Savage Betrayal: Savage, Book 2 Page 3

  She dragged herself out of the horrific memory and forced her gaze to meet Hilliard’s.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  The middle-aged, pudgy, genuinely nice—and a little too naïve—father of two couldn’t be dead. But of course he was, because Hilliard wouldn’t lie about something like that.

  Grace tried to drag in a slow breath, but her lungs felt crushed. “How did it happen? When did it happen?”

  “Apparently his wife found him dead, sitting in his car in the garage two days ago.”

  “Carbon monoxide poisoning.”

  “Yes.”

  Hilliard’s expression gave little indication of his thoughts, but the steadfast way he watched her made her think he was curious to read hers.

  “Hilliard, they don’t… They can’t possibly think it’s a suicide.”

  He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to.

  They thought Thom had killed himself. That he’d taken his own life after nearly losing it two months ago.

  She blinked, stunned into absolute silence. Thom had survived fucking hell on earth, only to come back and kill himself? It didn’t make any damn sense.

  Or maybe in an awful, tragic way, it did.

  A dark heaviness settled over her, familiar and unwanted. She struggled against it, just as vehemently as she always did.

  Yes, there were some mornings she didn’t want to get out of bed. Where the bleakness of her reality threatened to overwhelm her and it was easier just to go numb and not feel. But she fought it. Dammit, of course she fought it. She had to, for herself, and for the one person who still needed her.

  But what if Thom wasn’t as strong as her?

  She heard a soft beeping and was vaguely aware of Hilliard digging for his cell phone.

  “Shit. I want to stay and talk, because there are things that need to be said.”

  But apparently he had to go.

  “So stay,” she blurted, realizing how desperate she sounded now. A minute ago she’d been ready to kick his ass out the door, now she was begging him to stay.

  But she needed to know more, needed details about Thom. And there was more Hilliard wasn’t telling her. She could sense it.

  He stood, almost reluctantly, before he shook his head. “I can’t. Sorry, Masterson. I could have my ass chewed out for telling you what I did, but I wanted you to hear if from a friend first. Thom’s death is still being kept under wraps while P.I.A. investigates. You’re on leave right now, meaning it’s not your problem.”

  But it was her problem. Thom was a survivor, just like her. They were connected by the same horrific situation.

  “And if I came back?”

  Hilliard froze on his way to the door, but didn’t turn around. “To the agency? Will you?”

  Her heart accelerated and her mouth went dry. Could she go back? How could anyone within the agency possibly want her to return?

  Dammit, her job as a federal agent was to protect their species, not try to eliminate them. Tears burned at the back of her eyes and she bit back a helpless, frustrated growl.

  It was so much easier to stay here. Bury her head in the sand, so to speak. To spend her days making glass creations and not give herself time to think about what had happened. To not put herself anywhere near the people who would be the constant reminder of what she’d endured.

  And how she’d betrayed them…

  When she didn’t answer, he turned to glance over his shoulder. She saw it now, the brief flicker of sympathy in his gaze, before it was gone.

  “Come back, Grace. Your team needs you.” He opened the door and took a step out. “And you need us, far more than you’re willing to admit.”

  Then he left.

  She wrapped her arms around her waist and drew in a ragged breath. Her body trembled now as she struggled to absorb the news of Thom’s death.

  Suicide.

  There was so much wrong with that scenario.

  A floorboard in the house creaked, and her gaze darted down the hall. She’d almost forgotten.

  “Bree?” Grace strode briskly through the house and checked every room.

  But they were empty. Her sister had fled when Hilliard had arrived.

  Grace’s chest swelled with the sharp breath of disappointment she drew in. She was close to her sister, even if six years separated them with Aubree only recently turned seventeen. She looked forward to their visits and the time they spent together. Sometimes Bree snuck out to visit when she wasn’t supposed to, but Grace knew her sister usually escaped any repercussions because her brief disappearances had gone unnoticed.

  But Bree had been skittish lately, and when she’d shown up this morning Grace had gotten the impression her sister had wanted to talk about something. And they likely would’ve talked after she’d finished with her glass, had Hilliard not arrived when he did. But he’d scared her off, though Grace wasn’t quite sure why.

  Frustration from multiple sources clawed at her, and the wolf within her skin begged to come out.

  So why not let it?

  She jerked off her clothes, stripping down to nothing, and then slipped out the back door. Her bare feet skimmed over the grass, and she barely noticed the chilliness of the autumn morning or the dew between her toes.

  She picked up speed as she disappeared into the tree line of her property. Grabbing the band that held her hair up, she pulled it free and let her hair fall heavy and wild down her back.

  Her skin stretched and she unfisted her hands as her claws appeared. Her itchiness abated as her fur came out and the change took over.

  She threw her head back, letting out a howl that was laced with frustration before she took off running in her animal form.

  Exhilaration and relief spread through her as she moved off her property and explored the Cascade foothills. She merged with nature and breathed in the crisp scent of the mountains.

  For a moment, she felt it. Someone out in the woods watching her, maybe following her as she ran. She hesitated, slowing her pace. But then, when nothing revealed itself, she brushed it off as being paranoid. As she’d just proven to herself with Hilliard’s unexpected visit, she seemed to be prone to it lately.

