Dire Wants (3 page)

“Stray, this thing with your brother . . . how much of a fucking freak is he?” Vice asked without prelude.

Stray’s way of answering was to jump toward Vice with a growl. Jinx got in between them.

“Guess I’ve got my answer.” Vice stared at Stray over Jinx’s shoulder. “We need him, so don’t screw this up.”

“Glad you agreed not to fuck with him,” Jinx muttered, his hand shooting out to hit Vice across the back of the head.

Stray turned from them to look up at the sky as the two tussled next to him.

The moon wasn’t ready to relent her hold on the world just yet. These last few hours of dawn were some of Stray’s favorites, the in-between time when most creatures were quiet and everything seemed at peace.

The solitude was what Stray enjoyed the most. He knew Jinx understood that the best, as they were the only two who consistently slept in wolf form, because for Jinx, it blocked out all the ghosts who constantly needed his help.

For Stray, it wasn’t that easy. His ability had been developing at an alarming rate once he left the Greenland pack. At first the other wolf’s emotions had to be really strong in order for Stray to hear his thoughts. Now, if he tuned in, he could hear just about everything—from Dire, Were and human, and maybe even witch—and it made him feel like he was going nuts.

Hell, maybe he was.

Chapter 2

“T
ell me what you remember,” Kate Walters urged the young woman named Josie, who sat across from her on the couch. “Start anywhere.”

“His hands,” Josie blurted out. “They were . . . hairy. God, of all things to remember.”

“Keep going.” Kate spoke gently as the picture began to firm up in her mind. She didn’t want to see the face of the man who’d hurt Josie, but she was able to see him the exact way Josie had. The back of his hands, unnaturally furred, the face, unmasked. That wasn’t always the case.

Kate concentrated on the attacker’s eyes first. Windows to the soul—or lack of one. They were blue—dark—close set. Bushy brows.

The graphite pencil flew across the page as Josie talked, voice tremulous.

Eventually, Josie would find herself staring at a replica of her attacker—the man who’d also killed her best friend, Sue, in the woods early this morning, when they were walking back from a town bar to their college campus through a popular shortcut. Josie’s reaction would be hard to judge—she might cry, scream or shake. The stoic ones affected Kate the most because they would simply sit there, hands balled tightly in their laps, and nod that the picture was right.

Kate wanted them to have a crack in their armor, a chip, wanted them to do something, because not reacting would come back to bite them in the ass.

It had for her. The fact that she got up daily and confronted her fears by helping others who’d lived through a violent crime was her only recourse.

And that’s why, even though she much preferred to do this in the police station, she would go to the hospital and even the victims’ homes if that’s what it took to keep them comfortable. That was why she was at Josie’s apartment instead of the hospital, where Josie had spent the better part of today.

The ultimate irony was that Kate couldn’t remember the face of her own attacker no matter how hard she tried. It happened nearly three years earlier. The detective who’d helped her when she was attacked in the woods several towns over from where she currently lived had been the one who’d gotten her this job. And while she was grateful for it, some days she felt she could never—would never—escape the victimology that surrounded her.

Today was one of those days. She’d spend a long time in the shower when she was done here, trying to wash away the brutality of the attack on the woman across from her, as well as her own.

At twenty she’d already lived through what she thought was more than her fair share of tragedy. But then she was attacked and realized that there was no limit to the amount of pain someone could be forced to endure during their lifetime, no magic number that would allow them to live the rest of their life unscathed. Sometimes tragedies multiplied upon tragedies.

She’d worked with enough victims to realize the solid truth behind that.

She kept talking, small affirmations so Josie would think she was still listening. But she didn’t need to. She wouldn’t stop sketching until she’d made a near-perfect reenactment of the man’s face, and she wasn’t there by any means.

She was always exhausted after she completed these sketches. Light-headed, like she’d left her body and was having a problem with reentry. Technically, she supposed a part of her
had
left to delve into another person’s mind uninvited.

For a good cause
, she reminded herself, hating to think she’d invaded a victim for the second time.

It’s not like she could ask; they would think she was crazy, and she’d left all those people who’d once called her that behind. She wouldn’t put herself in that position again.

The glass on the table next to her began to vibrate. Kate kept her head down, pencil moving with furious scratches, knowing all the while that she was causing the glass to move.

