe off the ground, and with
the other, she slid the drawer of her nightstand open and worked the lock on
her gun safe. The November nights were a little chilly and her cold fingers
stumbled on the lock. Only once she had her weapon in hand did she pad out
toward the living room.

Maybe the neighborhood cat was raiding her chicken coop
again, but usually when that happened, she could hear the terrible cries of the
chickens and the howl of the cat as some injured bird landed a particularly
hard peck on a vulnerable spot. Chickens weren’t as helpless as most people
thought. However, silence filled the house. Moving slowly, she crept down the
hall and used a toe to open the doors to the two spare bedrooms, clearing each
before turning her back on it.

She felt like an idiot, treating her own house like a crime
scene, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of danger that had settled in her
gut. She always told Brady to trust his instincts when going into any situation
and she wasn’t going to ignore her own advice. On the other hand, she wasn’t
ready to call for backup, not when she was probably just remembering the tail
end of some nightmare.

Easing around the corner, she studied her living room. A
shadow made her suck in her breath for the two seconds it took her to realize
she’d forgotten to put the vacuum cleaner away. Other than that, the room was
normal enough. A stack of books next to the couch waited for her to put them
away. Bills were lined up on the coffee table and a box of tile that should be
in the bathroom sat in front of the blue chair with the worn arms. Normal.

When Paige reached the kitchen, she finally admitted to
herself that she’d imagined whatever danger had pulled her out of bed. She and
Brady had pulled a nasty case—working door to door to try to help detectives
identify any potential victims of a serial rapist who was targeting illegal
immigrants. It had them both on edge. Part of her growing unease was the way
the victims didn’t follow the rulebook. Oxbow didn’t see much rape, but these
victims clung to Brady in a way that made Paige wonder if she’d missed some
important memo about how victims usually acted.

The women who survived, and not all of them did, wanted
Brady—someone tall and handsome and strong. Most times, the rape victims shied
away from the male cops, but either Brady was putting out some “trust me” vibes
or these were not normal victims because they were gravitating to Brady. Paige
knew she was the better cop. She could have made detective years ago if she’d
wanted, but the case was just weird.

Maybe the women gravitated to Brady because he wasn’t short
and middle-aged and plain. He looked like the sort of person who would play a
lead in some movie where he would solve the case and beat the killer in some
hand-to-hand combat by the end of the two hours.

She set her weapon on the counter and reached for a glass.
The light from the refrigerator made her squint as she pulled the milk out.

Two more days and she could take the weekend off. If she was
having nightmares, even ones she couldn’t remember, she really needed the time
to wander around the house in a nightgown and watch the chickens with their
strange little hierarchies and ceremonies. She’d gotten two silkies to keep her
three egg-layers company and she was thinking that she might have to create a
new house and separate the two species. Her silkies were definitely not good at
sticking up for themselves and she didn’t want them getting killed. But for
now, she had a long day to get through.

The clock on the stove said it was almost four a.m., so she
had an hour or so before she had to get up. She drank her milk and put the
glass in the dishwasher, pushing the door to it shut with a hip. Then she
picked up her weapon and headed back toward her bedroom.

In the entry, something made her stop. The feeling of
disquiet got so great that she turned on the light. A few days’ worth of junk
mail sat on the entry table and several pairs of shoes were underneath. She
whirled as she heard a scratching at the door. Her eyes went to the doorknob,
but it didn’t move as the scratching got louder. Paige’s breath came a little
faster.

It was probably an injured dog. Oxbow was a quiet little bedroom
town, so there weren’t a lot of other possibilities. Even though she considered
just going back to bed, she flipped on the outside light. If a dog was hurt,
she could call a friend over in animal control or, if she recognized it, just
take it home. If a neighbor’s dog was going to wake her up at this time of the
morning, the least she could do was return the favor.

Flipping on the outside light, she unlocked the main door.
Her gut still churned, and she kept her weapon next to her leg as she swung the
door open. A shadow huddled in the corner, flinching from the light, and it
took Paige a second to realize she was looking at the hunch of someone’s
shoulders as they hid their face.