  She was safe now. She wasn’t locked in a filthy lab. Naked. Being done God knew what to—maybe it was a blessing she couldn’t remember much.

  Hell, maybe she did need therapy. Someone to talk to…but for now, these were the moments that were therapeutic, the ones she loved the most. Being alone and in her wolf form. And besides the time she spent with her sister or at work, she was always alone.

  The wolf was who she was and the side of herself that she embraced the most. And yet everyone who really knew her now assumed the worst. That she’d wanted to rid herself of this side.

  Never.

  She quickened her pace and leapt easily over the stump of a fallen tree.

  Somehow, someway, she’d gain their respect once more. And hopefully their trust.

  Chapter Four

  Darrius pulled his Dodge Ram to a stop just behind Donovan’s Range Rover at the edge of the forest.

  He climbed out of the truck, already spotting the other agent doing stretches at the trailhead. He braced himself for the shit he was about to take for being twenty minutes late to their weekend morning run.

  Donovan cast a glance his way. “About time, Hilliard. You lose track of time jerking off in the shower?”

  Darrius grinned and grabbed his heel to pull his calf muscle into a stretch. “Came in five minutes, what with your pretty picture taped to the bathroom mirror.”

  Before he could blink, Donovan had grabbed a pinecone from the trail and chucked it as his head.

  Darrius dodged it just as fast. “You throw like a girl.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment if we’re talking about Masterson, otherwise, fuck you.”

  Grace. A sliver of tension raced through him, and Darrius wondered briefly if the other man suspected where he’d been this morning.

  A co
uple of joggers appeared on the trail, making their way back to the parking lot. Darrius and Donovan gave small nods in greeting as the man and woman passed.

  Unfortunately, due to the popularity and proximity of the trail to the city, they would be running in human form. At least at the beginning of the trail. It was too risky to try and shift without being spotted.

  On occasion they diverted from the path and allowed themselves to transform, then run wild into the dense brush where most humans didn’t stray.

  But not today. There wasn’t any rain, which meant there’d be more humans out than normal.

  Once the couple had driven off in their cars, Donovan glanced his way again.

  “Ready?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  They took off onto the trail, their pace was almost impossibly swift. Definitely faster than the average human.

  As their running shoes ate up the dirt, the wolf inside Darrius itched to come out. He curled his fingers into fists and drew in slow steady breaths, more than accustomed with how to keep it restrained. It was always like this when he ran; his wolf side begged to take on its true form. There was far more freedom running in the shape of his animal side than being hampered by clothing and the human body.

  But having the wolf just below the surface also had its benefits. It kept his instincts and senses honed razor sharp and gave him an advantage over the general human population.

  Not even slightly out of breath, Donovan asked, “But seriously. You’re never late. Where were you?”

  Shit. Maybe Donovan didn’t know exactly where he’d been, but he suspected something.

  “Overslept.”

  Fortunately Warrick Donovan wasn’t the alpha of their pack, or even the leader of their team. Which meant he didn’t really owe the other man any kind of explanation—though the fact that he considered Donovan a close friend did leave a dent in his conscience.

  But he couldn’t fess up to visiting Grace this morning. He shouldn’t have been there in the first place, and really shouldn’t have given her the news he did.

  Donovan grunted and swerved slightly to avoid a low-hanging branch. “Really. You gotta know I’m not going to cuss you out for going to see her.”

  Fuck.

  Darrius didn’t reply.

  “You’re carrying her scent like a red flag.”

  This time he glanced sharply at his friend, about to bite off another sharp lie, but then he remembered. Remembered the feel of Grace in his arms in her garage, just before she’d completely lost it. Her scent was literally plastered all over him. Of course Donovan knew where he’d been.

  “Well, next time, bro, why don’t you save us time and the masturbation jokes?” Darrius flashed him a lopsided smile. “You going to say anything?”

  “It’s not my place. What you do in your time is your own business.” Donovan glanced his way, his brows drawn in concern. “Just tell me how’s she doing?”

  She was a mess. Jumping at shadows and ready to blow the head off of a squirrel if it came too close to her property. But he knew Grace wouldn’t want him to say any of that.

  Grace. Hell, when had he even begun to think of Agent Masterson as Grace. When he’d held her through the night, wondering if she was going to die on him and praying like hell she wouldn’t.

  She’d been so close to telling him something in the kitchen, he’d sensed it. And then she’d panicked and emotionally backpedaled, retreating back into her thoughts. He’d realized how thin her emotions were, the anxiety under the surface, and had quickly changed the conversation. Asking for a damn cookie instead of answers. Shit.

  Though that cookie had been pretty amazing.

  “You going to answer me, man?”

  “She’s about how you’d expect.” It wasn’t a lie. It was probably too close to the truth.

  “Is she coming back?”

  “Doubt it.”

  “Shit.” Donovan shook his head. “She’s a good agent. It’d probably be good for her to get back in the field.”

  “Yeah it would.” And it frustrated the hell out of him that no matter what he said, she seemed to withdraw farther away. He’d hoped by showing up at her place today he’d be able to talk her into returning to the agency.

