Savage Urges

  “As Ryan said, it’s just a rumor. There are plenty of rumors about my Trey; not all of them are true. The same can be said for most powerful Alphas—there are always people trying to ruin their reputation.”

  That was part of why Ryan hadn’t initially given much thought to the rumors about Remy.

  “Yes, but I’m not prepared to take that chance,” said Taryn. “Especially since we owe the shelter.”

  “But we don’t owe any of the loners staying there. I’m telling you, loners can’t be trusted. One of them shot my Roni.”

  “So it’s totally fine that I was shot by a loner?” Jaime asked, amused.

  Greta humphed. “Why should I care? My Dante could have done better than you. Just like my Trey could have done better than that hussy.”

  Greta thought of Trey, Dante, Tao, and all four male enforcers as “her boys” and was having trouble cutting the apron springs. That was why she disliked any unmated females being around them and always did her best to chase them off. It hadn’t worked with Taryn and Jaime. Somehow, Roni had tricked Greta into approving of her. The entire pack was still in awe of her for it.

  “Back to the subject at hand,” said Taryn, “we have to help any way we can with the Remy problem.”

  Trey cocked one brow at her. “Do I not get a say in this?”

  She patted his arm. “Of course you do. Just note that if your opinion is different from mine, it will be disregarded.”

  “You can’t be serious about helping loners!” Greta griped. The word “loners” was spoken in the same tone as someone might use for “Nazis.”

  The smile that Taryn shot Greta was a little evil. “But just think how much fun it would be to have more unmated females around your boys . . . you know, flirting with them, leading them down the path of sin.”

  Greta lifted her chin. “I refuse to offer any help to loners.”

  “And I refuse to accept that someone who is so old she was a waitress at the Last Supper could still be alive, yet here you are.”

  Hearing a series of beeps signaling that Ryan had received a text message, he took his cell from his pocket. The message was from Zac and mostly in shorthand, but Ryan translated it into: “Thanks for chasing off Remy today. Are you really going to help the shelter?”

  Ryan immediately replied: “Yes. The whole pack will help.”

  It was a promise, and Ryan never broke his word. He wasn’t concerned that Greta would change Taryn’s mind on the matter. Even if the woman miraculously managed to do so, it wouldn’t change Ryan’s plans.

  Generally, he didn’t get involved in other people’s drama. Having been raised in a house that was full of it, Ryan avoided it like the plague. But he had every intention of helping the shelter, and he wouldn’t be swayed from that course. Once Ryan committed himself to any cause of action, he saw it through to the end. He wouldn’t overlook the danger Remy presented to those children and he wouldn’t let Zac down.

  In truth, the kid deserved a better guardian than Ryan—he wasn’t good at giving emotional feedback, wasn’t good at bonding, and wasn’t good at expressing affection or receiving it. But he could give Zac a home, a sense of belonging, and ensure he was safe. Those were all good things, right?

  Spending time with Zac to earn his trust would also mean spending time with Makenna. Ryan waited for discomfort to settle in at the idea of being around a loner . . . but none came. In fact, he realized with a start, he wanted to see her again. Probably because she was a mystery. Ryan liked having all the facts of a situation. He wanted to know who she really was and what happened to her. Moreover, he wanted to know what fucking pack would cast out a pup and just how they could possibly justify it to themselves.

  “Where did you hear the rumor about Remy?” Trey asked, interrupting Ryan’s thoughts.

  “I was at a shifter bar,” said Ryan. “The waitress was flirting with him at the other side of the room. One of the barmen—Myles—didn’t look happy about it. Then he snickered when Remy dismissed her. He said he wasn’t surprised she’d been sent on her way because he’d heard Remy’s interests leaned toward young boys.”

  Dante folded his arms across his chest. “Then I think we need to go and speak with this barman, find out where he got that information.”

  Later that night, Ryan strode through the crowded bar with Trey, Dante, and Trick. They found Myles at the far end of the bar, flirting with the female he was serving.

  He went rigid at the sight of their grim expressions. “What’s this about?”

