“She called you sweet?” Drake demanded incredulously, before throwing his head back and barking out a laugh. “Christ, that’s rich.”

Willa elbowed him hard in the gut and faced Etienne with a smile. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous because no one ever called him sweet before.”

In spite of her sharp words, she cuddled closer to her still chuckling mate on the couch, giving him a look that was far more loving than it was disapproving.

“And I’m glad for it. Christ, who ever heard of a sweet dragon? You should be ashamed, man.”

Etienne took the teasing in stride, taking a long pull from the snifter he was holding. “I’m afraid it takes a lot more to shame me than that, old friend. Although I must admit, I was surprised to hear it.”

“Well, I don’t know about sweet, but what you did was very honorable,” Drake said, his green eyes going serious. “That woman would be dead right now if it wasn’t for you.”

Willa nodded and shivered, burrowing even closer to her man. “Or scarred for life at the very least. I hope the police catch them and throw away the key.”

Etienne pushed himself to his feet and set down his snifter. “Actually, that’s what I stopped by to talk to you about.”

By the time he’d gotten Taya calm enough to sleep, it had been almost two in the morning. They’d sat on the couch for hours just chattering until finally her eyelids grew heavy and her speech started to slow. He’d all but carried her up to her bedroom and, when last he’d looked, she was burrowing beneath her comforter, primed for the sandman’s magic dust.

Luckily, his friends were night owls and, when he’d asked to stop by, they’d welcomed him in with open arms. Now, though, Drake was looking like he was having second thoughts as he studied Etienne through wary eyes.

He could smell the request for a favor coming down the pike, that wily Scottish bastard.

“So you’re waiting for the police and you wanted to—” Drake stopped short and his green eyes narrowed as the light bulb flickered on. “You didn’t call the police.”

“Indeed, I did not,” Etienne affirmed with a clipped nod.

Willa’s gaze flicked between them and she shook her head, nonplussed. “I don’t get it. What are you—” She broke off and covered her mouth with one hand. “You lied. You told her you were calling the cops but you didn’t because you want to handle it yourself.”

She rolled to her feet and gave his arm a hard shove.

“Saving her was one thing, Etienne. Getting involved in revenge schemes against humans is another entirely. You’re going to call attention to yourself and cause all sorts of trouble. Already, people in town are talking about you and the strange sounds up your side of the mountain at night.”

Before she could work up a full head of steam, Drake cut her short. “That’s what he neglected to tell us, little wolf. Don’t you see? Her attackers weren’t human, were they?”

Etienne shook his head. “Nope.” The look that passed between them was laden with unspoken understanding.

“Wolves,” Willa declared in a harsh whisper. “Wolves did this to her?” She sank to the couch with a groan. “Jesus, that’s so wrong. Now that my old pack is being run by Grey and the Pray pack has Liam as alpha, there is only one pack out there who would ever sanction such an attack on a human. But even they would be leery of something that public in a suburban area like that. So many humans around asking questions. Making humans curious is the very last thing any pack wants to do.”

They all knew what she meant by that.

The shifter world could be brutal. Clashes over lands and territory were often bloody and fights for supremacy often ended in death. But nothing in the shifter world was even close to as brutal as what some of them had seen in the human world. Shifters were outnumbered ten million to one. No matter how badass of a dragon Etienne was, if people found out he existed, he would be hunted and killed, the way that thousands before him had been in the Middle Ages. Just like if humans found out that the state of Montana was home to hundreds of wolf-shifters, they would wipe the majority out like they were nothing more than vermin. The unlucky few they spared would be tested on and poked and prodded until they could be weaponized for war.

Which made the two men’s behavior more than passing strange. They’d let Taya see their preternatural strength. They’d let her see their eyes in the night. They’d let her get close enough to smell them in full heat.

He called their scent forth now and wheeled around to pin Willa with a stare. “They smelled different. Like wolves, under it all, but not like you or Grey or his mate… They smelled like rancid meat.”

Understanding dawned in her light brown eyes and she clenched her jaw. “Son of a bitch. Sounds like we’ve got ourselves a pair of rogues. Defectors. They have that smell because they don’t have a territory to hunt in and often have to make due with small game and carrion.”

Etienne curled his lip in disgust. “Well, they apparently had eaten a lot of the latter before they went after Taya because they smelled foul.”

“Which might explain why they attacked her. Maybe they’re rebelling. Sick of eating leftovers and they’re wanting to step up their rations,” Drake said, his expression thoughtful.