  But she seemed pretty damn content spending her days blowing glass in her secluded rambler on the outskirts of North Bend—which was already a good half hour or so from Seattle.

  “I guess time will tell.” Damn if wasn’t a clichéd phrase, but it was just the kind of non-committal bullshit he needed to put a close to this conversation. And just in case it hadn’t, Darrius asked, “How’s your wife doing? She adjusting all right?”

  Donovan’s expression relaxed and his mouth curved into a smile. “Sienna’s doing pretty damn good. I’m actually a little surprised just how well she has adjusted.”

  “No kidding. That’s one helluva curve ball to be thrown.” Sienna, who had thought herself completely human, had not only stumbled upon the secret shifters species, but had discovered in a brutal way that she carried the wolf gene as well.

  So much had changed in the last couple of months. For her, and for the entire shifter population.

  Darrius drew in a deep breath, his lungs expanding with the crisp morning air as they increased their pace.

  “She’s lucky to have you, Donovan.”

  The other agent shook his head, his expression tightening. “I’m lucky to have her. She’s my fucking world, and I’d destroy anyone who tried to change that.”

  Something close to envy pinched at Darrius’s heart, but he turned his gaze back to the woods around them and thrust it aside.

  What Donovan and Sienna had was amazing. Sure the shifter population mated, and they had strong feelings for their mates, but what those two had was like some fierce, indestructible, love-on-steroids type of thing. He didn’t doubt for a minute that the newly married couple would each give up their lives to save the other one, if needed.

  Maybe once, he’d had the possibility of having the same thing. But those dreams had faded over a decade ago.

  “Hang on.” Donovan slowed down and dug into his pocket, pulling out his phone a minute later. “Just got a text from Larson.”

  Darrius came to a stop and rested his hands on his hips, his ever-alert gaze searching the forest around them for any threat as Donovan read the message from their alpha.

  “So what the hell did you say to her, Hilliard?”

  Darrius scowled. “Say to who?”

  “To Masterson this morning.” Donovan slipped his phone back into his pocket and arched a brow. “Apparently she’s returning to work on Monday.”

  He was dead.

  The discovery should’ve sent far more elation through her. There was a tiny prick of satisfaction, but it was quickly overshadowed as everything inside her turned hard and bitterness once again rose to create its acrid, unpleasant brew in the depth of her stomach.

  Jocelyn set her cell phone down on the table and curled her feet beneath her on the supple, handcrafted leather sofa that had just arrived yesterday.

  Dead. And by his own hand it appeared. Perfect…

  Her gaze slid over the Seattle skyline and onto the dark waters of Puget Sound. The view was almost as priceless as the penthouse condo itself. The condo rarely went on the market, and the bidding war to purchase it several years ago had been ludicrous. But she’d won. She always won.

  Though the past few months had been a setback. After investing a billion fucking dollars in that drug, one would assume it would’ve worked. That it would’ve cured those heinous shifters from their ability to shift.

  But it had failed. The whole experiment and testing had been quite the clusterfuck. The drug had not only not worked, it had given shifters who were only half-blooded, who’d never before had the ability to shift, the ability to.

  Just thinking about it sent ice through her veins and had her breath catching. It was horrific. Absolutely, without a doubt horrific, and it went against eve
rything she fought for.

  She closed her eyes as the room almost started to spin. She grounded herself again and drew in slow breaths.

  The drug hadn’t worked, but there were other ways to deliver her vengeance. To make those creatures regret the day they were born. And she was well on her way to achieving it.

  “Your martini.”

  Her quiet afternoon was interrupted by her assistant as he entered the sitting room. He carried his tall frame with self-assurance, but his gaze never met hers.

  “Thank you, Andy.” She reached to take the drink from him.

  He had shifter blood in him, but not enough to make her disgusted by him. Initially he’d been hired to work with the shifters who’d undergone the experiments, but once that project had disintegrated she’d recruited him to be her personal assistant.

  Andy was a recent college graduate who suited her needs perfectly. All her needs, as of recently. He’d been struggling to pay his student loans and she’d been on the prowl for some sensual entertainment. They had an unspoken agreement that worked well for them both.

  Jocelyn allowed her gaze to trail over his body. A golden boy, literally. Blond with blue eyes. He was young—though not too young—with a hard, toned body. And he had the kind of stamina that would’ve won him a gold medal had it been an Olympic event.

  She knew he waited to see if he’d be dismissed. Knew she really ought to send him off on some other chore. But she was in no hurry.

  A celebration was in order after the phone call she’d just taken. Only she had no one to celebrate with. Not really. Her husband had died years ago, and the man who’d been her lover, who’d been at her side for the past three years, had been killed over the summer.

  Her fingers tightened around the stem of the martini glass. Brutally murdered by those fucking shifter savages in an old warehouse.

  Which had left her once again alone. Which was rather inconvenient. And, though she loathed to admit it, lonely. But loneliness could always be eased, at least temporarily.

  Jocelyn plucked the skewer of olives free from her martini and captured one green morsel with her teeth, pulling it free before chewing slowly.