“What do you want?” Paige asked sharply. A battered face
streaked with blood looked up at her.

“Silver?” he asked in a tremulous voice.

“Brady!” She fumbled at the lock on the security door, her
weapon hitting the metal frame as she struggled to get it open. “Brady, what
the hell happened?” If he’d been in a bar fight, she was going to kick his ass
and write him up—right after she made sure he hadn’t broken any bones. He
looked like hell with blood staining his shirt and ripped pants and something
that looked like mud caking his left arm. “Brady?” she called when he didn’t answer.
He looked at her with the blank stare of a man seriously drunk—or in shock. The
lock finally yielded. “Answer me right now or I’ll call 9-1-1.”

That shook him out of his stupor. “No!” He reached out for
her with panic in his eyes. “Don’t call anyone.”

“Fuck, what have you been doing?” Paige asked as she knelt
down next to him, her eyes scanning the dark street for any trouble.

“I…they—” He stopped and she reached down to get a hand
under his elbow. Step one—get him somewhere secure. Step two—get some damn
backup out here. Someone had done a real number on him. His light brown eyes
were bloodshot and one was swollen nearly shut.

He leaned in, and for a second, she thought he was going to
faint on her and she debated leaving him to go call 9-1-1. However, before she
could make any decision, fire tore through her arm. “Shit!” Paige shoved at his
head, but he had suddenly rediscovered his strength. He didn’t budge and she
was pretty sure he had bit her. “Let go or I will write your ass up after I
kick it, you fucking drunk,” she snarled. Her fingers were getting numb and she
hit Brady right under the jaw, going for maximum pain and minimum damage.

With a little cry, he fell back against the side of her
house, his mouth red with her blood. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—oh
god.” He covered his face as her blood dripped down his forearms. Paige curled
and uncurled her hand, cringing when she saw the human teeth marks deep in her
flesh.

“What the hell are you on? Shit, Brady, you fucking bit me.”
She was getting angry now. He couldn’t be all that hurt, but she suspected he
was that stoned.

“I didn’t mean…” He stopped, his breath coming in little
gasps that should have led to hyperventilation, and his bloodshot eyes were a
vivid map of angry veins.

“Get your ass in here,” Paige ordered. She stepped back to
let him in, but she kept her distance as he slunk into the house. “Seriously,
you are going to have to explain this to the paramedics, and unless your
explanation includes kidnapping and involuntary drugging, you just flushed your
career down the toilet,” she warned.

She’d worked with a lot of trainees and she knew that some
made mistakes, but this…this was beyond a simple screw-up. Damn it. Up until
this point, she really thought Brady was turning out to be a damn good cop.

“It does,” Brady said softly as he pressed himself into the
corner with her entryway table. His six-foot frame suddenly looked small as he
tried to press himself into the wall.

“It does what?”

“It does include kidnapping. It does. I’d never—” He stopped
and stared at her bleeding arm.

“What?” Paige’s stomach lurched as she realized what Brady
was telling her. Ignoring the injury, she reached over to lock the security
door. “You were kidnapped?” she asked, not sure she had heard right. It was too
early in the morning for shocks like this. Brady nodded his head, his face
twisting in pain.

Shit shitshitshitshit. Paige took a deep breath and tried to
get herself into the right mindset to deal with work…to deal with a victim. If
he was telling the truth, then Brady was a victim, not just a drunk coworker
who’d gotten her out of bed at four in the morning. “Okay, let’s just call the
sergeant,” she said as she moved toward the living room.

“No!” He darted in front of her, the panic back in his face.
“No, you can’t… They won’t believe me.”

“Brady, think about it. We’re cops. We always look at the
evidence. If someone hurt you, there will be forensic evidence of that. We need
to get someone over here to collect it.” Paige tried to be as reasonable and calm
as possible because Brady had clearly left logic behind at some point. Then
again, most kidnapping victims did.

