Carnal Hunger Page 3

  He perked up his ears, catching the rumble of a car engine in the distance, followed by a howl. All the fur in his back rose and his wolf switched from spy to full-on aggression mode. That sound could only be made by another werewolf.

  Max was linked via the pack bonds to his Alpha and all the other pack members, so he knew this shifter was also an outsider. He padded closer to the trees, only to see an old black Buick, some of its windows missing, and the outline of a driver.

  Behind the car, were two snarling, rabid werewolves. Rabid, because he scented their rank smell in the air and spotted their matted fur. Those yellow eyes told him what they were—rogues who had forgotten their human halves, leaving only the animal inside.

  Dangerous, because these shifters usually saw anything living as prey and attacked without reason. Just who were they chasing? The Buick made a telltale rattling noise and stopped on the side of the road.

  The driver stumbled out and the sweetest scent hit him. He took stock of the slender man who looked like he was in his early twenties, with black hair and dark brown eyes, running to the back door, only to pull out another man. This one was injured but had the same features as the first. Brothers or family members, maybe.

  His nostrils flared. Copper. Blood.

  Bad move. They shouldn’t have gotten out of the car, because even if they weren’t human, they wouldn’t be able to outrun the wolves. Instinct told him to come out of hiding. His wolf wanted to rip those two other shifters’ throats out, protect the black-haired, brown-eyed man.

  Wait. What?

  Sure, Max had acted recklessly in some situations, but this? He had too little information about these two humans. Were they even humans? Not shifters, because if they were, he could identify the animal in them.

  If they died, he’d never be able to question them, either, ask what they were doing so close to Devil Hills lands.

  One of the rogues picked up speed, crazy yellow gaze on its prey. Kill them, his wolf whispered, and he lunged a little closer to the road, emerging from his hiding place. His pulse raced, his wolf excited at the prospect of violence, of ripping those two rogues apart, but he reeled his animal back. Max was missing a vital information here.

  Something flashed under the sun. Metal. Those two rogue werewolves wore some kind of collar around their necks. A chill went down his spine. Their allies had mentioned seeing rogue shifters with those infernal things on their necks. These were rehabilitated shifters, brainwashed by the Squad into becoming their personal hunting dogs.

  The two men started limping away from the wolves, but they were too slow. Max opened his jaws and let out a howl loud enough for Dan, who was stationed close by, to hear. He launched himself into motion, streaking past the two men, who let out surprised cries. He collided with the first rogue, closing his teeth on matted fur. Blood spurted, but the rogue didn’t give up easily.

  The second closed its teeth on his lower back, but the added weight soon disappeared. Max glimpsed Dan’s light brown fur, relieved as he focused on his target. Claws raked at him, and the rogue kept going for his throat. The human mind behind this rogue shifter might be gone, but it still had the instincts of a killer.

  They tumbled on the ground but Max finally sunk his fangs into the other shifter’s throat. With a single jerk, he tore it out. Blood sprayed on his muzzle, but for a second there, he thought he saw some sanity returning to those yellow eyes.

  Certain the shifter was dead, he let go, only to see Dan struggling with his kill. Max ripped the rogue off his second, and Dan used that opportunity to end the poor bastard’s life. Someone let out a gasp. The man with the enticing scent that so enraptured his wolf. He spun, narrowed his eyes.

  Any sensible person would get back into their car, but this man stared right at him, boldly met his gaze. Next to him, the injured guy had fainted.

  “Um, hi. Are you guys from the Devil Hills wolf pack? My name’s Jack Summers, this is my brother Glenn. We’re both Espers being hunted down by the Discipline Squad. Please, we need your help,” Jack said, plea in his voice.

  Dan and he traded suspicious looks. This wasn’t the first time a fleeing Esper or human fled to their lands, seeking sanctuary. The pack voted who could stay or go, but since the Squad started their attacks on them, they had tightened security measures.

  “My brother needs a healer,” Jack finally blurted.

  Max didn’t know why he shifted. Even Dan let out a warning snarl, but he knew his second and Justin, the hawk shifter who came with him, had his back. Hell, Justin probably relayed what he saw to another hawk, and back to Deacon and Mal, the hawk king.

