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  Sasha ran back up the steps and closed the door behind her.

  A disturbing thought followed her into her apartment. What if Rod fell in love with a pure human woman one day? One who could cope with what he was? After all, women were always more flexible about weirdness than men. What if, once Rod found his soul mate, things changed? She would miss him for sure.

  Sasha shook her head. If Rod fell in love with someone else, she would still be his beta. Nothing could change that except a challenge to her authority within the pack. And what was wrong with her anyway? She sounded pathetic even to her own self. Geeze!

  It was time to get out of the apartment. Time to go find people and get out of her own head. A hot shower, a change of clothes, and a visit to the Hawg was in order.

  CHAPTER 3

  FAMILIAR SCENTS, HARD-DRIVING music, and a blast of heat washed over Sasha as she opened the door to Ronnie’s Road Hog Tavern, which everyone also affectionately called the Hawg. It was hard to stay in a bad mood in a joint like this. There was just too much revelry all around.

  Ronnie was a local legend in his own right, claiming to have seen a Sasquatch up close and personal, and he maintained a neutral position about all things supernatural. In a way, his bar was the preternatural’s equivalent of Switzerland, and a comfortable place for her and the guys to hang out. It was haunted, too, they said. Something about a shoot-out and gold miners, but that was ancient history. However, not everything supernatural passed through Ronnie’s doors. Vampires seemed to shun the low-brow life of beef and beer, snobs that they were—and her pack would have to do them, anyway, if they witnessed a civvy being bitten. Regardless, it meant Ronnie’s joint was always the place to be, sawdust on the floor notwithstanding.

  Werewolves . . . other than the few attempts at blackmarket experiments, they didn’t see much of them anywhere lately, and definitely not here. But now she had to reevaluate everything she knew about them.

  Sasha scanned the establishment as she walked through it. Werewolves infected by the demon virus were possibly the easiest to hunt, because one had a window to track them, namely during a full moon, so their attacks on civilians were limited. Now that the security forces knew what they were looking for, they knew the questions to ask, how to monitor incident reports, how to zero in and test human blood.

  But, again, Shogun had added a whole new layer of complexity to the thing. For the military, it was black-and-white—other species meant bad and she was supposed to kill them or negotiate best terms with them. Now she’d have to reevaluate her entire approach and thought processes, regardless of what the brass said. It was the only right thing to do. As soon as Doc got free, they needed to talk. Plus, this Shogun guy might have the key to help Doc combat the bad infection she and Rod and the others had contracted. Maybe.

  There was even a partial antidote now, for crissake. Well, until all this new info got sorted out, at least there were meds that somewhat controlled the virus, if one was infected. And Doc was refining the cocktail daily.

  Sasha shook her head and ruffled the hair up from her neck. Why wouldn’t her brain simply turn off about this crap? As it was, she was still pissed that she had to go right back into the line of fire in two days. The least she could do was give her own mind a break. Besides, the Hawg served the best steak and fries in portions that were ridiculous. The burgers were awesome, too.

  As she waded through the crowd toward the bar, an ice-cold Corona on her mind, Sasha nodded at the regulars and unzipped her bomber jacket, prepared to stay a while. The bartender spotted her and held up a Corona and she smiled, giving him the thumbs-up.

  He slid it across the wood with deft accuracy and she caught the frosty bottle that had a lime wedged in the top with a quick hand and blew him a kiss as a joke. In their ongoing ritual he jerked his head back as though the air-kiss had knocked him out, and then he laughed.

  “I’ll run you a tab, babe.”

  “Cool, Bruno,” she shouted over the din. “Thanks.”

  Now to find someplace to sit down and eat alone. Everything in the primary bar area was already taken. In the billiards area, tables were temporarily abandoned by players but were already claimed with pitchers of beer and buffalo wings marking territory. There wasn’t even a tiny table available by the back wall on the way to the ladies’ room. Fine. Takeout could work.