  A straight shooter. Ryan liked that.

  “We have a few questions,” said Trey. “It won’t take long.”

  Myles barked a nervous laugh. “I’d be a fool to walk off alone with four pissed-off Phoenix wolves.”

  “It’s not you we’re pissed at,” said Trey. “But I have a feeling you can tell us a little about the wolf who did piss us off.”

  Myles pressed his lips together, clearly reluctant. Finally, with a heavy exhale, he rounded the bar and gestured for them to follow him. He led them through a door marked “Staff Only” and into an empty break room. “What do you want to know?”

  Trey spoke. “Remy Deacon.”

  Myles’s face scrunched up in distaste. “What about him?”

  “Last time I was here,” said Ryan, “you told me Remy likes little boys.”

  Myles shifted uncomfortably. “That’s what I heard.”

  “From who?”

  “Some of my pack mates. They were originally members of one of the packs he took over. They switched to ours a few months ago.”

  “They know this for certain?” asked Dante. “They’ve witnessed it?”

  “No. They said he likes to be around the kids, that he takes them on nature walks and he’s adopted all the orphans.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with spending time with pups,” said Trey.

  “No, but some of the boys have gone missing. And one of the fathers outright accused Remy of abusing his son and then attacked him. Remy killed the father. Since then, some of the families have left—maybe because they believe the rumors or maybe because they’re being cautious.” He cringed as he added, “I also heard that his extremely possessive mother loves him . . . a little too much.”

  A bitter taste settled on Ryan’s tongue. His wolf curled his lip in total disgust. If the latter rumor were true, a person might be tempted to feel sympathy for Remy. Ryan wasn’t tempted. Sad and sick as it was, lots of people were abused. They didn’t all become abusers.

  “We need to speak with your pack mates,” Dante told Myles. “We need to know more about Remy.”

  “I don’t think they know anything more.”

  “Maybe not, but we have to be sure.”

  Myles scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “They’re visiting relatives in Canada. They’ll be back Friday.”

  “We’ll come to your territory Saturday morning to talk with them,” said Trey, his tone nonnegotiable.

  Myles tucked his hands in his pockets and shuffled from foot to foot. “What if they don’t want to talk to you?”

  Trey cocked a brow. “If they believe the rumors are true, I would think they’d want to tell us what they know.”

  “You’ll kill him, won’t you?”

  “If he’s guilty, he doesn’t deserve to live.”

  “No, he damn well doesn’t,” agreed Myles with a sneer.

  By the time Makenna arrived at the shelter the next morning, the residents were just finishing breakfast. They then headed to either work, job interviews, school, or the common room. And that was when Makenna did what she’d been doing each day since Dawn had agreed for her to remain in the shelter many years ago: she began her designated chores.

  Aided by some of the staff, she cleaned the kitchen, wiped down the cafeteria tables, and mopped the floor. Following that, she checked on each of the new residents, making sure they were settling in and asking for names of any family they would trust to take them in.

&nbs
p; After a light lunch, she headed to Dawn’s office to use her computer. There, she ran searches on each of the names that the new residents gave her, hoping to electronically track their whereabouts. She was halfway through the list when Colton called the office phone. “Hello.”

  “We have visitors. They’re asking for you.”

  Curious, Makenna left the office and made her way to the reception area. Colton and Madisyn were there, watching curiously as three unfamiliar females studied the décor while chatting among themselves. Several boxes were at their feet. Makenna cleared her throat to get their attention.

  They each pivoted, smiling. They didn’t look at all alike; one was tall and slim, the second was a very curvy brunette, and the third a peroxide blonde who was rather tan-tastic. Submissive wolves, she sensed.

  The tall one smiled brightly. “You must be Makenna. It’s great to meet you.”

  The brunette nodded. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Confused, Makenna said, “Um . . . I’m sorry. Who are you?”

  Putting a hand to her chest, the tall one replied, “Oh, I’m Lydia”—she put a hand on the brunette’s shoulder—“this is Grace, and that’s Hope. We’re from the Phoenix Pack. We’re here to help.”

