Training Their Mate [Pack Wars-Book 1] (23 page)

Chelsea laughed and ran a
hand along her collar. “I’m not wearing a hood.”

“The men will overlook that
flaw,” Liz said. “Come upstairs.”

For some reason, Liz’s palms
were sweating. She wanted—no needed—her friend to see how amazing
they were.

“Trax and Dante, come meet
Chelsea.”

They shook her hands. “It’s
nice to meet a friend of Liz’s.” Dante lifted the tray from Chelsea’s hands.
“I’ll put it on the island.”

As soon as they stepped away,
Chelsea pivoted so her back was to the men. “Oh. My. God. They are incredible.”

Excitement raced through Liz.
“I know.”

“I can’t believe you even considered
leaving them. I wouldn’t care if they turned into cockroaches at night if they
look like that during the day.”

“Ew. That’s nasty.”

Chelsea waved a hand. “You
know what I mean.”

The bell rang again and Trax
headed over and pressed the button. The four men who helped capture Couch came
upstairs. Drake Stanton and Kurt Wendlick entered first, followed by Clay
Demmers and Dirk Tilton. The second team headed straight for the food, but
Drake and Kurt lingered, repeatedly glancing at Chelsea. It was probably the
glow from the Christmas tree lights, but it looked as if their eyes turned a
pretty shade of amber, the same color her men’s turned when in the throes of
making love.

Liz grabbed Chelsea’s hand
and led her over to the two men. “Drake and Kurt. I want you to meet my best
friend, Chelsea Wilson. Chelsea this clean cut man is Kurt Wendlick, and his
sidekick, who always seems to forget to shave, is Drake Stanton.”

Drake rubbed his jaw. “Hey.
I’ll have you know it takes work to look like this.”

The bell rang again. Chelsea
ran a hand up Liz’s arm. “Go greet your guests. I’ll be fine.”

Drake winked. “Yes, please go
greet the other guests. I’ll make sure Chelsea gets something to drink and is
well taken care of.”

Oh, boy. With the way they
were salivating, Chelsea had no chance of leaving here alone. She bet as the
night progressed, she might even spot a fang or two from those two.

Trax introduced her to the
next two men. During the last three weeks, she’d met a lot of his Pack, and it
was hard to keep their names straight. Trax had even taken her to the werewolf
prison and shown her all the security features. It made her feel like she
really belonged.

He’d asked if she needed to
speak with Couch to find the closure she’d once wanted, but she never wanted to
set eyes on that bastard again. She’d asked if she could go to headquarters,
but both men felt it would be safer if she didn’t know much about it. They
didn’t have to explain why.

Chelsea came up to her and
grabbed her arm. “Oh my gawd.”

“What?”

“Those men.”

She had to think which men
she was referring to. “You mean those hunks, Kurt and Drake, or have you set
your sights on Dirk and Clay?” With Chelsea, she couldn’t be sure what type of
man she found attractive.

“Kurt and Drake. There’s
something so manly about them.” Chelsea leaned in closer. “I bet they like to
tie up their women.”

Liz laughed. “I have
absolutely no knowledge about that aspect of their lives, but they are heroes.”

Chelsea giggled, something
she never did. “Guess what?”

“What?”

“They both asked me out.”

“That’s fantastic.”

“Oh. Before I forget, our
boss commented about you still being on sick leave.” Chelsea stood back and ran
a gaze up and down her. “You look great to me.”

She teetered her hand back
and forth then tapped her forehead. “I’ll start back up after the first of the
year. The men have been keeping me kind of busy.” She held out her hand to show
Chelsea the massive diamond ring the men had given her last night.

Her face heated as she
remembered the wonderful time they’d had in the playroom.

“Oh, Liz.” Chelsea gave her a
hug. “That’s fabulous.” Her face sobered. “What about children?”

“All three of us want a ton.”

“No, I mean, won’t they be,
you know?

“Werewolves? You can say the
word here. Everyone, but you actually, is completely aware of what this shifter
stuff is all about.”

“Fine, but what about the
kids?”

“If I have a girl, she’ll be
just like us. Women have no powers and don’t shift.”

“Well, that sucks. I want to
live in a world where women have the upper hand.”

Liz smiled. “So you’d like to
be transported to the world of Zena and the warrior women?”

“Maybe.”

A cell phone rang, and when Trax
extracted the phone from his pocket and looked at the screen, her stomach
flipped. He turned his back to the crowd and his shoulders pressed forward. He
whispered into the phone and then disconnected and turned around.

“Excuse me, all.” His jaw
twitched. Oh, God, this wasn’t good. He couldn’t even glance her way.

“Is it about Elena Sanchez?”
she asked.

He turned toward her and
shook his head. The Pack had their best men looking for Couch’s secretary, but
so far there hadn’t been any word on her whereabouts. She edged closer to Trax.
Her mind reeled wondering what the call had been about.

The crowd wasn’t quieting.

He rapped the saltshaker on
the granite counter. “May I have everyone’s attention?”

Her heart tripped.

It took a few seconds for the
room to quiet. She hoped he and the rest of the men didn’t have to leave the
party and go on a hunt for some stupid Colter.

Dante made his way through
the living room. “Bro, what is it?”

“I’m sorry to be the bearer
of bad news, but Harvey Couch has escaped from jail.”

It only took two seconds for
Liz’s world to turn black.

Claiming Their Mate

[Pack
Wars-Book 2]

By
Vella Day

Except

Chapter One

Halfway
up the stairs of the home Chelsea Wilson planned to show, scratching noises echoed
through the downstairs.

She
leaned over the railing and shouted, “Hello?”