  She let out a defeated breath but took one last survey of the joint. A couple of guys gave her a bold once-over but she ignored their silent offers. Bikers and truckers. She wasn’t in the mood. If she was going home with anyone tonight, for once she just wished it could be with a guy that she didn’t have to explain things to—things like medications, having to be sure not to get too rough and break his skin, or to worry about a virus ruining his life.

  However, she didn’t want to leave as if she’d been chased out, either.

  She would admit, though, that the more crowded the establishment was, the lonelier it felt.

  And who the hell was watching her so hard that it was raising the hair on her arms?

  Sasha pushed the lime into her beer with her index finger, raised the slim bottle up to her lips, took a few swallows, and then glanced around. Definitely no sign of the guys.

  Moving through the crowd as if she had a specific destination in mind, Sasha enjoyed flowing through the tangle of bodies to the beat of the music. Warmth, sweat, scents, the thrum of pulsing melodies . . . blood, heartbeats all merged as her spine became fluid, her footfalls beyond graceful. Her stomach rumbled as her nose keened to the charbroiled beef wafting from the kitchen and she made a game out of separating scents, sounds, and voices, keying in on bits of conversation as she now loped through the large dance floor headed for the second bar where takeout orders could be placed.

  Mid-step she stopped, tilted her head, and gazed into the darkened corridor beyond the bar. A cool breeze had brought in a scent from somewhere, a scent she’d never picked up in her life.

  Sasha turned her beer up and polished it off, then continued to head toward the second bar, her eyes fastened on the dark corridor. She could smell multiple male scents. The men’s room? A back room? An exit? A closed section of the tavern? Curiosity stole over her as she slid the empty bottle onto the edge of the bar. She quickly placed her order, trying to forestall the insanity, but her gaze continually wandered past the server toward the back of the establishment.

  The scent came to her again, raising her hackles. Suddenly out of nowhere, she rounded the bar and stepped into the semidarkness. Fortunately, the server’s attention was diverted with the next order. That scent . . . that wonderfully unsettling male scent. All others evaporated, but that one lingered. Dominant. Who the hell was it? Moreover, what the hell was it? It wasn’t human—at least not wholly so, she could tell. Yet there wasn’t the rancid, fecund smell of wet, filthy animal that came with infected werewolf sightings. This was . . . wonderful and all wolf, but somehow different from Shogun. Plus . . .

  Insides on fire, hair bristling, Sasha slipped deeper into the employees-only area undetected and passed through the long corridor scenting locked doors . . . Faster, moving like a blur, following the scent that led to a cool breeze. Her hand slammed against an exit panic bar, and suddenly she was outside in the back employees’ parking area. Her gaze quickly took in the huge Ford F-150s and Dodge Rams that haphazardly littered the small back lot amid the overflowing Dumpsters.

  Still now, she listened to her own breath, her own heartbeat, keening her hearing to the very slightest movement against the icy ground. There was no sound, but the scent was moving, circling her, producing a delirious combination of adrenaline and something she wasn’t prepared to admit.

  Moving with the scent, she crouched, lowering her body’s center of gravity, arms readied, muscles tensing, turning in a slow circle. A back floodlight instantly blew out, leaving her in total darkness, save for the blue-white wash of the moon. She smiled. He had no idea . . .

  He smiled and cocked his head to the si
de, fascinated that she could not readily detect him. This time she was alone. And this time she was no less exquisite than any other time before. Too bad it was impossible to stay downwind from her this go-round.

  Her smoky gray eyes had become almost a translucent crystalline, like that of a husky . . . pupils open so wide they nearly eclipsed her irises. Her stare intense, her honey-kissed skin awash with maddening moonlight, waves of velvet barely kissing her shoulders and yet slowly lengthening as her beast flared right before his eyes. Her beautiful jawline was set hard, her voluptuous curves sculpted beneath a wisp of gray mohair sweater partially hidden by her bomber jacket, her throat so gloriously exposed for a submission bite . . . if she would accept. His gaze raked her lean hips that tapered into seemingly endless legs all the way down to deep brown hand-tooled leather cowboy boots. Damn . . .