  “Help how?” The door opened as Dante and two other males filed inside carrying boxes, garbage bags, and . . . “Paintings?”

  Lydia’s smile turned even brighter. “I thought it would be nice to spruce up the place. Give it some color. Jaime was right, the place has a lot of warmth.”

  The burly male with claw marks on one side of his face inclined his head at Makenna. “I’m Trick.”

  The hot blond beside him with a hint of mischief in his eyes flashed her a flirtatious grin. “Hey, I’m Dominic.”

  Makenna nodded. “Ah, the enforcer who sends Zac dirty jokes.”

  “Actually, I’m a freelance gynecologist. When was your last checkup?”

  “Dominic,” chastised Grace.

  Makenna’s chuckle cut off as the door again opened and Taryn, Jaime, and Ryan entered. The very second Ryan’s eyes found hers, a tingle of pleasure shot down her spine. The raw need building inside her was live and electric. In spite of herself, she wondered how it would feel to have him in her, over her, taking her. She would bet all his natural intensity translated into hard, rough, demanding sex—the best kind, in her opinion.

  “I brought some clothes to donate,” said Hope. “They’re from everyone in the pack. Some of them don’t quite realize yet that they’ve donated, but I’m sure they’ll notice soon.”

  Trick’s brow furrowed. “What exactly have I donated?”

  “We had some extra food,” Grace told Makenna.

  She called those three boxes extra? Like the stuff had just been lying around? “Extra food,” repeated Makenna. “Right.”

  Nostrils flaring, Dominic sidled up to Madisyn with a frown. “What are you?”

  The feline got that a lot. Most shifters didn’t sense what breed she was. And Madisyn kind of liked it that way. She very rarely revealed the truth, since she found joy in dicking with people. “A woman,” Madisyn replied.

  Dominic rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but what type of shifter are you?”

  “A cat.”

  “What kind of cat shifter?” he pressed, impatient.

  “A rare one.”

  Lydia did a little clap, overriding Dominic’s growl. “Well, let’s get to work.”

  It quickly became clear to Makenna that Lydia was quite artistic and had a flair for interior design. She recruited some of the shelter’s volunteers and residents, even the children, to help with improvements. Paintings were hung up, potted plants were brought in, colorful blackout blinds replaced outdated curtains, and stylish light fixtures were added.

  The common room was completely transformed. The old carpet was replaced by laminate flooring and then covered with a beautiful, coffee-colored rug the same shade as the blinds. The upholstery was changed with matching sofas and cushions, and white faux-leather covers were added to the plastic chairs.

  The children painted pictures on the walls of the outdoor playground, which was further improved by a playhouse, sandpit, basketball net, and trampoline that the Phoenix wolves had brought with them. Apparently, they were the things the Alpha pair’s son was no longer amused by, but Makenna wasn’t so sure she believed it was old stuff.

  Madisyn, too, had her suspicions. Dawn . . . well, Makenna hadn’t seen her that happy in a long time. The woman was thrilled with all the other things the wolves had donated: bedding, clothing, footwear, sleeping bags, hygiene supplies, books, toys, towels, a microwave, a toaster, and a kettle.

  The wolves claimed the stuff had been just “lying around.” But as Makenna gazed at something hanging on the common room wall, she said to Ryan, who had rarely left her side, “I refuse to believe you had a wide-screen TV just lying around.”

  “You’d be surprised. We have a lot of guest rooms, but they’re rarely used.”

  “Guest rooms?” She would have thought he’d say “guest cabins.” “Does that mean you guys all live in one big pack house?” Picking up some of the garbage bags at her feet, she headed toward the side exit; Ryan did the same.

  “In a sense,” he replied as they stepped outside into the side alley. Like Makenna, he slung the garbage bags into the trash. “Who is Colton to you?” Ryan blurted out, unintentionally abrupt. He inwardly winced. By nature, he was curt and straight to the point. Which meant he often came across as rude and intolerant.

