Changed: 2 (Wolf's Den) (8 page)

“People saw us?” Rachel paled. He was afraid she was
humiliated by their physical display when she cleared the matter up. “What if
they saw me hit her?” she asked, obviously petrified. “Will they call the
supernatural police? Does that really exist?” Her lower lip trembled. “Will I
go to jail? Oh shit. Is there jail for werewolves?”

“Sunshine,” he murmured, stroking her arm with his thumb,
wanting to kiss her instead, “we don’t have jails or police. Not like yours.
And even if we did you don’t have to worry about that. News will spread but not
in the way you might think.”

“News will spread?” Her eyes sought his, the fear he thought
he’d put a dent in returning. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean is everyone will know I’ve got a hellcat on my
hands. They’ll want to see you for themselves.” That was why he needed to
change his schedule for a little while longer. Rachel needed more time. If he
hurried to work and got his planner it wouldn’t take long to rearrange
appointments. Planting a fast kiss on her slightly parted lips, he added, “Now
get in your seat. We need to stop by the shop before we go to get your things.”

Rachel sighed, settling in her seat. “The Wolf’s Den?”

“Yeah.” He started the vehicle and glanced at her. “Why?”

“It’s where everything started. I guess I thought I’d never
go back.”

“You know what they say, don’t you, sunshine?”

“Humans or werewolves?

“Both.”

She frowned at him and he said, “Never say never, baby.”

Shane settled into the booth he’d been guided to and studied
the rogue werewolf across from him. The male looked like shit, his eyes
bloodshot, breath reeking of whiskey. Shane had gotten word that a snitch was
willing to talk about the attack on Jackson’s pack for the right price. If
there was one benefit in coming to town as a rogue it was having access to
insider information. All it had taken was a phone call to churn the wheels,
bringing him face-to-face with a male who probably wouldn’t live to see another
day.

“Thanks for meeting me.” Shane initiated the conversation,
ready to get the ball rolling. “I was told you might have information I need.”

The loner laughed, giving his head a shake. “I’m not so sure
about that.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t look like someone I need to get involved with.”

Now that was
very
true. “Can you help me or not?

“For the right price? Sure I can help you.”

No way would he pay the fucker. That went against his grain.

But his companion didn’t need to know that just yet.

“Then talk,” he ordered, letting his beast peer out through
his eyes.

As a born Alpha he had the power to influence wolves. It was
a birthright he’d walked away from. The act had eaten at his soul like acid but
he’d had no choice. His mate had called to him and he’d followed, trying to
find her despite the darkness that always kept her from view. They’d shared
dreams but each one was a black void, revealing nothing but her soft voice as
she called out to him, drawing him in. Once there she trapped him with
sensation, forcing him to use all his senses, only to vanish into thin air.

At first that seemed fine. Dreamsharing was tricky business.

But then she hadn’t sought him out.

The last few months he’d felt her need rising. If she hadn’t
hit her first mating heat she would soon. Which was why knew
something
prevented
her from seeking him out. In his torment the wolf had started sharing its
thoughts and view on things. The animal figured if she couldn’t come to them
then they’d go to her. He’d shaken off the idea until weeks had passed. Unable
to stay but devastated to leave, he’d said goodbye to his pack.

A hot stab of pain pierced his chest.

Handing the reins over to another Alpha had broken something
inside him. He still wasn’t certain he was entirely over it. Thankfully the
wolf had risen to hold him, taking away his pack urges as it guided him where
it felt he needed to be. As a result he’d landed in Atrum Hill. He couldn’t
identify the connection, unable to sense his mate, but his wolf told him they
had gone far enough.

So he’d put down roots, joining Jackson Donovan’s pack.

Yet his mate still remained out of his reach.

He’d visited the packs, gone on hunts, hoped for a glimpse
or sliver of scent of the woman who belonged to him. But he hadn’t found her.
He wasn’t sure why he was surprised. Maybe he was delusional but he’d always
trusted his wolf. The beast knew this was where he was supposed to stay, no
matter how long it took.

What if it’s wrong? What if there’s nothing here but an
empty existence?

“I ain’t saying shit until I see my reward,” the male retorted.
“You got the money?”

He lifted his gaze, staring at the male who’d addressed him.
The rogue smirked, amused and unthreatened by Shane’s command. It wasn’t any
wonder. Shane’s wolf was sidetracked, thinking only of
her
. His nerves
weren’t as good as they used to be, his patience unusually thin.

