The pain started even before she made the conscious decision to shift. Red hot, it flayed her flesh and ripped an inhuman scream from her throat.
Never like this.
Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs as tendons tightened painfully and her joints popped, the sound ricocheting in the confined space. Muscles spasming, her body bowed tight before slamming back to the ground, the last of her bones snapped into place.
Back in human form, she lay panting in the dark as sweat dripped between her breasts and pooled at the small of her back. What the fuck was that? In almost forty years, shifting had never been so excruciatingly painful.
Natasha opened her eyes to the cool press of rock against her cheek. She was laying half on, half off a blanket on the floor. Annnnnd...she was naked, her clothes long gone. Not a bad thing, considering her current state. Heat and pain (fever and bruising?) radiated from her skin, and even the warm air of the room hurt as it brushed across her flesh.
She couldn't stay here. It didn't matter how she got here, every instinct was warning her out of another werewolf's territory.
Home
. Her stomach roiled at the thought of returning to her father, but there was nowhere else for her to go.
Natasha dragged her arms to her body, dirt and grit scraping against her palms as she planted them on either side of her head and pushed herself up. Head hanging from her shoulders, she watched her arms shake, her muscles quivering in protest as she lifted her upper body off the floor.
Locking her elbows, she gritted her teeth and forced her legs to join the party. Her body protested, a wave of nausea causing her to retch, bile burning up the back of her throat and splattering across the floor.
Natasha groaned, her body heaving in pain. The shaking in her arms turned to trembling, as she tried moving away from her own filth. Too late, she realized her mistake as her elbows buckled and the floor rushed up to meet her.
Roland caught Natasha with a millimeter to spare, his hands slipping under her body, catching her before her head hit the floor.
"Damn fool female," he muttered as he eased her onto her back and gently covered her with another blanket.
"Roland." His name a sigh on her lips, Natasha's body sank onto the ground as her wolf recognized his scent, the rest of him was nothing more than an indistinguishable shadow in the dark.
"You're safe here," he said, responding to the fear in her voice.
"I hurt," Natasha whispered roughly.
"I expect you do." Roland said, gently brushing the hair back from her face.
Natasha flinched, unable to stop herself from instinctively recoiling.
Roland dropped his hand and stepped back, putting the room between them before sticking his head out into the hall.
Natasha heard soft muttered voices and a clear command, followed by the sound of bare feet hurrying away. A few minutes later, the low light of a lantern appeared, held aloft by a pretty little blonde carrying a bowl of steaming water and towels.
"I'm sorry," Natasha said, heat creeping across her face as the woman cleaned up her mess.
"Don't be," Maddie said gently, as her eyes darted to Roland. "I'll leave the towels and the water."
Roland nodded, waiting until they were alone before turning and finding Natasha watching him. "Can I help?" he asked, indicating the wet towels and warm water.
Natasha nodded, her eyes following him as he crossed the room and squatted down beside her. Roland dipped the towel in the hot water, wringing out the excess before reaching for her face. He moved slowly, waiting for her to nod again before touching her.
She expected Roland to be rough, awkward in his ministrations. But his hands were gentle, dabbing lightly at a cut on her lip and tenderly wiping away dried blood and bile.
"Not exactly how I hoped to look the next time I saw you," she told him, her eyes tracing the lines of his face. They'd never been this close before, his body near enough to feel the heat of his skin.
"You wanted to see me again?" Roland asked, his eyes on her chin. He wasn't sure what he would see if he lifted his gaze to her eyes. Would she look at him with the same unadulterated interest as before? Or, this close, would interest have turned to repulsion?
"I thought I'd made that pretty clear." Natasha said, referring to her no-strings-attached invitation during her last visit.
"It still surprises me," Roland said. The need to know won out. Lifting dark, serious eyes, he searched her face and saw...interest.
