Living Extinct (9 page)

The salty smell of her nerves dissipated. She let out a slow breath, calming her still rapidly beating heart.

“We need to discuss the code zero that was just canceled.” More than likely his mouth barely moved when he spoke because he’d grown too accustomed to showing no emotion.

Rose nodded. She followed him so far.

“The bitch, Moira Tangaree, isn’t dead. We know her abduction occurred while on a recent mission. Our job is to find her. The order to delete her file was false and we’re still trying to track where it came from.”

The other werewolf stood behind her. Regardless that the three of them were in a sealed office, neither werewolf offered any smells that would allow her to detect their emotions. That bothered her. Werewolves with no feelings, no scent to pick up, couldn’t be trusted. After all her years with WA, she’d think she’d be accustomed to it. Instead, it was one of a growing list of things that annoyed her about this agency.

She frowned, not completely understanding. “Okay,” she said slowly.

“The bitch whose file you were about to delete isn’t dead,” he repeated, “but she is missing. Let’s say she’s been compromised. Tell me what your normal procedure would be under such circumstances.”

If he was testing her, she wasn’t amused. No way would this werewolf have reached the level he was at without knowing procedure for a compromised agent.

“Their file is pulled and put in hibernation until further orders come through.”

44

Living Extinct

“Good.” For a brief second, the gray werewolf looked past her at the younger werewolf standing behind her.

She heard no movement, smelled nothing. She didn’t like this.

“You’ll follow that procedure,” he instructed. “With one exception. You’ll pull her file, but you won’t put it in hibernation. Do you understand?”

She didn’t understand any of this. “Sure,” she said, sounding confident.

The two werewolves left the WA branch shortly after that. Walking across the small parking lot toward their government-issue car, the gray werewolf, Steve Muller, stared briefly at the mountain range ahead of him.

“Where do you think he took her?” he asked without looking at his partner.

Jeff Brim hadn’t been with WA more than ten years. He had a good track record though, and Steve trusted him. The werewolf came from a good den. Hardworking, dedicated and efficient. This wasn’t an assignment where any of those traits mattered though. In a case like this one, unique and too damned sensitive, tooth and claw might be required. His younger partner would be put to the test working this case.

“We know she left with two other werewolves from Malta last night,” Jeff said.

“Only one of them is full Malta werewolf,” Steve corrected him. “And neither of them are natives. Dante Aldo’s signature was all over that scene. He’s the only werewolf who could have pulled something like this off.”

“I don’t understand why WA doesn’t have him killed.” Jeff shrugged. “Although any werewolf who can break into GWAR might be worth keeping alive.”

“He’s got a reputation, that’s for sure. WA would be smart to get him on their side.”

An opinion Steve would keep to himself. WA didn’t like being told what to do.

“Yeah. I hear he can destroy packs. That he’s been sought out before when a pack needs help fighting off another pack.”

They climbed into the car, closing the smell of their anxious emotions in with them.

“How much of his file have you studied?” He glanced at the young agent sitting next to him. “None of that has ever been proven. Only thing I accept as fact is what I can smell with my own nose. Aldo has connections in high places. That makes him a werewolf to keep off your back. And he’s stolen a GWAR agent.”

“She’s a hot little bitch,” Jeff said, chuckling.

“That she is. The whole thing is bizarre.” Steve shrugged one shoulder. “We’ve got a pack leader who was annihilated and his entire pack wiped out for trying to alter the genetic makeup of werewolves and turn them into gods or something. Aldo gets credit for taking them down, which gives him too much power whether there’s any truth in it or not.”

Steve had spent well over a month researching the Malta werewolves after getting the file. The information had boggled his brain. A pack leader on some remote island in the Mediterranean thought he was a witch or something. And he believed he could 45

Lorie O’Clare

make all werewolves have this special gift. Apparently his goal was to turn his pack into super-werewolves—werewolves who could turn invisible, who could run faster, work with the elements. Rumor had it that although most of his experiments had been disastrous, he’d had some success.

It didn’t surprise him that his young partner had a hard time letting it all sink in.