They couldn’t function like this.

How could he command respect if he didn’t fucking respect
himself?

Focus, damn it.

Thrusting aside thoughts of the female he yearned for, he
let months of frustration course through him, providing it with an easy outlet.
He didn’t hold back, letting his animalistic nature in on the high. The wolf
responded, equally angry and frustrated. He snarled, baring his teeth. The
rogue paled, the smug smile wiped off his face.

“How about you start talking before you ask about green?”
Shane kept his lips back, his teeth in full view. “That’s right. I’m just
itching for a fight. Provoke me again and you won’t like what happens. I’ll use
your ass to wipe up the bar. Give me a reason to jack you up.”

“I’m just passing through. I’m not trying to make enemies.”
The male swiped one of his filthy hands through his tousled hair, cowed and
submissive. “And my information is secondhand.”

Funny he didn’t mention that before
. “Then say what
you came to say.”

“Were you really a loner? You don’t look like a rogue.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“But you joined a pack.”

“I’ve recently found my female,” he replied, lying just a
teensy bit. The rogue was suspicious. He needed to find common ground. “That changes
things.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the informant confessed sheepishly. “Not
being mated and all.”

A waitress walked over, moving with a grace that only
vampires possessed. She crossed the distance in the blink of an eye and stopped
beside them. “What can I get you?”

“A shot of house whiskey,” Shane replied, keeping his gaze
on the rogue.

In a flash the server was gone. Totally expected considering
her nature. The Divide was the perfect place to meet all things supernatural.
The staff didn’t stop to chat. Therefore there were never unnecessary
questions. Just the way werewolves and blood drinkers liked it. Since it was
midday the joint wasn’t hopping. That would change once the sun dipped below
the horizon. After dark patrons would jam the bar and crowd the small dance
floor.

“I’d start talking if I were you,” he pushed, voice low.
“Time’s almost up.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t.” That was the truth but he decided to bend
it to suit his needs. “But remember who arranged this meeting. I wasn’t the one
offering up answers for money, and I wouldn’t have heard about the gossip if I
didn’t have a strong connection with loners around these parts. You offered me
a service, not the other way around.”

“True.”

Shane nodded, staring at the male. “So tell me why I’m
here.”

“Word has it a female sent someone after your women.” The
way he said it made Shane’s hackles rise, like he knew far more but wasn’t
sharing unless he had to. The fucker thought he was clever. “She found a loner
and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

That was interesting. “What kind of offer?”

“What kind do you think?” The rogue snorted, his roughly
shadowed face contorting into a façade of self-loathing. “Reckless we might be
but we don’t have a death wish. It just takes the right amount of convincing. A
little bit of comfort, you might say.”

Make that
very
interesting. “She fucked him?”

The male nodded. “Rumor has it.”

Pack bitches would never lower themselves to rogue’s level.
No matter how great the temptation. He’d been told so as a boy and learned it
firsthand after he’d left his pack. Not that it mattered. On a mission to find
his mate, he didn’t want anyone else. But he’d seen the way females had looked
at him when he’d arrived at Atrum Hill. They appreciated his appearance but they
weren’t likely to touch. Only two women were desperate enough to consider such
a thing and—surprise, surprise—they both wanted Chloe Bryant dead.

“Do you have a description?”

The rogue paused, shifting back as the waitress returned
with a shot of whiskey in the center of a tray. Shane pulled out a wad of
money, letting the rogue get a good look. Then he pulled a large bill loose and
exchanged the money for the drink.

“Keep the change.”

The woman left and Shane slid the money into his jacket. The
rogue’s eyes followed each motion of his hand and then his gaze dropped to the
liquor. The drunken male was practically begging for another taste of rotgut.
Pack wolves weren’t known for heavy drinking. Loners, on the other hand,
descended into absolute destruction. It was a part of their nature.

“A description,” Shane goaded the male, keeping his fingers
at the base of the glass.

“Tall and curvy. Good and clean. Dressed nice.”

“Hmm.” That wasn’t nearly enough information. Lots of women
fit that description. Rotating the container between his fingers, Shane asked,
“Anything else?”

“Brunette. Long legs.” The man studied Shane’s fingers,
licking his lips. “Real pretty.”

“Is that all?” He knew it wasn’t. The male was holding back.

“I didn’t see her, remember?” The rogue’s dark black eyes
bore into Shane’s, something a lesser wolf wouldn’t do to an Alpha male unless
it was reckless or totally insane. “Are you going to drink that?”

