Living Extinct (3 page)

Moira ignored the scrapes and cuts on her arms and legs. They’d heal before the mental pain would. She bolted in the direction of the bay. Holding one hand to her chest to keep her torn dress from falling to her knees, she pushed her strength to its limits, sprinting faster than she’d ever bothered to before in human form.

12

Living Extinct

No matter that the sidewalks were full of gawking people, none of them would help her. The humans scattered, their attention and buzzing conversations focused on the massive fire just a few blocks away.

“Get the hell away from me,” she screamed, her heart nearly exploding in her chest when the biker jumped the curb and followed her between the buildings.

The crowded street was a normal scene along the coast. Burning buildings and almost naked women being chased by motorcycles were not. Humans were strange creatures, though. They ignored her, their semi-panic more focused on ensuring that trouble didn’t come their way.

All werewolves avoided humans, and the humans managed to stay clear of them as well. But for once, Moira wished the police would notice this law-breaking renegade and detain him—anything to allow her to escape.

He whipped around in front of her, his bike skidding sideways while rippling muscle bulged against blue jeans. Large boots scraped along the ground, his heels leaving black lines on the pavement. She almost slid into him.

For the first time she took notice of her dark, dangerous predator.

He was dressed all in black with sunglasses too silver for her to see his eyes. She stared at him, frozen like a dumb animal realizing she was about to die.

He was a large man with a thick torso and powerful long, thick legs. Raven black hair fell straight, blown back from his face. Creamy white skin was uncharacteristic of native Malta werewolves, but at the moment she didn’t give a rat’s ass about his heritage.

“You don’t need to run from me, Moira.” His voice was deep and oddly calm considering the chaos surrounding them.

“Like hell I don’t. Forgive me for wanting to live.”

His lips were full, surrounded by a day’s growth of dark stubble against the contrast of his white skin. That straight black hair of his brought out the color. But she noticed the broadness of his cheekbones, the hard contour of his jawline—signs that he was on the verge of the change. There was no way to tell specifically where he was looking with those silver sunglasses blocking her view of his eyes. All she saw was her own damned reflection in those blasted glasses. She fisted her torn dress in her hands, feeling her heart thud furiously against her palms while doing her best to keep herself covered.

“You will live. I’ll see to it. Just quit jumping off my damned bike.”

His expression didn’t change. Not one muscle in his face moved. “You destroy my pack and then expect me not to fight you?” She let go of her dress with one hand and shoved her hair over her shoulder. When she took a step backward, the bike lunged forward toward her.

13

Lorie O’Clare

“There is no fight. The Malta werewolves are extinct as of today.” He looked over her head at the burning buildings, his expression not giving any indication whether he cared or not.

“They aren’t as long as I live,” she argued. “Maybe I’m just a girl, but I’ll fight to keep my pack alive.”

When he looked back at her, the corner of his mouth curved, possibly a warped attempt at a smile. There was no way to smell his emotions with so many distracting scents surrounding her. “You’re hardly just a girl,” he said, his tone turning gravelly.

Heat sparked to life inside her. If he tried to rape her, she’d kill the son of a bitch. It sucked not seeing where he was looking. She’d grab those glasses off his face and toss them to the street if she thought she could get away with it.

“Werewolves like you give our kind a bad name.” She let her gaze travel over his broad shoulders, keeping her expression stern. No way would this asshole catch her admiring ripples and bulges and a body that was harder than rock.

“Like me?” He revved his bike and it jumped closer to her, stopping before he ran into her. “You don’t know a damned thing about me, little bitch. That was your sire’s choice. But you will.”

“I know everything I need to know about you,” she hissed, needing to stay angry so he wouldn’t smell lust as she drooled over the most perfect body she’d ever laid eyes on. “How dare you imply you knew a thing about my sire.”

“Then you know that I care. That I’ve just saved that sexy tail of yours.” He lowered his voice. “And I knew your sire very well.”

Of course he didn’t care. He wasn’t part of her pack. She’d remember a werewolf as large and deadly-looking as this one.