"Why? Because of this?" Natasha asked, cupping his cheek. For some reason it felt only right that the first time she touched him should be to experience the ruined side of his face. Jagged and puckered, the rough skin of his scar started at his temple, following the trail a lover's kiss might take down the curve of his cheek and ending at the corner of a pair of extremely sensual lips.
This time, it was Roland who flinched, jerking his face away from her touch even as the rest of him stirred to the cool press of her fingers.
"You should rest," he told her, his voice gruff as he tossed the used towels outside the alcove entrance.
"Nafarius will want to speak with you tomorrow." Roland's alpha had been willing to let him see to the female - for now - but the need for information weighed heavily on them both.
Natasha nodded, her eyes already growing leaden. "Roland?"
"Hmm?" Roland paused, ignoring how nice his name sounded on her lips.
"How did I get here?" Natasha let her eyes close. She didn't need to see to hear his answer.
"I found you," Roland said, leaving out the harrowing experience of keeping her alive. "I brought you back here."
"Where was I?" Natasha asked. What had her father done with her after her failed attempt to take him down? "Where did you find me?"
"In a glen, not far from here." He was leaving, his voice moving farther away. "Why?"
"I was just wondering," Natasha said.
"Rest," Roland ordered. "We'll talk more in the morning."
Natasha nodded, and waited for him to leave before turning down the light. Slowly pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, she hesitantly reached for the pack bond and found...nothing.
Natasha had been cut from her pack.
****
"Welcome back, sir," the hostess said. "How long has it been?"
"Too long," Craig said, handing her his cashmere coat.
"If you'll follow me." The
maitre'd
stepped forward, leading Craig past socialites sipping cocktails by candlelight to a table for two. Situated as it was, the table offered a commanding view of the room as well as the city skyline beyond.
Craig slid into his seat, the
maitre'd
shaking out his napkin and laying it lightly across his lap. A moment later, a beautiful blonde, her dress putting the "little" in little black dress, presented him with a menu and the perfect Manhattan.
Craig took his first sip, his eyes closing briefly.
Civilization never tasted so good
.
"Craig." Bruce Jones greeted Dimitri's beta. "Only you would insist we meet here."
How to Cook a Wolf
was a posh restaurant where the wait staff made more than most lawyers.
Craig smiled. "This is my kind of place."
Jones didn't laugh at the jest. Taking a seat, he waved away the
maitre'd
.
Around them, intimate conversation harmonized with live piano music and the delicate chimes of expensive silver, fine china and sparkling crystal. Craig was content to sit back and let the sounds wash over him, erasing the stain of the past several months spent in Dimitri's pack.
"Good evening," the waitress said. "My name is Britney - "
"Of course it is," Craig said sweetly.
" - and I'll be serving you this evening." Britney smiled, her eyes traveling over Craig's tailored suit.
Craig made a production of handing the waitress his menu, making sure to flash his gold Rolex and diamond cuff links. Only in town for 12 hours, he had every intention of enjoying his stay, and Britney had just jumped to the top of the list as the evening's entertainment.
"Are you ready to order?" Britney asked, her smile brightening predictably. She had plans of her own and they didn't include spending her evenings serving old, rich women. God had seen fit to give her beauty and the brains to use it.
Britney knew money when she saw it and this guy was loaded. He was good looking too, which was a bonus, not a requirement. His friend was a little scary, but she figured she could get one of her friends to take him on. Maybe Debbie, with her mousy hair and brown eyes, she would probably jump at the chance.
"I'll have the crispy pork jowl, the chicken liver mousse and the braised short ribs ravioli," Craig ordered.
"Would you care for wine with your meal?" Britney asked, rocking forward on her fuck-me heels. She didn't think the up-sell was necessary, the guy already promised to be a good tipper. But every little bit helped and she had yet to make rent for the month.
"Have the Chef pair it," Craig said, not bothering with the wine list.
Britney practically purred. And to think, she'd almost had Danielle take her shift.
"And for you?" Turning to Jones, a small shiver of warning tingled at the base of Britney's spine.
