Treeland Pack Tales 3: A Trace of Ivy (18 page)

“Is he always so”—Ivy paused seeking the right word. She
failed to find it and settled for—“intense?”

Chet snorted. “Intense is the kindest description anyone
ever applied to Gun.”

“Maybe he’s touch starved.” Ivy blurted.

Chet stared at her as if she’d said the sky had fallen, so
she chattered on. “You didn’t stroke his arm or squeeze his shoulder the way
you do with other males.”

“Not even Daniel touches Gun,” he rumbled, treating her to a
reproving frown.

Chet blustered well, but he would never hurt her, so his
scowl didn’t work. She had no love for monsters, but she sure as hell didn’t
want any more of them. “Why not? You said all wolves need lots of physical
contact. Losing their connection to other werewolves can even push them into
going rogue, right?”

One of Chet’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “First, no one
touches Gun because they don’t want to draw back a bloody stump. Second, you’re
correct. I said that, and it’s true. However, exactly what makes a male go
rogue isn’t that predicable. Often the loss of mate, or pack, or family is a factor.
Yet some males survive the same kind of losses and stay sane.”

She nodded to acknowledge his explanation. Content that he’d
listened and considered her question about Gun, she didn’t push for more.

The enforcer reappeared with Ivy’s new camel-hair overcoat,
handed the garment to Chet, and took off, tossing back a promise. “I’ll wait
out front.”

After Chet helped her into the coat, he steered her out of
the pavilion and through the grounds. Torches glowed every few yards along the
curving path. A half-moon had risen, outshining the starlight glittering across
the night sky. Each exhale made a visible cloud in the cold air. She pulled up
her collar and snuggled closer to Chet. As she hurried to keep pace with his
loping stride, she continued to think about the bristly Gun. Certain he’d
survived something horrible to make him so belligerently defensive, she felt
kinship for him.

“I was serious. You need to stay a healthy distance from
Gun. He’s full of anger and not as stable as the other enforcers. He’s a danger
to himself and damn near anyone who comes too close.”

“You asked for him to join your team.”

“He’s a lethal fighter. And he’s on our side. I don’t want
to take any chances with your safety.”

She nodded as if he’d made sense. “Is the stale smokiness in
his scent from anger?”

Chet hesitated for a second. “Yeah. You have a good nose.”

“But the traces are old, right?”

“True.”

“He was deeply hurt.” It was a guess. One she was willing to
bet was accurate.

“It’s a long story and not mine to tell. Trust me on this.
It’s important. He’s not stable. Promise me that you will avoid being alone
with him. Please.”

Refusing Chet’s growly plea was impossible. “Sure.”

Gun appeared so suddenly she flinched.

The scent of fresh snow wafted from him. She’d smelled a
fainter version of the same aroma on Tess and Kat when they’d been hurt and
sad.

“I’m not one of the crazy rogues.” He whirled away from them
and yanked open one of the SUV’s back doors before he disappeared into the
dark.

“Never thought you were.” Chet growled after him, the “yet”
at the end of his response hung in the air while he handed her into the
vehicle.

From the outside the windows were so darkly tinted she had
trouble distinguishing the glass from the auto’s body. Inside the vehicle the
same tinting dimmed the brilliant night sky and even the light from the blazing
torches. Muted gray leather and tweed carpet added car smells to the heavy
layer of clean male musk perfuming the interior.

Another male scooted over to make room and grinned from the
far side of the bench seat. “I’m Tal, and you’ve got to be GQ’s lady.”

“Yes.”
At least in one
way I am. Chet is amazing, but can I be his true mate when I still can’t shift
and don’t feel like a real werewolf?
“Why do all of you call him GQ?”

“’Cause he’s so into threads.” Tal’s dark eyes crinkled at
her with suppressed laughter.

Chet’s upper lip curled in a snarl, adding another layer of
confirmation, should Tal have any lingering doubts. She automatically patted his
thigh. “Please forgive his grumpiness. The bond is new and makes him forget his
manners.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tal stared out the window.

“Are you going to introduce me?” The driver asked.

“Ivy, Joe. Joe, keep your paws off my mate.”

“Your lady is safe with us, GQ.” Joe winked at her.

The SUV pulled out of the pack compound and onto an
arterial. In spite of the frosty temperature and the evening hour, there was
plenty of traffic.