  He briefly closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, taking in her scent, wanting her more deeply, needing her more intensely than his pride had allowed until now. She was of his clan, his pack—a shadow wolf.

  But he had an assassination to pull off. On each previous encounter she’d been with an abomination of their breed. He’d been sickened, scenting the predator on her, especially when his mission was to hunt down the demon-infected werewolves. That was her job, too, but she seemed ignorant of the task. Then again, he hadn’t seen the predator in approximately a month. Perhaps she’d done her job and killed him already?

  Slightly distracted, he moved again but a footfall broke through the shadows. She immediately spun and lunged at the nothingness, no fear in her eyes, but she missed. He stepped out of the shadows. Her response was a hard snarl as she quickly picked up an empty beer bottle and broke it on the edge of a Dumpster, gripping it like a weapon.

  “That’s not necessary,” he said in a low rumble.

  “Fuck that I-come-in-peace line. You were invisible a second ago.”

  “Yeah, and?” Perplexed, he simply stared at the disoriented beauty before him. Didn’t all shadow wolves remain unseen until advisable?

  “I hate you goddamned vampires, ya know.” She flung the bottle away. “So what do you want?”

  He was so offended that he folded his arms over his chest. “I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, sis, but a vampire? Never.”

  She cocked her head to the side and sniffed the air, but the confusion was clear on her face.

  What the hell was he—a new species? Something that moved between shadows and didn’t make a sound. Smelled all wolf, all male. The rumble of his voice bottomed out in the pit of her stomach. Still left a flutter in its wake. Accent was strange, had French-Canadian and also West-Indian tones embedded in it. His ethnicity was hard to judge. He was a nightmare and a fantasy all rolled into one, wearing a deerskin suede jacket, a charcoal sweater, ripped, rough-rider jeans, and well-worn cowboy boots. Had accosted her in the back lot. She rolled her shoulders and began snapping closed the brass buttons on her jacket.

  “Whatever. You were following me, staring at me while I was trying to get my dinner and mind my business. I didn’t appreciate it.”

  Complete disappointment singed her voice as she yanked the bottom of her jacket down hard and warily turned away to round the building to reenter the bar. The sound of her voice reverberated through him and lingered on the night air, with her fabulous feminine trail thickening his groin. Yet he sensed no fraud; she really didn’t seem to know what to make of him.

  Her piercing gray eyes haunted him as she disappeared around the edge of the huge building. He watched her ass move beneath the leather, kneading muscle and sinew in an almost soundless stride. But he also had to find out what had happened to the huge predator she’d been with a month ago, if there had been more infected by him. She wasn’t at risk; like him, her shadow wolf blood was impervious to the scourges of other species. Their bodies were even uninhabitable by ghosts and possession demons—the wolf kept them at bay. But if she didn’t eviscerate the infected alpha werewolf and track the others he’d probably infected, a deadly demon wolf pack could form. Why wasn’t she hunting the threat?

  He shook off the question and decided to follow her back inside.

  Sasha boxed the cold away from her arms, realizing that the shiver that had overtaken her wasn’t from the frigid temperatures outside. She was getting that burger and a six-pack to go, and that was all there was to it. She kept walking toward the back bar, unceremoniously parting the crowd now with sheer shoulder-blocking force and without apologies. She needed to eat.

  The man was an unbelievable specimen. He was massive. Six foot four or five and coulda probably ripped her throat out, but had not. That was some sexy shit, even if he was possibly a vampire messing with her mind. But the scent wasn’t of the undead. His sweat held life, vitality, and ungodly testosterone. It was a scent that combined the earth and deep, sensual musk. Geoff had gotten to her with mind games, Shogun she could appreciate visually, but her reaction to this man was different. More . . . real somehow.

  She allowed a shudder to pass through her, and hailed the bartender. “I’m the monster burger with the works. To go, with a six of Corona,” she shouted, determined to shake off the experience.

