Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 (36 page)

“Mr. Herron—”

“Shut up.” He licked from her shoulder
to her injured ear, his mouth hovering there. “What would you do
for me, if I saved your friends?"

“He’s not going to retire me or the
troupe.” Her shivers were out of control, her teeth beginning to
rattle.

The wolf’s laugh was deep. “Call
him.”

“What?”

“Go ahead. He’s waiting for the
call.”

Ingrid’s hands were shaking as she
keyed in the number. “Ingrid.” It was the first time her call had
gone directly to him, bypassing Annie.

“Is it true?”

“What did Joseph say?”

“I’m out of the troupe.”

“True.”

“The rest of the troupe is in danger
of being retired.”

“True.”

“They did nothing wrong.”

“Prove it.”

“How?”

“At dawn I will come to Joseph’s suite
and you will open your mind to me completely—every shield dropped.
If I see that the rest of the troupe is innocent, I will allow them
to continue, with another Ingrid, of course.”

“I understand.”

“Behave tonight, and I might allow you
to live. I know of an instructor position you might be suited
for.”

“Thank you, sir.” He ended the call
without another word.

Joseph was watching her, his H-tab
open to a 3-D holo of Gene and Ingrid waving at the crowd at a
movie release.

“I’d be the last theta The Director
would place in a training institute. He’d be afraid I’d pass along
my rebellious ways,” she said quietly.

“Smart girl. But don’t despair. The
Director isn’t as powerful as he believes.”

“Perhaps you’re not as powerful as you
believe.”

“I know what I am and what I’m capable
of. You and your friends are the monkey wrench in his well-oiled
machine.”

“What is it you really
want?”

“Many things. I want to smear your
naked body with your blood and lick it off. I want to hurt you and
fuck you and possess you—make you my alpha female if you survive
the trials.”

“I’m not a wolf.”

“That can be remedied.”

“The bites might kill me.” If someone
wasn’t born a wolf, there was still a chance for them to catch the
virus. The only problem was, they had to submit to a series of very
painful bites over a period of one month—full moon to full
moon.

He laughed. “You’re the strongest
female I’ve ever encountered. How many could stand up to the wrath
of The Director and survive? And with your magic, you would have
every member of my packs licking your feet and groveling in the
dirt. It would be quite entertaining.”

“Or nauseating.”

“If you give yourself to me, body and
soul, all the wolves and allies I have at my disposal will help you
bring down The Director. Your friends will be safe.”

“You expect me to believe that? You
and he are buddies.”

“The Director’s a creature not of this
world. He has no true ties to the earth or to any being walking
upon it. He plays with us like we’re the latest video game, and
when he becomes bored, he’ll destroy us and move on to the next
world. I need allies to stop him.”

“Why do you imagine my troupe has the
desire or ability to fight The Director?”

“Because you have the desire and the
ability to convince the others. From the moment you were branded by
rape, you’ve worked toward that end. I watched you as a young
female, ignoring orders, experimenting with your powers, searching
for others equal to your level. I was the one who suggested to The
Director that you be placed in the Hudson River Troupe.”

“How do you know this?”

“Twelve years ago, The Director began
digitally tagging the children in the institute who seemed to have
extraordinary skills. You were one of the first. I captured the
demon that developed the program and convinced him to give me the
passkey. I’ve made it a hobby to follow the progress of the
females. There are quite a few who’ve evolved, although not to your
level.”

“That can’t be true.” Ingrid took a
closer look at Joseph. “Did you visit me at the
institute?”

“Multiple times.”

“You were one of those men behind the
mirror, watching me undress?”

“And bathe and…”

Ingrid stood. “You’re a disgusting
pervert. I’d never help a dog like you.” Calling a werewolf a dog
was the ultimate insult.

“Careful, bitch." The blow to her
stomach was lightning fast, pitching her forward onto her hands and
knees. She tried to gasp, but she’d temporarily lost the ability to
breathe. Clutching at the back of her dress, the furious wolf
ripped it away, exposing her red lace bra and panties. “You’ll
speak to me with respect, whore, or I’ll send you back to The
Director in pieces.” He placed a foot on her ass, pushing her all
the way to the floor.

Joseph Herron had a hair trigger.
Suddenly, reports of the large number of alphas he’d personally
murdered made sense.

She was on her stomach, panting. He
tucked a foot under her hip and rolled her onto her back. "Your
body is fucking perfect." He was on top of her instantly, grinding
his groin into hers. He had her pinned down with his large body,
his mouth returning to her injured ear. "I can smell your fear and
it makes me hard.”

Furious, Ingrid forced herself to
focus, gathering a large amount of power and attacking his mind
with a vision of several military types pointing guns at his head.
This time his shields crumbled like a sandcastle, and the shock had
him springing up and backing away, his hands flattened in front of
his body. "Hold on. I haven’t hurt her. Put the guns
away.”

Ingrid used the arm of the couch to
help her get up. His punch must have bruised a couple of ribs and
the pain was bad. “Don’t do it.” She spoke to her fantasy rescuers
to convince the wolf they were real.

“Where’d your friends come from,
Ingrid?” The alpha began to look suspicious. “Smith wouldn’t have
gone down without a fight and I didn’t hear a sound. The soldiers
simply stood with their guns pointed at his head, silent and
menacing. Joseph’s eyes suddenly widened.

"Motherfucker." He jumped
at Ingrid, twisting her arm in a painful way and throwing her down
on the couch. She landed on her back.
Oh
god, her ribs hurt
.

He straddled her hips, pinning her
arms with his spread knees. "You're a sneaky little cunt, aren't
you?" He yanked on her hair again, tearing some out. Tears welled
in Ingrid’s eyes. "You had your chance to be civil and you blew it.
So this is how tonight works. I do what I want and you keep your
mouth shut, unless I want it open." He slapped her face hard and
she cried out, unable to stop the sound. "I think we need to make a
few adjustments in your attitude first."