Joe maneuvered through the slick streets with smooth
competence. Soon he rolled to a stop by a uniformed Treeland police officer and
lowered his window. “Hey, Holt, Jeremy around?”

“Alley.” Holt jerked his head to indicate the gap between
buildings. “Drop off your best nose. The rest of you have to wait out of
sight.”

Chet growled beside her.

“Sorry, but you know the drill. Better hurry if you want to
catch a clean trace. More uniforms and the medical examiner’s team are on their
way.”

“I’ve got the best chance of recognizing the rogues.” Ivy
whispered to Chet.

He nodded curtly and added to Holt. “You damn well keep my
lady safe.”

The officer took a nervous step away and hiked his utility
belt higher. “Yes, sir.”

Tal jumped out, helped Ivy down, and hopped back in even
faster. The SUV pulled from the curb, leaving a thin vapor trail of warm
exhaust.

“Take my arm.” Holt held out an elbow. “Don’t want you
falling, ma’am.”

A waft from the overflowing Dumpsters punched her sinuses as
she rounded the corner into the alley. A pile of bloody clothing and mangled
human, male body parts had been wedged between a pair of garbage containers.
Her wolf rose, sharpening all her senses.

The rotting-meat stench from the monsters clung to the young
man’s corpse. The awful odor stayed clear even beneath the coppery tang of blood
and a fading peppery odor. But picking up rogue scent wasn’t good enough. She
leaned closer, sifting through the myriad aromas for a familiar marker. The
metallic bite that edged Bro’s scent caused her belly to roil. She swallowed
hard, fighting to keep from losing the contents of her stomach and polluting
the crime scene.

“Step back from the body and don’t touch anything, ma’am.”
The male’s voice barked authority. “What the hell were you thinking, Holt?”

“Treeland enforcers delivered her.”

“Are you telling me the Beta is a tracker?” His tone was
clearly skeptical. Neither officer looked at her. “Pack Leader said he was
sending Chet.”

Ivy swallowed again and stood to face the angry detective.
“The Beta you’re discussing is standing right here. I haven’t touched
anything.” She stepped out of her treacherous heels, and crouched to hook them
with her fingers, ready to run. She straightened before addressing Holt. “I’m
done. Thanks for your help.”

The detective must’ve caught something in her scent. He inhaled
and let out his breath with a beleaguered sigh. “Shit, you’re Chet’s mate.”

She wasn’t dignifying that line with a reply. So she dipped
her chin—a simple acknowledgment she’d heard him before she spun on her heel
and scooted down the alley. She’d nearly reached the sidewalk when a steel grip
came out of nowhere and pinned her arms to her sides. The stench of rotting
meat with a teeth-chilling edge of metal filled her nostrils and stole the
comfort of Chet’s bonding scent.

Hot breath assaulted her ear. “You clean up good. If it
hadn’t been for that sweet Beta-bitch smell, I wouldn’t have recognized you.”

Time slowed to a snail’s sedate slide while her heart
accelerated, beating frantically in a vain attempt to escape her rib cage. The
punishing grasp crushing her torso caused the edges of her vision to gray. She
fought to draw a life-giving breath.

“Step away from her, or I’ll shoot.” Jeremy yelled.

“Is that the dog I’m smelling on you, pretty one? Not much
of a threat. Does he fuck your ass like I did?” The monster squeezing her
turned her so she faced the twin barrels of the police guns. Holt and Jeremy
stood side by side, their firearms extended in a two-handed grip she’d seen on
cop shows.

Her wolf surged, snapping inside her, flooding her with new
strength. Her fingernails thickened and lengthened into wicked claws. She sank
her new weapons into Bro’s meaty thighs.

He yelped and loosened his hold. A sudden blast of pepper
scent from behind made her sneeze, expelling the last of the stale air in her
lungs. She gasped—frantic for air.

Behind the cops, Vic silently dropped from a small roof over
a back door, looming over the cops in his scary half-shifted form. She tried to
scream a warning, but the only sound she managed was a pathetic croak.

The rogue leader slashed the detective’s face from cheekbone
to neck. Jeremy’s last-second jerk made the lethal claws nick his jugular
instead of severing the artery. The wounded detective tucked and rolled. Holt
tried to shoot the rogue. Vic caught the barrel of his sidearm, wrenching it
away from the officer.

“Nice.” Bro snarled and recaptured Ivy. This time he
tightened his grip.