  Jack widened his eyes at the sight of him, looked ready to bolt when he came closer, but Jack stood his ground. He didn’t miss the way Jack gave him a once-over, then color spread to his cheeks and neck. Fuck, but that made Jack look cute.

  “So, what’s the verdict?” he asked as Jack lifted his face to his.

  “You’re actually flirting with me, now of all times?” Jack demanded. “I mean, in another time and place, I don’t mind a hot guy checking me out, but come on.”

  Max smiled, so did his curious wolf. Never before had his inner animal taken this much interest in anyone. So, Jack considered him hot? That wouldn’t do well for his ego. Max never had a problem hooking up with other guys.

  “I’m assessing if you’re a liar, a threat,” he replied coolly. “I’m Max, by the way.”

  “A threat? Dude, you just finished off those two monsters without much effort.”

  “Why is the Squad interested in you two?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I mean, we’ve lived under the radar for so long, thought we covered our tracks, but.” Jack paused. “For my family’s abilities, maybe.”

  “And what’s that?” If these two Espers had any serious psychic juice, they would have been able to hold off those rogues, but Max also knew Espers with any kind of offensive abilities had been nearly wiped off.

  “I get it. I need to prove to you that me and my brother aren’t a threat. We might be able to help you.”

  “With what?” he asked, cocking his head to one side. His supernatural hearing caught the sound of paws. Back-up, but not just any pack member. Strange possessiveness over this Esper he just met made his wolf aggressive. He didn’t want anyone else to interrupt his conversation with Jack.

  Jack let out a breath. “Shit. All my life, I’ve been taught to hide what I am, yet here am I, telling it all to some huge werewolf I just met.”

  “I’m not your enemy,” he said flatly.

  “Neither are we,” Jack blurted. “We can see the future. If you give us shelter for a few days, maybe we can help you.”

  Max blinked. That was new.

  “Esper seers are incredibly rare,” said a new male voice.

  Max controlled his wolf at the sight of Lance, the pack Beta. Lance was in human form, but on either side of him were two pack members in wolf form.

  Deacon was ruthless, would do anything to protect the pack, even if he resorted to immoral means, then Lance was his exact opposite. Lance was always cool-headed, his control impeccable. He was lucky it was Lance, and not Deacon the hawks alerted.

  “It’s true,” Jack blurted. “Please. Don’t let my brother die. He’s the only family I have left.” The Esper’s voice turned bitter. “My parents are probably dead, and if Glenn dies, too—”

  “Max,” Lance interrupted Jack. The Beta didn’t need to say the words out loud. Lance probably wanted his take on Jack’s story.

  “My wolf thinks Jack’s being truthful,” he answered.

  “Matt, go to Zack and update him about the situation,” Lance told the wolf on his left. “Find either Santino or Sabine if you can. I want one of them to take a look at these two.”

  Even in wolf form, Matt looked apprehensive at Lance’s last order. Then again, most of the pack viewed the Devil and the Ghost, the silver-eyed half-werewolves and half-Esper siblings, with awe or fear. Deacon was never withou
t either of them, because they provided the Alpha with natural psychic shielding abilities from other paranormals, especially those who liked playing mind games.

  “Now would be good, Matt,” Lance said in a firm voice. The werewolf took off.

  Relief washed over him. Zack was a bobcat healer and Santino’s mate. Zack had initially come from a different paranormal community but he was now considered part of the pack. Shifter healers were incredibly rare and the pack was lucky to have Zack and Elaine, an older healer.

  Santino and Sabine, on the other hand, would be able to tell if their visitors hid some kind of ulterior motive thanks to them being half-Esper. Gut instinct told Max Jack and his brother hadn’t lied to him. No one was that good an actor, and the agony on Jack’s face and the worry for his brother were real enough. Lance wanted to make sure, was only doing his job, but hell. Max prayed it wasn’t Santino, because knowing the Devil, he’d act all protective around Zack.

  “Who’s Zack?” Jack asked, turning to him.