Josie was distracted by it, looked around nervously, because the Catskills wasn’t exactly the epicenter of earthquake activity.

“Keep going,” Kate urged, flicking a quick gaze on the woman. The pictures on the walls shook with Kate’s nervous energy that had no other outlet. If she didn’t hurry with this drawing, the woman’s apartment might just explode.

This was exactly why she preferred to do her sketch interviews at the police station. No one noticed the shaking vibrations she caused when she was agitated. It was too crazy in there for anyone to notice much of anything.

At first she’d thought she was haunted. It took a psychic to tell her that all of this was a part of her, inside of her. She had informed Kate that she was more powerful than she knew and that she needed to utilize her strengths. Somehow that news hadn’t been comforting at all. She knew there was something violent and dark inside of her, and she refused the psychic’s offer to help her reach her potential. Instead, Kate hoped that by helping people to exorcize their demons, she could rid herself of some of her own.

It helped a little, at least in the moment.

Concentrate,
she told herself, and the image came back. Josie was still talking, but Kate wasn’t paying attention to what she was saying. Instead, she focused on the picture in the woman’s mind, the one she was trying so hard to relay to Kate.

It would’ve been impossible if Kate couldn’t read her mind. She was able to capture the predator’s sharp cheekbones, the cold, dead eyes, the scar on his neck that Josie didn’t even remember. Identifying marks helped the police. They didn’t have time or manpower for a lot of these cases. The more help Kate could give them, the better off the victims would be.

She wished she was able to erase the image from Josie’s mind when she was done, take away all the horrible memories so Josie could go on with her life.

She held the sketch up. “Does this look like the man who hurt you?”

“I can’t believe it—that’s him.” Josie put a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t think I was helping you at all.”

“You did fine. I’m going to bring this to the station now.”

“You’ll show it to Agent Young, too?” Josie pushed a business card at her. FBI Special Agent Angus Young. “He told me a picture would be important. But the police didn’t seem like they held out much hope of finding this guy. I still can’t believe any of this happened. It’s like a bad dream that will never go away.”

“I’ll make sure he gets a copy.” Kate slipped the card into her pocket, flipped the sketchbook closed and laid a firm hand on Josie’s arm. Her voice wavered a little when she said, “Listen, you’ll get through it. It’s going to take time, but you’ll be all right. Just don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Josie blinked, looked at her appreciatively. “You sound like you’ve been there.”

Kate nodded and stood. To talk about it would tighten her throat more, and she refused to show any further weakness. Her lower back burned and she fought the urge to rub it, instead saying her good-byes to Josie and exiting the apartment building using the stairs.

Closed spaces, like elevators, hadn’t worked for her since the car accident ten years ago. She liked being free. Most of the time, drawing gave her that freedom. She’d had both her artistic talents and the ability to move objects when angry or agitated for as long as she could remember, but reading minds had come only after the accident.

In the years between the accident and the attack, she’d simply hidden that new ability so she wouldn’t appear to be the freak she felt she was. After the attack, when she’d sat with a sketch artist who tried patiently to get her to remember any details, she realized she could use the mind reading thing to help others. At that point, she allowed herself to use the ability for good. The victims asked nothing of her but a sketch that could help them and Kate’s job was done.

She wasn’t sure of her rate of success, didn’t want to ask, but assumed that since Officer Shimmin continued asking her back, she must be doing a good job.

When she reached the door that led to the outside, she stepped into the cold air. She didn’t call a cab, thought Josie’s apartment was close enough to the police station to walk. But as dusk fell, she quickly realized she shouldn’t have.

Light snow swirled on the concrete, dancing around her ankles. The white dusting on the lawns and roofs made everything look enchanting, and for a moment she paused to breathe in the slightly smoky scent that always accompanied snow.

It was then that she heard the mocking laughter. The cruelty in the sound made her brand burn again.

The group of boys looked to be in their late teens. Separately she might not have thought twice about them, but together they had a menacing, pack-like mentality that made her go cold. She turned away, but not before she unwittingly caught the biggest one’s eye.

“Hey, gorgeous—looking for us?” one of them called. The others started saying things, too, that would gradually escalate to the obscene.

She was already almost a block from Josie’s. It was too late to go back inside and call a cab—those boys were now nearly in front of the door to Josie’s apartment and following closely. She started walking as she fumbled for her cell to call Officer Shimmin and noted the battery was nearly dead. Again.