This time she fought his hold, ripping into his forearms.
Even with the boost of panic and her wolf power, his strength was still
greater. He wrapped a beefy arm around her neck, crushing her throat and
cutting off her airway.

Muffled pops assaulted her ears. Vic clutched his shoulder
and snarled. He tucked the confiscated handgun into his pants and lashed out at
Jeremy again. Another gunshot hit his chest. His T-shirt splattered drops of
blood as he leaped across the alley.

“I’ll be back for you, bitch.” His yellow wolf eyes glowed
directly at her. Then he jumped again, landing lightly atop a Dumpster. He used
it as a springboard to grab a rusty fire-escape ladder. He pulled himself up
the lower rungs then scurried up the rickety iron scaffolding. He moved so
fast, if she hadn’t seen the blood bloom on his shirt, she would never have
guessed he’d been shot at least twice.

“Fucking enforcers,” Bro snarled, dragging her closer toward
the wounded cops.

Then his cruel grip loosened. Another shot rang through the
alley. The band squeezing her neck released totally. Her back bowed, she braced
on her thighs and dragged in deep gulps of blessed oxygen. A second later a
puff of sulfur caused her cold nose to twitch. She glanced back, instantly
regretting the flash of Bro’s head that burned into her mind. The top was
missing, blown away by the same gunshot responsible for the gaping wound under
his jaw.

Chet’s expression was a blank mask. She couldn’t meet his
icy gaze. Tears must have pooled in her eyes, because her cheeks grew wet. She
wasn’t sure if they were from relief or sadness at the violence and suffering,
or perhaps they were self-pity for being such a trouble magnet.

His clean, natural fragrance swirled around her as he
stepped in front of her, keeping one hand at her waist. “Easy, I’ve got you.”

He held her close for a moment, nuzzling her hair. “I’m so
proud of you. You bloodied your claws on that bastard, sweet torment.”

“I did,” she rasped, strangely pleased with her already
receding talons. The claws were the first true wolf sign she’d manifested. “My
wolf rose. She made me stronger.”

“Thank the goddess. I should have been there to protect you.”
Chet quivered with barely leashed rage, yet he examined her with gentle
thoroughness and sighed. “You’re not hurt?”

Still rasping in ragged breaths, Ivy dug into his arms,
needing the contact with him to ground her. “Just bruised. Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Chet fought off the adrenaline that slammed him in
the aftermath of finding Ivy in a rogue’s filthy paws. He’d rather die a
thousand hideous deaths than go through that again. His heart had tried to leap
out of his throat when he’d winged the beast slashing Jeremy before he saw the
death grip the second rogue had on Ivy. He estimated that one-second experience
had lopped at least a decade off his lifespan and damn near shredded his
self-control. Since he’d saved his mate, he counted the missing years well
spent. One of her monsters was permanently down; only seven more needed to die.

He already knew the answer, but he had to ask, “Did you
recognize them?”

“Yes.” She swallowed convulsively, obviously trying to control
her gag reflex thanks to her view of the dead beast.

Her lower lip trembled. He lifted her, cradling her against
his chest. “Time for us to go.”

The wail of approaching sirens made fine background music.
He turned and aimed his most intimidating glower at Treeland’s finest. “I’ll
send help to clean up, or you’ll have more problems. You failed to protect a
helpless female.”

“Shouldn’t we call for medics? The officer’s cheek had a
nasty slash.”

“They’re wolves; they’ll be fine.” Chet had almost lost Ivy.
He clamped his teeth to keep his temper leashed. Treeland’s finest were good
cops and males of honor, but they weren’t equipped to fight off rogues. It was
his fault for trusting anyone else to take care of his lady.

“I’m not helpless. My claws came out, and I hurt him.” She
shivered in his arms. “But I’m so glad you came for me.

“I’m proud of you.” He nuzzled her hair. “But those mangy
dogs don’t need to know how tough you are.” He forced himself to hold her
loosely and keep his voice reasonable. “Why are you carrying your shoes?”

“The alley is slippery. I took them off because I thought I
might need to run and then just forgot I was carrying them.”

“Next time, drop the footwear and go for it. I can buy more
pumps. You’re irreplaceable.” He waited until she met his eyes before
continuing. “Forget about what I just said. There’s not going to be a next
time. From now on you don’t leave the apartment without me.” He skipped
explaining he’d die if anything happened to her. His voice had already deepened
to a harsh growl, which was likely at least partly responsible for the snowy
fear polluting her fragrance.