  But as she waited and kept her gaze roving the establishment, she remembered feeling him before, although never seeing him and definitely never scenting him like this. Now she knew his signature and she had an incredibly rugged, too ridiculously handsome face to place with the impressions. His heartbeat was a slow, long thud. Hue . . . unflawed darkness, making his actual age impossible to judge. Skin like rich, semi-sweet chocolate that made one’s hand ache to touch it, just to feel the texture. Sasha licked her lips, unwilling to admit that she also wanted to taste it.

  Features—strong, nose owned a slight bend in the bridge . . . Native American. Mouth, thick, lush, so sensual a feature that she was mesmerized by it. African. Hair, thick tendrils of dark velvet pulled back into a leather strap with Blackfoot tribal markings on it. Glistening white teeth . . . a warning held in check; a square jaw covered by a dark spread of evening shadow. Eyes, an intense midnight engulfed by shimmering amber. So strange, as though backlit by some inner light.

  Amber and silver—the necklace he wore told her he couldn’t be werewolf. Rod broke out in hives just from a pair of earrings she’d worn once; couldn’t tolerate it anywhere near him. It gave him nausea, vomiting, burns, the works. A piece the size she’d just seen would have landed Butler in ER, code blue. Probably the only reason she could stand it was the virus hadn’t advanced in her system as quickly, yet. But she wasn’t gonna chance it.

  So how could this mystery man, who was definitely something supernatural, have on a thick rope of silver chain with a huge hunk of rare, etched amber dangling from his neck like a talisman . . . in fact, even vampires weren’t big on silver, come to think of it. Shaman? Warlock? What else was out there that they didn’t have catalogued?

  But the way the guy moved . . . like the night itself, like a thief cloaked within the very folds of every shadow. An assassin’s stealth, but owning what had to be anywhere between two hundred and two hundred and twenty pounds of pure sinew. Massive shoulder width; arms and legs lean, muscular, moving as though every joint were a well-greased ball bearing. Sexy as hell, if she did say so herself.

  How did he do it, though? Not even vampires had been able to catch her unawares: their absence of scent, the very stillness as they repressed their absence of life, was always, literally, a dead giveaway, as was the oppressive feel of their power touching the edges of her aura. Ghosts, same thing. The temperature dropped and they moved through the atmosphere like a reverse heat wave or like the clear ripple on a lake’s surface before they materialized. Demons made her gag with the foul scent of rotting flesh, and their eyes were red orbs of insanity. Nah. If he wasn’t any of the above—then what was he?

  Curiosity and a looming presence thickened with a now familiar scent made her jerk her attention toward the entrance. He nodded coolly and parted the crow
d with a fluid ease that was unnerving. For a moment, all she could do was watch him walk.

  XAVIER HOLLAND SLOWLY stirred his cocoa and added more brandy to it under the soft, golden night-light in the kitchen of his home. His conscience dueled with his logic as he brought the thick mug up to his mouth and allowed the aromatic steam to warm his face. Dear God, what had they done? What had he done? How was he to break it to Sasha that Rod was dead?

  Blood was as much on his hands as it was on those of his beloved mentor, Dr. Lou Zang Chen. But they hadn’t known, hadn’t thought things would ever escalate this far!

  Xavier closed his eyes and fought the building moisture. Sasha . . . run, pretty baby. Run, if they come for you in ignorance. Three decades devoted to science and now they were asking him to be a murderer. Chen had already given his life in the line of duty—with the very first of the infected. That had been the beginning. That was how they found out that the virus affected an already adult male subject in horrible ways.

  Vivid memories poured into the doctor’s mind in a gruesome flashback and held him enthralled. His hand shook so hard that he had to lower the mug to the counter as he stared out the bay windows at the moon.

  Instead of the frosted glass that led out to his deck, he saw the lab separation glass from all those years ago. The last surviving soldier, Subject 004, had been strapped down to the table while they ran some routine tests. This subject had lasted the longest, so much of their hope had been pinned on him. But in that last month, he had begun demonstrating the familiar signs of a Turn. All of a sudden, he had begun to convulse and then change, turning into a beast. He had torn free of his bonds. He’d leaped across the room, pinning Chen down before he tore open the doctor’s throat and chest. A monster was on the loose.