Ingrid tasted blood in her mouth, her
body trembling with the adrenalin rush and throbbing with pain.
Joseph smiled and slapped her again, forcing her head to the right.
Blood splattered on the couch cushion beneath her face. He jerked
her around again, turned on by the pain he was
delivering.

In desperation, she gathered in more
power. Maybe she could push him away, or put him to sleep or
something—anything—but she was having difficulty focusing through
the physical pain of the repeated blows. She’d waited too long to
use her power, and now she’d be in serious shit if she didn’t get
her act together and deal with this freaking sadist. Gritting her
teeth, she reached out to the power her guys had shared with her, a
cool balm to soothe the hurt and help her focus.

Joseph frowned, hesitating. He seemed
unsure of what to do next, finally deciding to move toward the bar
and pour himself a drink. Ingrid had sent him a jumbled-up
onslaught of energy with nothing specific in mind, confusing him.
Unfortunately, when she sat up to focus her magic with something
more concrete, the room spun in circles, causing the energy she’d
used to flux.

The wolf was on her again in a flash,
the bottle of scotch forgotten on the bar.

He shoved her off the couch and onto
the floor, yelling, "You're a stubborn little bitch.” He grabbed
Ingrid’s forearm, wrenching her shoulder as he dragged her up
enough to deliver another violent slap. Blood splattered on his
hand and shirt and he made a show of licking his fingers. Her lips
were bleeding from both corners. "Why don’t we start with that blow
job you suggested?" Forced to her knees, Ingrid cringed in pain,
crying out, her mouth and ribs screaming.

The sound of talking outside the hall
door interrupted Joseph’s plans. Reaching behind his back, he
pulled a gun from his waistband, resting it against her temple. The
wolf growled into her ear. "This one isn't pretend like your
soldier’s guns, so keep your mouth shut." He pulled her in front of
him like a shield, backing them away from the door.

An argument was in play between Smith
and another man, his voice vaguely familiar. Ingrid hoped it wasn't
Mack or Gene pulling a rescue. If what Joseph said was true and The
Director was giving her away, then she was practically a dead woman
already. There was no reason for her guys or the rest of the troupe
to get sucked into the black hole along with her.

The argument was loud enough to hear
easily. "But I was told to bring this package to Room 2512 and
deliver it personally to Mr. Joseph Herron. I have orders not to
give it to anyone else." Where had she heard that voice
before?

"Well, that's too fucking bad, because
I'm not disturbing Mr. Herron. Hand it over, and I'll sign for it.
Hey!"

Something large banged against the
door then hit the ground, sounding suspiciously like a body.
“Smith!” Joseph shouted, but there was no response.

Thinking she had no time to waste, she
gathered up every ounce of psy and axis power she could manage and
sent a vision to Joseph of his gun heating up, melting in his hand.
He screamed in pain, dropping the weapon and running to the ice
bucket on the bar.

The fantasy pain she’d
created was finely focused, fueled by anger and intent, similar to
what she’d done in Atlanta. Stepping closer, she took a clue from
Gene and used
Influence
to make him believe he had the worst migraine of
all time. He fell to his knees, groaning, clutching at his head,
and shutting his eyes. No alpha wolf would put himself in such a
vulnerable position in front of an enemy, unless he was truly
helpless, lost in the fantasy she’d projected. As long as she kept
him from strengthening his mental shields, he was hers to hurt, to
torture, to kill.

Smiling, Ingrid picked up the
perfectly normal gun he’d dropped and whacked him with the butt. He
collapsed in a heap. She might never be a sadistic prick like him,
but the sound of the gun connecting to that asshole’s head was the
sweetest music ever.

Holy hells, it
worked
. She’d made some mistakes, but even
so…

Someone was fiddling with the lock on
the door. Ingrid crouched behind the bar, leaving Joseph where he’d
landed. She had a gun, plus she had her mind, a more formidable
weapon than she’d imagined. Gene Stone had taken Ingrid to an
Atlanta shooting range and taught her how to use a stun-glock, the
weapon often used by The Director’s demon soldiers. He’d also
taught her to take apart the handgun, learning proper
maintenance.

For the first time in Ingrid’s life,
she didn’t feel like a victim. She lifted the gun and aimed,
confident that she’d hit what she was aiming at.

The rear end of a man in a uniform
appeared first, not a fair target in her estimation. He was
grunting, apparently pulling something heavy. It turned out to be
the prone form of Smith. The bodyguard’s other end was being
managed by a young, red-haired woman who closed the door behind her
when Smith was all the way inside. That was strange enough, but the
biggest shock came when Ingrid recognized the young man who'd
dropped Smith in the middle of the room. He was crouching down and
feeling for a pulse.

Ingrid stood, conjuring herself into a
dress so she could meet her rescuers in more than her fancy
lingerie.

"Jawey?" Because her mouth was so
swollen, her words weren't all that clear, but Johnny grinned,
managing to understand just fine.

"Put the gun down. I'm saving your
ass."

"Saymyonass." Ingrid scowled at
him.

The girl rolled her brown eyes. "From
the looks of you, a few more punches and you'd have been out
cold."

“He’s ow coe.” She pointed toward the
alpha with the gun still in her hand, waving it around proudly, but
keeping it aimed at the floor just in case.

Johnny laughed, striding forward to
gently pry the gun out of her hand. The redhead jogged to the ice
bucket on the bar, wrapping some ice in a bar towel and pressing it
against Ingrid’s mouth. "Okay, you did good, but there are rooms
downstairs. Can’t have you shooting through the floor and killing
the honeymoon couple.”