“Now we’ve got GWAR agents apparently working with the werewolf who was closely involved with that pack. There’s no way he would have gotten his paws on Tangaree otherwise.”

“You mean the young bitch.” Interest piqued in Jeff’s eyes. “I wouldn’t mind getting my paws on her. I bet she’s one hell of a good fuck.”

“And incredibly dangerous.” Steve wouldn’t argue the issue of her sex appeal.

“What’s even more dangerous though is that agents within GWAR would sell out their own.”

“There’s going to be more than one fight before this case is solved.”

Steve agreed. And he wasn’t too old that a good brawl didn’t have its appeal.

46

Living Extinct

The large RV wasn’t what Moira expected.

Hours before dawn they pulled into the small camping area, the cold air heavy with dew chilling her flesh. Dante took her wrist, his touch burning into her skin as he guided her to the dark, quiet mobile home.

Mostly humans camped around them, all sleeping, smells of burnt meat, popcorn, charcoal and propane swarming in the air. There was also that stuffy scent that humans carried with them wherever they went. Clogged emotions, too much stress and laziness fueled a smell that made them stand out. Most of them smelled the same, unlike werewolves. She never had cared for their scent although she tolerated it as any werewolf would. For the most part, the species repulsed her. At the moment, the smell of the human campgrounds was more like a stench, turning her stomach. Half of a whole, a line to be put up with when necessary. With no fight in them, their battles holding no honor, they were a confusing species. Maybe Dante thought by hiding among them, the three of them wouldn’t be as easily found.

Entering the mobile home alone, she turned, letting her gaze stroll down his naked backside as he said a few words to the dark-haired Malta werewolf. She didn’t recognize him though. That was a mystery. The chances of him being from her pack were slim to nil. Even after five years, she would know one of her pack if she saw them.

Dante also spoke with a hint of the accent showing in some of his words. But Dante’s skin was pale, even though his hair was black as night just like the other werewolf’s.

Dante was no Malta werewolf. A mixed breed, although not an American mutt. He was also a mystery.

The darkness of the narrow living area shrouded her. The two werewolves spoke quietly outside. Hearing what they said—a casual conversation about supplies the dark-skinned werewolf, Juan, would make a run to get—made the situation strange. The two of them spoke so casually, almost lazily, as if they planned some bizarre humanlike vacation and they were some den, supposed to be together.

But this was no vacation.

They weren’t supposed to be together.

She’d been kidnapped.

Her emotions intensified while watching Dante’s backside. No matter her order to stay calm, to keep her scent from becoming obvious, imagining dragging her nails over that muscular body made her mouth dry—and her pussy wet. He was an inch or so taller than Juan, his pale skin smoothed over powerful-looking muscles. Few werewolves put meat on before they hit fifty or so, if they did at all. But to be so built up, like he pumped weights or something, distracted her more than she wished it 47

Lorie O’Clare

would. A nightly or early morning run wouldn’t have him looking that powerfully well built.

Very large werewolves, with muscles harder than rock, were a fantasy of hers.

Strong enough that they couldn’t be taken down, could defend anyone or anything and were undefeatable no matter the odds. Her life had a habit of getting interrupted.

Something always seemed to happen beyond her control that yanked her out of her existence and dumped her somewhere else. A werewolf powerful enough to stop that made her nervous. But it was more like nervous excitement that pumped in her veins at the moment. An energy she feared wouldn’t go away until she tasted him, felt him underneath her, on top of her, inside her.

She knew her past made her crave the perfect werewolf who could stop any disaster. She also knew that no such werewolf existed. The closest werewolf to meet that description had been her sire, Bruno Tangaree. Hatred and ignorance had killed him.

Dante Aldo had been there that day. She remembered him on his motorcycle, chasing her down while she ran for her life. He was in her life again. She’d escaped him once. She was older, more experienced—running from him now would be easier than it had been before.

But damn, did she want to escape him? He’d just yanked her out of a life she’d grown very tired of. GWAR would sniff her out, but that was Dante’s problem, not hers. In the meantime, what was wrong with enjoying the ride? Or taking him for a ride?