“That could be,” Willa added, patting his thigh in agreement. “Oftentimes, they’re rogue because they’re excommunicated. They’re bitter. Angry. And already, they’ve proven they don’t play well with others. They band together in pairs to hunt, but they don’t have a true bond the way a pack would. It’s every man for himself. They’re bound by universal rule to uphold the Supreme Laws of Wolves, even on their own, so they’re not supposed to hunt humans in that way or call attention to themselves, but hunger is a powerful motivator when a shifter has a special taste for blood. And being a loner when they’re used to being part of a pack can damage an already damaged psyche to the point of no return.”

That was something he’d heard as well. While dragons didn’t suffer from such an affliction because they only bonded in that way with their true mate, he knew Drake had been concerned about how Willa would fare without her pack. Turned out, if a wolf was of healthy mind and in a satisfying relationship, it wasn’t a concern. They made plenty of time to spend with her former pack, and spent every Sunday with them so she could bond and run in the woods, and she was flourishing.

But he could see how such a thing could break a weaker being. Like an already violent man put in solitary confinement. They were a pair of powder kegs ready to blow and he needed to neutralize them before that happened.

“So how do we find them?”

“Let me call Greyson first thing in the morning and have him put out some feelers, give him your descriptions and have him make some inquiries. I’m sure I’ll hear back in just a few hours and we’ll go from there. In the interim, how are you going to convince her that the cops are on the case? You mentioned she’s expecting a sketch artist to come to her house tomorrow?”

“Oui, she is. And a detective as well,” he said, bending to scoop up his snifter and swirling the amber liquid in it before taking a long sip. “Which brings me to my next question. Can either of you draw?”

* * *

Run.

She had to run and keep on running until she found help. But the pathway wound this way and that, and the brush and brambles only grew thicker as she fought her way through, her pounding heart nearly beating out of her chest.

A thick branch slapped at her face and she paused to push it aside when she felt it. Hot breath and grabbing hands that turned to razor sharp claws as she struggled to get away.

Taya jerked bolt upright with a gasp, sucking in great gulps of air as she took in her surroundings.

Her bedroom. She was home, in her safe little house. Sunlight streamed through the window and she shuddered as the latest nightmare began to fade.

It had been a rough night. She should’ve taken Etienne up on his offer to sleep on the couch, because every hour on the hour, she would wake and find herself drenched in sweat and choking on fear as another nightmare assailed her.

Except the one time, when she’d dreamt of Etienne himself, pressing the softest of kisses to her mouth.

“It’s going to be okay, cher.”

“Stop, you idiot,” she muttered and flopped back to cover her face with a pillow. He was just being nice because he felt sorry for her.

He would never be interested in a woman like her. Besides, wasn’t this some textbook syndrome anyway? She was just misreading her gratitude for affection. He’d saved her life. Of course she saw him as a glowing, haloed hero on a white horse. The sooner she realized that it was nothing more than a silly, misdirected crush, the better.

Her doorbell rang and she flinched at the sound.

Tomorrow. Definitely by tomorrow, the mere ring of a bell wouldn’t make her want to jump out of her skin. She took a quick glance at her bedside clock and blew out a sigh.

Etienne had said the police were coming at nine and they were a few minutes early. She only hoped that she could get them settled with some coffee and run upstairs to swipe on some lip gloss and change into a pair of jeans before Etienne showed up.

If he even came.

Who knew if he’d thought better of getting more involved than he already was. That had surely not been how he’d wanted to spend his Friday night, and now he was looking at half his Saturday too. She wouldn’t blame him if he bailed, but she hoped he wouldn’t mind if she gave the cops his number so they could ask him any questions or details she might have forgotten.

She jogged down the stairs in her pajamas, scooped up the pad he’d left on her coffee table and peered out the peephole. Two people, a man and a woman, dressed in plain clothes stood on the porch, arms crossed all official-like in front of them.

The woman had a pretty, heart-shaped face, and her brown hair was scraped back into a no-nonsense ponytail. The guy was another matter entirely and she found herself instantly comparing him to Etienne. There was no help for it, just because of both men’s sheer size. Not often you saw a guy well over six feet tall that looked like a wall of muscle and had a face that could launch ships. But where Etienne looked like a golden god, this guy looked like a pirate. The kind you sort of wanted to steal your booty, but a pirate nonetheless.

She hadn’t realized she was still staring out the peephole until the woman leaned in close, pressing her eyeball against the tiny circle of glass.

“Ms. Briarcroft? Can we come in?”

She jumped back, cheeks blazing, and laid a hand on the doorknob, but hesitated. Couldn’t be too careful. “And you are?”

“We’re the police, ma’am. We’re here to ask you some questions about last night’s assault.”

She was just about to ask for badges when another voice chimed in.

“I’m here as well,” Etienne called through the door. “We all got here at the same time.”

She sucked in a breath, legs going weak with relief. She’d been prepared to do this without him if need be, but she was so glad she didn’t have to.