She and electronics did not get along. Something in her body drained batteries, and it drove her crazy.

She managed to get a call through to him—voice mail—and left a message with her location. He’d come for her; she was sure of it. Whether or not it would be in time . . .

She dropped the phone, and before she could bend to retrieve it, a shape appeared in front of her. She stepped back as a man—a handsome, tall man who had her cell phone in his hand—stood motionless, watching her.

He was an impenetrable wall of protection housed in the most ruggedly handsome casing she’d ever seen. He was well over six foot six and broad, wearing all black, with a leather jacket and motorcycle boots.

He appeared aristocratic and street at the same time—he wore both looks well.

Men like him just didn’t exist in the real world, and come to think of it, he was even larger than life than actors on the big screen. She didn’t know if she could ever truly do him justice with a sketch, but she really wanted to try. To draw him, she would need to shadow the chisel of his cheekbones, the strong jaw, the dark hair disheveled by wind.

Something inside of her both calmed and surged simultaneously. She took the phone back from him, her fingertips brushing his.

The voices behind her grew softer, more sinister, and she realized how alone she’d been. But nothing looked like it could get through her new savior, and that’s what she believed him to be.

But how could she be sure of anything?

“I’ll get you home safely.” His voice slammed through her like an unexpected orgasm. She took a few steps back, but somehow he was still directly in front of her. “Let me.”

A command, and she immediately bristled. “I’m all right—I made a call.”

“You’re not safe.”

She hated that he was right. The pack of boys had spooked her. “I’m not going home—I need to go to the police station.”

“Because of them?” His head jerked toward the boys.

“No, I’m expected. I was headed there before those boys started calling to me.” Best to let him know that, even though her body was anything but threatened by him.

“I’ll escort you there.” He wound his arm around her. When his hand touched her lower back, the brand so tender despite the layer of sweater and coat, she jumped.

He stepped away from her, glanced quickly at his hand and back at her. He looked like he was going to say something, but the young boys distracted him for the moment with their catcalls.

Her protector turned to them and spoke, his words too fast and too much like a growl for her to understand any of them, but the biggest held up his hands and they all stopped moving. She felt a stirring deep inside of her, longed to pull him to her, and she was embarrassed by the reaction. It wasn’t the time or the place and still she wanted him to kiss her until she couldn’t see straight.

She tore her gaze from him and tried to get her body back under control, but it refused to cooperate. She was hot and wanted to rip off her coat, but the man would wonder what she was doing, and so she kept it on and waited nervously.

When he turned back to her, he put his arm around her again, his hand nowhere near the brand. He was so warm, like an instant heater. He kept his pace even with hers although she knew he could move faster. There was power behind those muscles and it called to her in a way that frightened her. “Do you work for the police?”

“I’m a sketch artist,” she explained.

“What’s your name?” he asked, his brown eyes settling in around the color of a strong whiskey, and she was pretty sure she could get lost in them. She hadn’t dated much at all, not from lack of want, but because the damned brand didn’t seem to like men. It burned whenever one got too close. But now it was appeased.

She wasn’t even close to being so.

“Kate. Kate Walters,” she answered quickly when she realized he was staring, waiting for her to speak.

He nodded, but didn’t offer his name in return. And dammit, she was curious. But they were rounding the corner the police station was located on and ahead of her was Officer Shimmin.

She wasn’t sure when the man had let go of her, but she was very much alone.

“Kate, I’ve been calling you—I couldn’t hear your location in the message,” Officer Shimmin said, sounding genuinely concerned. As many times as he’d told her to call him Leo, she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Although he was a good-looking man, maybe late thirties, she’d never been able to see him as anything but a boss, an authority figure, and one she was a little afraid of, if she thought about it too hard.

“I felt . . . silly even calling,” she said apologetically.

“Never.” He took her hand in his. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

She allowed him to steer her into the frenzy of the police station, the brand on her back humming with an energy she’d never felt before, and she knew it had nothing to do with Leo Shimmin.

* * *

The woman he’d just saved was a high-level witch—and Stray doubted she knew it. Jinx had stayed out for long hours hunting another witch who continuously eluded him, but Stray was the one to make this surprise catch.