“Liar. Don’t play games with me.” Her heart pounded loud enough she bet he heard it.

A powerful werewolf like him wouldn’t give someone like her—a bitch who was barely grown—the time of day. Let alone call her sexy. First he destroyed her pack then he made fun of her. He was heartless. Sexier than any werewolf she’d ever laid eyes on, and cruel. With every breath he filled her insides, giving her insight to his raw, dominating nature. As much as she wanted to challenge him, accuse him of being shallow for hating packs he didn’t even know, that would get her nowhere. The tension running through him while he glared in the direction of the fire was enough for her to know he wouldn’t hear any argument she had.

“This is no game, little bitch. Bruno and Renee weren’t perfect, although they damn near created perfection with you. Your sire couldn’t stop the other packs from destroying him. But I’ve made a promise and so has your sire. You will get off the island today. You’ll live. I promised Bruno and it will happen.”

She wished to hell he’d get rid of those sunglasses. So much could be told by staring into a werewolf’s eyes. Her mother always said they were the path to a person’s soul.

14

Living Extinct

Her mother…

Moira’s eyes burned. Pain tore her insides apart. Her parents were gone. She’d never see them again. And what the hell was this werewolf saying?

“You came after me so you could kill me just like you did my parents,” she yelled at him, almost raising her fist to attack but her dress slipped down and she grabbed it before her breasts were exposed to him.

“No,” he said simply, quietly, his mouth barely moving.

The spicy smell of anger mixed with another scent, something a bit too sweet, clogged the air between them.

“Don’t lie to me, wolf man. You say my sire made promises. That you made promises. What the hell are you talking about?”

He looked away from her, staring at the fire still burning a couple of blocks away.

He had a strong jawline, straight and fierce-looking. Again, she wondered where he came from. She would have remembered if she’d seen him before. His strong presence, his obvious alpha attitude, was compelling, distracting.

“I’m not lying,” he said without looking her way. “In return for helping your sire, he promised me his most cherished possession.”

“And what’s that?”

“You.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. No way in fucking hell would her sire give her to some stranger. Her mother would never go for it either. She’d heard the story of how her mother fought not to be shackled to a mate she didn’t love. Her parents believed mating was done out of love, not obligation.

“Now I know you’re lying.” She jumped around him, ready this time when he moved his motorcycle closer to her.

She braced herself to run and froze when he spoke in that calm, smooth, deep voice.

“Moira, I’m not lying. Your sire insisted we not meet until after you turned eighteen. But he couldn’t stop the destruction of his pack. He sent me to save you.”

Would her sire have entered into such an arrangement? Why did she want to believe this stranger? Just because he was sexier than any werewolf she’d ever laid eyes on, that was no reason to accept his outrageous claim to her. She fought the urge to touch him again, to feel that raw power that had pressed against her body.

God. She was out of her fucking mind.

Distance. She needed distance.

Taking advantage of the brief moment when he looked past her, Moira darted around him, disturbing a group of human children who stood gawking at them and whispering among themselves. More than likely it wasn’t every day they saw a lady in a torn dress arguing with an oversized brute on a motorcycle. They screamed obscenities at her in Maltese. Ignoring them and the cuts on her feet that shot pain clear up to her thighs, she raced to the bay—to safety—and her freedom.

15

Lorie O’Clare

I live!
Moira refused to look over her shoulder to see if the mysterious werewolf followed.
As long as I do, the werewolves of Malta will never be extinct.

Dante Aldo turned his bike and accelerated. She raced onto the wooden docks that lined the bay, immediately lost amongst the crowd of human fishermen. Satisfaction barely crept through him. Knowing she escaped the fire was enough for now. Bruno had asked him to ensure her safety and he’d done that. The only ships leaving today would take her to Italy. It wouldn’t be hard to track her.

She wouldn’t escape him. Her scent lingered in his senses. Her touch had affected every muscle in his body. Fire burned inside him, the carnal instinct to claim and possess running hard through his system. Catching a glimpse of her when she hurried around the people clogging the docks, he kept her pinned with his gaze. She grabbed hold of one of her pack members. The two of them moved closer to the water.