When she
didn’t receive a response, she shrugged and headed back to the foyer, where the
sound continued. She called out again but received no response this time either.
Someone had to be here.

As she
walked through the dining room, she made a mental note to inform her clients
about the white wainscoting on the walls and the rich blue and white wallpaper
accent wall.

She
moved from the dining room to the living room and toward the back of the house
to find the source of the scratching. Her gaze was so focused on her
destination, she tripped when her foot hit something hard. “What the fuck?”

She
looked down. “Jesus Christ.” Her heart shot straight to her throat and her
muscles locked.

A human
leg.

She
swallowed the moisture in her mouth and slapped a hand on her chest. It was
Jeffrey Wendlick, one of the realtors at her company. “Jeffrey?” Her breath
whooshed out.

Do something
. She dropped to her knees to check for a pulse. He was positioned
chest down, but his head was turned to the side. His mouth was agape and his
eyes were wide open, implying he might already be dead. Her own pulse reached
the danger zone.

Only now
did the unpleasant metallic smell of blood reach her. A smashed cell phone lay
in the fresh pool of blood next to his hand. As she reached for his throat to
check his pulse, hoping that by some miracle he was still alive, she spotted
the huge gash across his throat. “Oh, my God.” His throat had been ripped open.
Bile raced to her mouth, and she crab-walked backward.

Regaining
her balance, she stood and stepped away from Jeffrey’s corpse. She kept her
gaze on him, hoping if she looked hard enough, he’d move.

 
Nails scratching the tile in the back
broke through her reeling thoughts.

Get the hell out of here.

If she
didn’t, she might end up like Jeffrey. Blanking her mind to his gruesome death,
she sped toward the front. A back door banged shut. That couldn’t be a dog. Panic
clawed through her body. She reached the main entrance and rushed outside, then
hustled down the steps. Damned high heels made moving quickly impossible. She
kicked off her shoes, picked them up, and ran. Her mind spun.

Damn
. She’d
forgotten to call 9-1-1. Once she was safely locked in her car and out of
there, she’d advise the cops about the murder.

Her car
was parked nearby, across and down the street. She glanced slightly behind her
to see if any vehicles were coming. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a
man running from behind the house. All she could think was that this was the
guy who’d murdered poor Jeffrey.

“Hey,
bitch!” he shouted.

Her body
froze. She spun to judge how far away the threat was. The man stood a good
thirty feet from her.

Remember what he looks like so you can tell the
cops.

Under
six feet, dark hair, fairly dark skin.
Shit
.
That wasn’t good enough. She dragged her gaze down his body and spotted the gun
in his hand.

No!

Adrenaline
swamped her. Her eyes hurt and her mouth turned sand dry. She forced her feet
to move, but sludge had replaced her blood.
You
have to
go
.

Just as
she twisted to run for the car, a painfully hot sensation pierced her arm. Red oozed
up from a hole in her forearm and bile tinged her mouth.
Holy fuck
. The bastard shot her. She stole a quick glance at her assailant,
who was heading straight at her.

Too many
options confronted her and yet not one seemed plausible. Knowing she’d never
make it to her car before he caught her, she ran the other way. She headed
behind the house and prayed for either a way out or a weapon to bash in his
head if he tried to attack her again. Her arm throbbed and her thoughts
splintered.

Go!

She dropped
her shoes and made it to the backyard, hoping he wouldn’t follow her.

Right, and you own this week’s winning lottery
ticket
.

Think
. A
small shed sat in a fenced area in the far back corner, which made it
off-limits.

“I’m coming
for you. You can’t escape.” His singsong voice rattled in her brain.

Fuck, fuck, fuck
.

No one
was around to help her. As she gulped in mouthfuls of air, all she could think
to do was race to the other side of the house and hope to emerge behind him. With
each step, her legs felt like she was lifting iron. The image of Jeffrey’s
ripped throat reminded her how much danger she was in. She immediately clamped
a hand over her mouth to stifle her scream. Her nostrils flared.

Once she
made it to the east side of the house, her gaze bounced between a tree she
might hide behind and the hedge nestled against the house. The man’s thrashing
and obnoxious chants told her he was nearby. Her arm hurt and her stomach roiled
and threatened to erupt.
Quick. Just hide
.
She ducked behind the thorny bush, scrunched low, and labored to control her
loud breathing.

“You
can’t hide from me,
chica
.”

Tears
streamed down her cheeks. A hiccup emanated from her throat. She ducked her
head and prayed he hadn’t heard her.

The blood
pounding behind her eyes prevented her from figuring out his location. His feet
passed within inches from her hiding place, and she swallowed a sob. Now there
was no way she could call 9-1-1. Just speaking to the operator would give away
her position.

His footstep
returned close to her hiding spot, and her heart slammed against her chest.
Cars drove by. Why didn’t anyone stop to question this creep? Damned “For Sale”
sign.

She peeked
through the bushes to find him, but leaves and stems blocked her vision. Only
flashes of color appeared every once in a while, as if he was taunting her,
waiting for her to come out on her own. She clasped her hand over her wound to
prevent the blood from getting everywhere and leaving a trail for him to follow.

Oh, shit
. Her vision darkened for a moment as if her mind was trying to
protect her.

Except
for an occasional car passing down the street and a bird chirping, only her own
pounding heart sounded. She wanted to run, but her body refused to move.

Don’t do anything stupid.
The urge to jump up, wave, and scream for help
almost won out, but if she failed to attract someone’s attention, he’d kill
her.

For the
moment, no footsteps sounded and no leaves crunched. Dare she hope he’d given
up and driven away? She couldn’t be that lucky.