She turned the lock and stepped back to swing the door open, managing to squeeze out a tight smile. “Hello, hello. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not a problem,” the dark behemoth said, with a warm smile that belied his rather menacing looks. He had the hint of a brogue that only made him more dashing, and she found herself instantly at ease.

“I’m Detective Blackbourne. I’ve been assigned to interview you today, and this is Officer Stone. She’s our sketch artist.”

She waved them in and stepped aside, a skitter of nervous energy running through her as Etienne finally came into view, bringing up the rear.

“Hello, cher. How did you sleep?” The sincere concern in his golden eyes touched her, and she swallowed past the achy feeling in her throat.

Since her parents had passed away, she’d been pretty much alone in the world. Sure, there were colleagues at school, and she had cousins she was fond of back in the Burgh, but in the past few years, here in Montana, there was nobody who worried whether she’d slept the night before or not.

Until now.

Fleeting or not, she was going to enjoy the feeling of being cared for the short while it lasted.

“Not too bad,” she lied, as she closed the door behind him and led them into the living room. “I got some winks.”

His knowing gaze and the way his tawny brows caved into a frown told her he wasn’t buying it, but thankfully, he didn’t press her. She was barely keeping it together as it was, and breaking down before she talked to the police was the last thing she wanted to do.

Because, in all the time she’d spent awake the night before, the only constant, between the anger and the tears and the fear, was the bone deep conviction that she wanted those men to pay for what they’d done to her. Pay for what they’d likely done to other women in the past.

She cleared her throat and pasted on a smile. “Coffee anyone?”

They all accepted her offer and she rushed into the kitchen, glad for the moment to get her head together.

“He really did a number on your chin, too,” Etienne said, stepping into the kitchen behind her. She turned at the sound of his voice and jerked back in surprise when she realized he was directly behind her.

“Lord, you move fast for such a big man,” she gasped, pressing a hand to her galloping heart. She tried to laugh it off, but the sound stuck in her too-dry throat, because at precisely that moment, his scent wafted toward her and she nearly groaned.

That was one part she wasn’t sure she’d gotten right no matter how many times she ran through it mentally. Her attackers had smelled so putrid, she’d tricked herself into believing that Etienne only smelled so delicious because the comparison was so stark.

Nope.

Not that.

He really did smell like everything good in the world. Crisp, like coming snow, and clean, like laundry in the spring, and sensual…like Etienne.

She knew she should say something else as the silence stretched between them, but she couldn’t seem to make her mouth work. He reached down and stroked her bruised chin with just the very tip of his finger.

“I saw the knot on your head, but this too? That son of a bitch.”

His low voice was pleasant enough, as if he was discussing the weather, but the fierceness of his expression—the tensed jaw, the fire in his eyes—was enough to take her breath away.

Sweet Etienne was furious at the men who hurt her.

A riot of emotions coursed through her and she resisted the urge to smooth the tension from his face.

He’s not yours to touch, silly girl.

She shrugged, forcing a short laugh. “It’s an ugly bruise to be sure, but at least it’s not like he cocked up the Mona Lisa or anything.”

If anything, her attempt to lighten the mood only made him look more fierce. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Her cheeks burned as she shifted from foot to foot. “Like, I’m not exactly model material, so walking around with a fugly bruise for a couple weeks isn’t exactly going to ruin my social life.”

He cocked his head to the side and took a step closer, staring into her eyes so deeply, she felt like she was drowning in his. “I do not like to hear this from you, cher. Your skin is perfect. Smooth and soft, like a peach. Seeing what he did to you makes me want to slit him from back to belly and split him open like a chicken.”

He stroked her chin again and slid his hand up to cup her cheek gently. Her pulse clamored wildly and it took all her strength not to leap up at him like a lion on a gazelle and mash her body against his.

Instead, she sucked in a shuddering breath and took a step back. If she could get through the rest of the morning without humiliating herself by picking up signals he wasn’t actually putting down, she’d reward herself with a hot fudge sundae later.

“W-we should go out and talk to the detectives.”

His eyes grew hooded and he nodded slowly. “Yes, of course. You get the coffee, I’ll get them settled and go over your notes with them while we wait.”

He turned and headed back through the kitchen door, and she watched him as he went, pulse skittering. He was wearing a black windbreaker in deference to the chilly day, and his worn jeans fit him like a glove, clinging to his delectable bottom with each step.

Once he was out of view, she slumped against the countertop with a groan. She’d gotten attacked last night, and catching the perpetrators needed to be numero uno on her list of priorities. Way higher up on the list than lusting after a man who wouldn’t have given her the time of day in the real world.

Focus, Taya.

She made quick work of the coffee, and piled a tray high with the mugs along with a bowl of fruit salad she’d made the day before. She set down the refreshments on the coffee table for her guests before excusing herself for a moment and heading for the stairs. Not that she needed to impress anyone, but she could at least change into clothes and put her contacts in so she could see everyone clearly.