“Maybe,” he drawled, staring the moronic werewolf down.
“Maybe not.”

“She was muscular and trim. Built well enough to be
full-blooded were.”

“Gyms and steroids have advanced the human race.”

“My friend said she liked to throw money around. He thought
she had plenty to spare.”

“Your friend?” Shane questioned, still holding the idiot
werewolf’s gaze.

“More of an acquaintance,” the male quickly amended, looking
away. “A braggart really.”

Bullshit.
Loners didn’t brag to wolves they felt were
weaker than them.

“You expect me to believe someone told you he fucked a bitch
who wanted members of my pack dead? That seems like something a man should keep
to himself if he wants to keep his head on his shoulders. Loners avoid wolves
for a reason.”

“Unless they’re blowing through town.”

“Like you?”

“Just like me.” The mongrel nodded.

“So what have you got to hide?” He pushed harder, needing to
know. “Would your
acquaintance
be the same male who attacked the females
in our pack? Seems to me that’s where this conversation is headed.”

He saw the panic flare in the rogue’s eyes, noting how
quickly the male lowered his head. The lack of response sealed the rogue’s
fate. As soon as their meeting was over Shane would escort the poor bastard to
a bunker used to do things humans couldn’t know about—mostly involving torture
and eventual death. The rogue deserved no less. Secondhand information was one
thing. This fucker had known a male was going to attack female members of a
pack yet he’d done nothing to prevent it.

“Are you hard of hearing? Do I need to repeat the
questions?”

The male balled the hand he’d rested on the table into a
fist, lips sealed.

No answers. Not that Shane had expected any…yet.

That’s a bingo.

“It’s cool. I understand. Like I said, I have questions and
you have answers. That’s why I came. Here, this is yours.” Shane passed the
drink over and glanced around for the waitress. What he had in mind would call
for a bottle of triple-strength whiskey—the kind werewolves needed to get good
and buzzed. She returned, waiting for instruction. “The hardest whiskey you’ve
got. Four glasses, double shots.”

In another town the order might have raised eyebrows. One
double shot of the hard shit could put a werewolf on his ass. But this wasn’t
another town. This was Atrum Hill, nestled in an area where humans refused to
roam. Packs existed in the open, uncaring if humans knew where they were. They
didn’t like hiding their nature, pretending they still existed in the shadows.
There was a good reason mortals avoided the area. Once they came here they’d be
lucky if they made it out alive.

“Whatever you say,” the waitress responded dismissively.

She vanished and Shane reached into his jacket for the money
he’d flashed at the rogue. He pulled it out slowly, making sure he made a show
of it. “No troubles here, I just need you to work with me. Why don’t we start
with your friend’s name?”

The rogue still wasn’t convinced, shaking his head. “I don’t
know.”

“What’ve you got to lose?” Shane asked. “With this,” he
thumbed his finger over the bills, “you can split and we never have to see each
other again. We don’t want you. We’re only after the person responsible for the
attack. If the pack wanted you dead they wouldn’t have sent me. I’m too new.
Think about it for a second.”

After several seconds the grungy werewolf replied, “I don’t
know much. I really don’t. My information is secondhand.”

You’ve already said that and I call bullshit.

“Then tell me what you can and answer a few questions. Then
you can take this,” he tossed the bills onto table and the metal clip holding
the money in place rapped against the table, “and go about your business.”

The money called to the loner, Shane knew it did. If there
was one thing rogue wolves lusted after more than booze and sex it was cold,
hard cash. He’d offered the incentive, tempting the male to jump the fence into
luscious green pastures.

“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

Touché
. “How do I know you’ll keep yours?”

“Good question.” The mongrel studied the cash in front of
him. What he couldn’t know—and never would—was Shane had piled the center with
small bills so the amount was far less than it seemed. “You’re not going to
give me time to think about it, are you?”

“No, I’m not.” Shane reclined in his seat. “You want to help
me out or you don’t.”

“All you want me to do is tell you what I know, right?”

Not really.
“I need you to answer questions as well.”

“That’s it?”

Two words—a question that wanted more reassurance than an
honest answer—and Shane knew he had the bastard. The promise of alcohol was
nice but the allure of money was even better. He’d known it was only a matter
of time. Given enough rope, a lone wolf would always hang itself. Since there
wasn’t anyone around to look after them, they usually dangled and rotted to
death.