“Evidence.” He breathed the word like a prayer and reached
down to rub his wrists. Moving slowly, Paige reached for a lamp and switched it
on. He flinched back toward the shadow, but he didn’t move fast enough to hide
the vivid ligature marks on his wrists. He’d been tied—tightly. Fuck.

Paige could feel a cold fury run through her. She was going
to find the bastard who did this to Brady and gut him. Brady might be taller
and physically stronger, but he was also her responsibility—her trainee. First,
she had to calm Brady down and get help.

“That’s right. We need to collect evidence. That means we
need to get a bus over here and let the station know that you were attacked.”
She also needed to have a paramedic look at her arm because Brady had bitten
deep enough that the wound was throbbing.

“Evidence,” he said again.

“Evidence,” she agreed as she moved toward the phone. She’d
covered half the distance before he darted forward and caught her left hand.
Instinct made her jerk back, but he held her firmly despite his injuries. In
fact, his fingers dug into her wrist.

“Brady, stop,” she said firmly. He frowned as if confused,
but he slowly let her go.

“You have to check the evidence.”

Brady wasn’t making any sense. “That’s why we have to call
someone.”

“No, not someone. You have to check the evidence. I…I don’t
trust myself.”

“No offense, Brady, but right now you shouldn’t trust
yourself,” Paige pointed out. Whatever they’d dosed him with, it was definitely
screwing with his sense of reality. It hurt to see Brady so confused—usually he
was the first to jump into something with all the confidence and enthusiasm of
a puppy. Of course, Paige never would have said that to his face because the
male ego was a delicate thing, but from day one he’d approached every task with
a good-natured passion that had made her smile. And now he was a trembling
shadow of himself.

“I know. I need you to tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Paige’s hand was starting to sweat and her
weapon felt slick, but she didn’t have her holster and she wasn’t comfortable
putting it down. If Brady grabbed her gun, he could do a whole lot of damage.
However, she didn’t want to lock the weapon up because someone had hurt Brady
and she wasn’t sure how far they’d go to cover that up. Attacking a cop was
going to bring the whole state law enforcement community down on their heads
and they had to know that.

“You have to feel this. You have to tell me.” He reached for
her again, but this time he did so slowly. She watched, suspicious, but willing
to give him a little leeway.

“If you bite me again, I’m putting a knee in your crotch. I
mean, I’ll feel bad about it, but you’re not getting another shot at me,” Paige
warned him.

“I won’t. I promise. No biting.” He sounded so sincere that
Paige didn’t argue as he brought her hand up to his neck. He pressed her
fingers into his pulse point and then stood there with his hand cupped over
hers, holding it in place. They stood there, Paige waiting for something to
happen. Brady looked steady on his feet now, but his eyes were still vivid red
and his shirt showed streaks of dirt and rips that suggested he’d fought like
hell.

Paige tried hard to not think about Brady tied down,
fighting while someone shot him up with some drugs that had scrambled his
brains. “Brady, what am I supposed to tell you?” Paige finally asked. His skin
was cool enough that Paige was scared he was going into shock. She didn’t even
know how far he’d had to run, wounded and drugged up.

“What do you feel?” Brady looked at her with unvarnished
desperation.

“What are you talking about? Come on. Give me a hint.”

“A heartbeat. Feel for a heartbeat.”

Paige opened her mouth to reassure Brady that the drugs were
just messing with his mind, but then the reality hit her. She stood, her hand
pressed to a perfectly still, cool neck, and she realized what Brady was trying
to tell her. Her mouth hung open and she stared into Brady’s reddened eyes, his
pale skin with her blood streaked across his chin from having bit her.

Shifting her fingers, she pressed deeper in search of some
sort of life signs. Brady stared at her, his body unnaturally still as she
moved her hand down to his wrist. It was stupid. If she couldn’t find a pulse
in his neck, she wasn’t going to find one in his arm, but she dug her fingers
into the soft flesh inside his wrist in search of some sort of sign. Brady was
still motionless, and she realized he wasn’t breathing.