  Interesting that the Esper would look to him when most folks would relax more around Lance.

  “A healer. He’ll make sure your brother’s fine. We haven’t decided if we’ll let you and Glenn in our borders yet, though.”

  “That’s fine. As long as Glenn’s looked after.”

  “You’re surprisingly calm,” he observed out loud, a little unsettled by the silent assessment he knew Lance was making about Jack. “Most people in your situation would start panicking.”

  “I’m not calm at all, but I can take one thing at a time.”

  “Max, can you and Dan check the road where these two came from?” Coming from Lance, that wasn’t a request but a command.

  He snarled in his throat, unsure why he did that. Both the Alpha and Beta’s orders were absolute. Lance raised an eyebrow. His wolf didn’t want to leave Jack’s side, but he was a pack enforcer, too. Despite not liking it, he changed back to wolf and, with Dan, checked the road for any scents or evidence.

  Max twitched his nose. More of that awful scent the two rogues carried. Then he remembered the collars around their neck. They’d take those off the corpses, see how exactly they worked. Sensing the presence of a third shifter in the vicinity, he growled out in challenge, but he only spotted the retreating form of the shifter, running as far away from Dan and him as possible.

  Dan brushed against him, silent question in his eyes. Max was about to give chase, but he spotted the profile of a white van, its door opening and the wolf sliding inside. Then it sped away. Max silently cursed. No use going after that Squad van because while they were fast, they wouldn’t be able to catch up and they would no longer be in their territory.

  Max turned his back, Dan padding after him. When he returned to where Jack was, his hackles rose, because Jack pressed himself against the car, the source of his fear standing a few feet from him—a large muscled wolf, second only in terms of size to Deacon, with dark brown fur and silver eyes.

  Santino. Just great.

  Still, his own wolf didn’t like seeing the Devil so near Jack. He snarled in warning, only to feel those silver eyes on him. Santino wouldn’t back down, not when his mate was nearby. To his credit, Zack was a pro. Zack knelt over Glenn, who lay on the ground, and began opening his bag of medical supplies.

  Santino was only acting according to his nature, to protect his mate against a potential threat. What floored Max was his behavior over this unknown Esper he just met. Tangling with Santino was bad news, everyone knew that. Max always knew he had a dominant wolf inside of him, understood he could probably win against most pack members in a fight, but Santino?

  Santino was lethal, strong enough to challenge Lance for the position of Beta and win, but he never did. Did Max have a death wish?

  Chapter Five

  The massive werewolf who ripped out the throats of those two monsters after him and his brother snarled at the big one with the eerie silver eyes whose gaze never left Jack’s. Max, he remembered. The memory of him checking Max out still embarrassed the hell out of him.

  Even though Max was in wolf form, he kept imagining Max in his human skin, towering over him, every inch of him made of muscle. Max had a rugged kind of handsomeness to him. The werewolf had dark green eyes, short red hair, and combine that with the body of a linebacker—no, a warrior—made for one very dangerous combination.

  Dangerous, because nothing could explain Jack’s instant attraction to this stranger.

  Shit. Not the time to be thinking about Max, Jack told himself, looking from the scary silver-eyed wolf to Max. Both werewolves looked ready to brawl. Jack was no fighter, but he could almost sense the very air change.

  “Max, Santino. Cut it out,” said the man with the dark blonde hair who introduced himself earlier as Lance. Lance seemed higher up in the pack ranking ladder, because he was the one giving the orders. “Santino, let your mate do his job. Max, calm your wolf.”

  A second passed, then two. Finally, Santino trotted away from him and sat next to the slender healer, gaze on him. Then he remembered that Lance referred to Zack as Santino’s mate. He mostly grew up around Esper families, but he met the occasional shifter or those with some shifter blood in them. Mating was special to shifters, he recalled, because they mated for life.

  Santino was probably only worried about Zack.

  Jack let out a breath, felt the nudge of a furry head to his side. Max.

  “I’m okay,” he told his savior.