His cock throbbed to life, demanding he chase after her, possess what was his. He wouldn’t think with that head though. Moira escaped Malta today, her pack officially destroyed. She would need time. And he’d give her that. But he’d watch her. She would never be too far from him. Patience wasn’t always his strong point, but waiting for something as sexy and fucking perfect as Moira would be worth it.

Bruno Tangaree had left his mark on Malta, mastering the elements that so few understood. Dante knew and understood what Bruno had discovered. Every werewolf had the ability to tame the elements. It just took some training. With their experiments, they’d helped willing werewolves learn how to focus their minds, to use the elements so they could be even stronger, more powerful.

Moira had no clue what her sire’s knowledge had done to werewolves. In spite of Bruno’s efforts, his gift had been abused. The talk had spread throughout Europe, and from what he heard, news had reached the United States as well.

Monsters. The Malta pack had turned werewolves into monsters. He’d heard it all.

Turning werewolves into wizards. Bending the elements while they changed, contorting powers that made them invincible killers. Lies and half pieces of information brought the Malta werewolves down.

Applying the brake, Dante let the bike idle for a moment while staring down the coastline. Malta was an overpopulated island with humans hurrying everywhere. Their distracted lives were an advantage to him. He allowed the bike to coast forward and then parked it along the curb, climbing off while satisfied that no one around him gave him more than a passing glance.

He began a slow stroll toward the harbor, the glare of the aqua sea intensified by the setting sun. People brushed against him, focused on where they headed. There were no werewolves on the crowded street, the stale smell of clogged emotions surrounding him typical of humans.

16

Living Extinct

Nearing the harbor, he noted the many boats docked, the majority of them fishing boats. He sniffed the air, knowing there had to be werewolves in the area, and worked to stay focused. So many different smells made it harder to track—but not impossible.

Unclipping his phone from his belt, he pushed the button for the preprogrammed number.

“Where are you?” he asked when the familiar voice came through the line.

“On board. You ready to report the task as complete?” Juan Anthony was hard to hear.

Wherever he was, there were a lot of people talking around him. Dante squinted, his protective sunglasses not helping enough against the glaring sun and the bright water, shimmering as if the light source came from underneath the almost aqua sea.

“I’ve tried saving as many as I could.” Pain bit at his insides over the loss of those who didn’t make it. “I just wasn’t good enough to help them all.”

“Well, you got one. If you’re looking for the girl, I’ve got her in sight.”

Muscles hardened inside him. “Don’t lay a fucking paw on her.”

Juan chuckled, the sound scraping against Dante’s over-alert nerves. Juan might be his brother by birth, but he could be an annoying son of a bitch.

“She’s fucking hot as hell. You ask a lot of a werewolf.”

Dante growled, wanting to wring Juan’s neck. “Try to think with the head on your shoulders for a change. Just keep an eye on her, don’t let her know you’re watching her, and I’ll get hold of you in a couple days.”

Juan might be a horny werewolf but Dante trusted him. Juan respected another werewolf’s property.

17

Lorie O’Clare

God, she was sick of this life, always jumping from one part of the world to another.

The minute she’d landed in Grand Junction, Colorado, she’d smelled the worry and fear.

Another assignment that someone had fucked up. Werewolf Affairs sent her in to play cleanup. The agency had no compassion, no sympathy—just do the job, make everything better and then on to the next mess.

For five years the agency had used her, although she knew that she used them too.

Ever since leaving Malta, running from the only pack, the only home she’d ever known, staying alive was all that mattered.

The gift she possessed made her a hot commodity. A gift from her sire—Bruno Tangaree. All she had left to remind her of him.

Her being more than a werewolf made Global Werewolf Attack and

Reconnaissance—GWAR, an elite section of WA—keep a tight leash on her. And for a while she’d been grateful. Anonymity, never staying in one place too long, was necessary. They’d saved her hide more than once. And she’d bailed them out of more than one embarrassing situation.