"I'll have the beef carpaccio and the fillet, medium rare." Bruce said, handing the waitress his menu.
Craig waited while the waitress scurried away, teetering on high heels. "And here I thought I was the carnivore."
"Remember, humans sit on top of the food chain." Jones disliked Craig, not because he was werewolf, but because he was an ass.
Predictably, Craig started to sneer.
"Does Dimitri know you're gone?" Jones asked, cutting off Craig's response.
Craig felt the muscles in his jaw twitch. Unclenching his teeth, he regarded Jones. The man's suit was understated and expensive, designed to blend in with their upscale surrounding. The silk tie and touch of silver cuff links all spoke of position and wealth with a kind of confidence that didn't require flash. All of this served to remind Craig that, as much as he hated to admit it, he needed Jones.
Craig's smile was practiced and perfectly designed to put people at ease. "Dimitri doesn't know much these days."
Jones' brow lifted in query. "Is this something the Agency should be concerned about?"
"Only if you plan on taking a trip out to Wolf Lake," Craig said. He wasn't sure who he would bet money on in a confrontation between Dimitri and Jones. Dimitri was alpha, one that had held his pack for almost eight hundred years. But Jones wasn't your typical human, either. Craig didn't know
what
he was, just that the man was something...more.
Jones watched Craig over his cocktail as the first course was slid in front of him. The Agency had dealt with the werewolf in the past. Craig had proved to be a surprisingly dependable source of information, providing details on other shape shifters without compromising his conscience. Actually, as far as Jones could see, Craig didn't have a conscience.
"One of our assets has identified - " Jones started.
"You mean one of your witches," Craig said.
"Our asset has identified a large source of power," Jones continued, ignoring the interruption. "I've been able to narrow down the location to the area surrounding Wolf Lake."
Jones was a tracker. He could find anything. Anyone. Give him a target and he would find it. The more solid the target, the more precise the location. People, for instance, were easy to find. With something like this new source of power or the presence of evil, Jones could narrow down the geographic area. After that, it was up to the others to go in and carry out the Agency's orders.
"Dimitri?" Craig asked. The alpha was old, but age had done little to diminish his power.
Jones shook his head. "We considered Dimitri and this doesn't feel like him." Miranda had cast the original spell while working with General Reid to identify possible new talents and discovered the concentration of power. "This is something else, someone else. It appears to be three energies, two male powers balanced by a female energy."
Craig swore. "Nafarius and his freak beta. No doubt the female is that human bitch he mated."
Jones blinked. "Nafarius mated a human?" The Agency had been gathering information on all the supernatural beings, worldwide. Nafarius was alpha to one of the largest packs of werewolves and on their short list. So far, the Agency had deemed the timing wasn't right to approach such a highly valued individual. This new information changed everything.
"She was human," Craig reluctantly admitted. "Sam is a made werewolf."
"Hmm..." Jones hummed. It fit with what Miranda had seen and what his own senses were telling him.
The military had suffered some unacceptable losses lately, and Reid was under the Agency's directive to put together a Delta team, an exclusive group that could be used by the military for missions that could not afford to fail.
"Look, if it's a werewolf you're looking for, I'm it." Craig said, tapping his chest. "You need someone like me. Nafarius is all brawn and no brains. With me, you get both."
"Tired of living out in the sticks?" Jones asked, taking a well-aimed jab.
"I do not belong there!" Craig said vehemently. "This is the first civilized meal I've had in almost a year."
"Raw meat not to your liking?" Jones took a bite of his fillet and washed it down with a sip of wine.
"I prefer my venison braised, not with its heart still beating." Craig took another bite, chewing slowly.
"We appreciate the offer," Jones said carefully. Craig was eager to join the Agency. Unfortunately, every prediction the Agency made showed the team they were putting together had a much higher survival rate without Craig. "But the Agency needs you in the field. We need someone that can gather information, someone on the inside."