  “He’s a volunteer and a friend.” She was panting with exertion after all the hours of hard work, but Ryan hadn’t even broken a sweat. She’d resent him for it if it hadn’t been so pleasurable watching all those muscles bunch and flex.

  “Friend? He walks into your personal space like it’s his right.”

  “So do you.”

  Yeah, well, they weren’t talking about him. “Are you two dating?”

  “Why? Are you interested in him? Because I don’t think he swings that way.” She grimaced as a crow landed nearby. “Well, that’s not good.”

  Blinking at the sudden change of subject, Ryan glanced at the bird. “What?”

  “Seeing one crow on its own is bad luck.” She didn’t add obviously, but it was in her tone.

  Ryan looked from her to the bird, feeling compelled to point out, “It’s just a crow.”

  “Come on, you’ve heard the rhyme. ‘One for sorrow, two for mirth, etc. . . . ’”

  Yes, but still . . . “It’s just a crow.” And that was just a rhyme.

  “You’re not at all superstitious?”

  “You mean do I have completely illogical beliefs? No.” He’d expected her to be offended. She actually smiled, looking curious.

  “So you don’t believe in luck?”

  “No.”

  “But you believe in fate.”

  “No.”

  She gaped. “How can you not believe in fate? You’re a shifter. We have predestined mates.”

  “That doesn’t mean our lives are written out like a script.” He dictated his fate, no one else.

  “But it would suggest that some things are set in stone. There’s a female out there who was pretty much made for you.”

  “That doesn’t mean my fate is to spend my life with her.” It was simply a possible path his life would take . . . if he chose that path.

  “Okay, that’s true,” Makenna conceded. He could fail to find his mate, or one of them could imprint on someone else. Shifters who weren’t true mates could still come together and form a mating bond through the process of imprinting. It was just as strong and true as a bond between predestined mates. “Are you rejecting the notion of fate because you don’t want to find your mate?”

  “No.” Ryan had never feared mating, never feared the commitment. He’d played around, knowing that once he found his mate he’d attach himself to her and that would be that. Simple. He really wasn’t sure why other people found the matter so co
mplicated. “I just don’t believe our lives are dictated by luck or fate or that mating bonds are cosmic, magical things.”

  He was so stoic and serious, she mused. Always in enforcer mode. She posted a memo on her mental corkboard to remind her to make Ryan smile at least once before they parted for good. “All right, then what do you think bonds are?”

  “Evolutionary measures to ensure procreation.”

  That sure surprised her. “You think it’s a genetic thing?”

  “Shifters can’t procreate with anyone other than their mates. In that sense, mating bonds ensure the continuation of the shifter races.”

  “So you think the bond is some kind of trap?”

  “No. I just don’t think it’s anything other than an evolutionary measure, that’s all. Why does that make you smile?”

  She shrugged. “Your mind is so practical. It’s fascinating.”

  He was certain no one had ever referred to him as “fascinating.” Cold, yes. Merciless, yes. Emotionally sterile, yes. Fascinating? No.

  “Well, I believe there are such things as fate and luck. Madisyn is one of the luckiest people I’ve ever met; she’s always winning and finding stuff. And take Zac. I found him unconscious on my doorstep, pumped up on alcohol and drugs. In that state, he could have ended up in a number of places; he was hurt and vulnerable. But it was my doorstep he found his way to—a person who could lead him someplace safe. That right there is an example of a higher power at work.”

  His mother’s voice was suddenly ringing in Ryan’s head . . . “I should have waited for my true mate! This is my punishment from fate for betraying him by imprinting on your father!”

  No, his mother was miserable because of her own choices—something she’d never taken responsibility for. She’d blamed fate, the universe, his father, everything and everyone but her. “There’s no such thing as a higher power,” Ryan insisted. People were in charge of their own destinies. If they fucked up their lives, it was their own fault and they needed to own it. “Zac could have still ended up here at some point. How did you end up here?”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  Pissed by those words in a way he couldn’t explain, Ryan closed the small distance between them. “You’ve been living as a lone wolf since you were a kid . . . and it doesn’t matter?”