  He anxiously looked toward his brother. Zack had cut off some of Glenn’s shirt away, had cleaned the wound. Jack grimaced as Zack took a pair of forceps next and managed to dig out the bullet, his motions quick, professional.

  Then Zack simply put his hands over the bullet wound. Mindful of Santino standing guard, he approached his brother slowly, eyes wide as the bullet hole in his brother’s shoulder began to close.

  “He’ll need rest,” Zack said, finally looking up, then glanced at his mate warily and petted Santino’s muzzle. “Beta, maybe we can let them stay, even for a day?”

  Jack didn’t dare hope. Of course he was more than grateful to Zack, Max, and the other werewolves, but if they left him and Glenn alone on the road, what would happen? No doubt more Squad members would be after them. They would be back where they started, on the run with no idea where to go.

  They could try to look for shelter at another paranormal community, but what if that community was wary of outsiders, too?

  “I’ll take full responsibility for Jack and Glenn, they can stay the night at my place,” came Max’s voice.

  Lance considered Max for a while, then turned to Jack. “Very well. And besides, Santino doesn’t think they’re a threat, either.”

  When did Santino say that, Jack wondered.

  “Matt will stay with the brothers. You can take your truck and drive back here,” Lance finished.

  Max nodded, walked up to Jack, who did his best not to look downward. Max gripped his shoulder. “I’ll be back.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said, meaning every word.

  Max began to turn away, but paused, as if he’d forgotten something. His heart beat rapidly when Max tipped his chin. Kiss me, Jack thought recklessly, floored when Max did just that. Max didn’t just kiss, he took, plundered his mouth, rendered him helpless for a few moments. He gripped Max’s broad shoulder, responding with equal passion.

  Jack wanted the kiss to go on forever, for Max to do more wicked things to his body, then he remembered where he was. Someone cleared their throat, the Beta. Max cupped his cheek, rubbed the day-old stubble there for a moment, before turning back to wolf form and disappearing into the woods.

  “You’re going to be trouble,” the Beta remarked, puzzling Jack a little. “Good or bad, I don’t know yet.”

  * * * *

  “What happened next?” Max asked.

  All three of them were in Max’s truck now. Matt, the wolf assigned to watch them while Max got his ride, had gone on ahead. Glenn was in the backseat
, snoozing while he sat next to Max, who, thankfully, had a pair of jeans and a shirt on. Thank God, or he wouldn’t be able to have this conversation. Max was distraction of the worst sort.

  It was hard to believe that Glenn and he were truly here, still alive. Hell, Glenn had been fully healed and Zack told him his brother would be good as new come tomorrow. He also still couldn’t comprehend his instant attraction to Max, why that kiss felt so good, like he could melt into Max’s arms.

  “Jack?” Max prodded, and he realized the werewolf asked him a question.

  “I had a vision in the convenience store,” he answered, recalling he’d been telling Max about the events of the past few hours. “Maybe my mom saw the vision, too, that’s why she persuaded Glenn and me to buy ice, because she knew I’d ‘see’ what would happen next.”

  A sob caught in his throat, but he shut his eyes and tried to focus on the present.

  It sure felt a lot longer than a few hours ago. Grief still hovered in the wings, but he refused to cry, not in front of Max or Glenn. He refused to let himself drown in sorrow, because where would that get him? He’d lose focus of his goal, for him and his brother to survive, and yet somehow, he felt safe with Max.

  A night. Glenn and he didn’t need to worry about watching their backs, because gut instinct told him Max could be trusted. After all, Max stuck out his neck for them, agreed to take responsibility for two complete strangers. He understood why the other werewolves kept their guard up, because if their positions were reversed, he’d do the same. According to Max, the old, the young, and the weak also lived inside their territory.

  “I mean,” he continued. “I’m not like my mom or brother. I can’t see far, not weeks or months ahead, but I can see an event a few minutes, fifteen tops. It’s pretty useless.”

  “That’s not true. Your vision saved you and your brother,” Max said.

  “But not my parents,” he said bitterly, surprised Max stopped the truck and reached for his hand. The werewolf’s touch was calming, especially when Max began stroking his hand.