Moira scowled. She was staring at the werewolf, almost drooling over him, fantasizing, when in fact he was the one who had ripped her life out from underneath her. Granted it was a life with GWAR, but that wasn’t the point. Still, fucking him would more than likely be the most incredible experience of her life. The way his muscles curved and bulged over his shoulder blades and then trimmed down into a taut waistline. His butt was hard, round, solid. And legs covered with coarse black hair looked like they could kick a wall down. He was perfect. She accepted that fact. But submitting to him would give him power over her that GWAR once had. She didn’t want anyone owning her.

She closed her eyes, creating the mental wall the way her mother had taught her.

Like hell he’d turn around and catch her drooling. If he did, she swore she’d slap his smug smile right off his face.

For once, she’d like a say on what happened in her world. Dante took her from an existence she’d grown tired of. But he hadn’t asked, hadn’t planned it out with her first.

For once in her life, she’d like to make the decisions.

Juan stepped back into the car. Dante turned, pinning her with those incredibly pale blue eyes, eyes that almost glowed with savage lust. It was as if he looked right through her, knowing exactly what she’d been thinking this entire time. And it amused him. No matter that his expression could have been chiseled on his face, his gaze didn’t falter 48

Living Extinct

from hers. She was forced to stare back, to inhale his rich, seductive scent with every breath. He had a broad face with wide cheekbones and a sharp, straight nose. The only imperfection was a small scar that interrupted an otherwise firm, hard jaw.

Even that was no imperfection. He approached, corded, hard muscle moving under his flesh, until she noticed a smaller, hairline scar on the side of his lower lip. Not imperfections. Battle wounds, small scars from futile attempts of prey that tried to take on the strength of an invincible werewolf.

Pulling her long hair around her, doing her best to cover herself with it, she turned from him. Partly ashamed of the direction of her thoughts but more pissed that he looked at her like that. Like he knew what she thought and intended to appease her curiosity—again without asking.

Blood burned in her veins as the change ached to rip her apart. Strong emotions brought it on. Taking on a purer, more primal form released those emotions, simplifying them, cleansing her. Holding it at bay, she allowed her blood to pump hard enough to adjust her eyesight, to give her night vision, and marched down the dark hallway.

“Where are you going?” Dante followed her.

“Away from you.”

Entering the largest bedroom at the end of the hall, she shut the door behind her.

The mobile home was furnished. Maybe there would be clothes. Anything.

“Moira.” He said her name with a growl. “There are T-shirts in the top drawer.”

Amusement mixed with his desire, his lust. It wasn’t at all an unappealing scent.

But she didn’t like it. Didn’t like that he had the upper hand. Didn’t like his cocky, know-it-all attitude. And she didn’t like it one damned bit that fiery need pulsed inside her, hot and out of control, throbbing between her legs and filling the air around her with primal, hard-core lust.

He pushed the door open, his smell wrapping around her, as powerful and enticing as the smoothness of his muscles under taut skin. Everything about him was strong and unleashed. And with him, a leash might not be a bad idea.

“You don’t want to be with me.” His low baritone rippled over her flesh.

Intentionally keeping her back to him, showing no respect for his masculine presence, she fished through the top drawer.

“Nope.” Her lie smelled salty.

She did believe one thing. He’d stolen her from GWAR. That meant the agency had some serious leaks. Not that she didn’t already know they weren’t perfect. At an early age, she’d learned there was no foolproof government. Her own sire, respected by his entire pack, was overthrown in a day, wiped out, burned to death.

She bit back her sadness, knowing there was no one she could trust, nowhere to turn. Escape was imperative, although she had no idea where to run.

49

Lorie O’Clare

“I want you, Moira. And you want me too.” He brushed his palms down her bare arms, heat and strength belied by a gentle touch.

She fisted the shirt she’d pulled from the dresser, turning quickly to escape his touch. Mere fingers brushing skin shouldn’t burn like that. He didn’t move, although his presence seemed to be everywhere in the dark bedroom. Moira pulled the shirt over her head, grateful for its size when it fell like a short dress to her thighs.