Especially Etienne.

She shoved the thought away and donned a pair of jeans and a slouchy sweater that hung off one shoulder, just a little. Then, she made her way to the bathroom to freshen up.

It took five minutes in total, but judging by the look on Etienne’s face, it had been worth it. He was telling the officers what he’d seen, but he stopped, mid-sentence as she stepped into the room. His eyes seemed to warm as they traveled over her, his gaze lingering on the line of her collarbone before locking with hers.

He cleared his throat and gestured for her to come in and sit.

“Taya, I was just telling Officer Blackbourne here—”

“Detective,” the dark-haired man interjected smoothly.

“I was just telling Detective Blackbourne,” Etienne corrected with a quick, frown in Blackbourne’s direction, “here that you got a really good look at the first attacker.”

“Yes, I did.” A low meow had her turning her attention toward the French doors that led to the patio and she saw one of her cats, Abel, standing outside the door, eyeing her with a haughty, impatient stare.

“I’m just going to let him in quick,” she said, and stood to cross the room and open the door. “Hello, pumpkin.” She bent low to stroke the calico’s arched back, when suddenly he tensed and let out a long, warbling rawr.

“Abel?” she murmured, caressing the feline softly. “What’s the matter, pal?”

Detective Blackbourne stood and offered her a tight smile. “Maybe it’s just all the new people in the house at once. Some animals have a hard time with strangers.”

“Odd, because he never has before.”

Then again, it was par for the course. It had been a week of firsts for her, all of them weird.

The cat began to bat at the door with one paw until she opened it again and he tore out of the house like his ass was on fire. Taya stared after him, bewildered.

“Okay if we can continue on?” Officer Stone called from her seat on one of the armchairs.

Taya closed the door with a click and made a mental note to give Abel a thorough once over when he came back in again. Maybe he had gotten injured outdoors and she’d touched a sore spot.

She made her way back to the sofa and retook her seat.

“Sorry about that. Where were we?”

“You were going to start giving us a description of the man you saw more clearly,” the other woman prompted with a gentle smile.

Taya closed her eyes and waited for the face that had haunted her nightmares to resurface. It only took a moment, and her hands went instantly clammy. Her agitation must have shown, because a second later, Etienne’s hand closed over hers and gave a gentle squeeze.

“You’re okay, cher. Go ahead, tell them what you saw.”

For the next ten minutes, she talked, reciting every detail she recalled. Every so often, Officer Stone would interrupt and ask her to clarify as she sketched away. At the same time, Blackbourne was busy jotting down her statement, and the competence and easy camaraderie between them set her at ease.

“And how tall would you say he was?” Officer Stone asked, narrowing her eyes on the piece of paper in front of her before licking the tip of her pencil and diving back in.

By the time Taya finally emptied her brain, she was feeling a little lighter for having shared the burden, but another memory kept coming up no matter how much she tried to shove it down. One instant that had been seared into her brain that she still couldn’t quite get her head around.

“Um, there is one more thing.” She wet her lips and flicked a nervous glance at each of the three expectant faces before gnawing on the side of her cheek for a long moment.

Telling the truth was going to help them find these guys. She owed it to every woman out there not to hold anything back. She sent an apologetic smile in Etienne’s direction before she let it rip.

“I think he…um…may have had...like, fangs?”

The whole room seemed to gape at her at once. For a second, no one said anything, but then Officer Stone seemed to compose herself.

“So you mean like he had oversized incisors?” She offered Taya an encouraging smile, almost as if compelling her to take the out she was offering, but Taya straightened her back, and lifted her chin, determined to see it through.

“No. Not like that. Like actual fangs.” She was relieved to find her voice sounded strong and confident, but it wasn’t easy under the weight of two dubious stares and one—Etienne’s—that could only be described as extremely concerned.

What if he thought she was crazy?

And what if this is the one detail they needed to catch these guys and you kept it to yourself, her conscience snapped back indignantly.

The detective’s gaze flicked over to her entertainment center, which was teeming with DVD’s. Most visible? Nightmare on Elm Street. Werewolf in London. Bella Lugosi’s Dracula. In fact, now that she looked at it, she realized that, to a stranger, it might seem like she was obsessed with horror movies.

When the detective finally met her gaze again, it was hard not to squirm.

“Fangs like Nosferatu, Ms. Briarcroft?”

To his credit, his tone was gentle enough, but there was no mistaking his meaning and she could feel her cheeks turning crimson.

“More like an animal…look, Detective, I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m some weird little crackpot with an overactive imagination, but—”

“I don’t think that at all, miss.” He closed his little notebook with a snap before leaning forward. “What I think is that you are a very tough, very brave woman who survived a terrifying and brutal assault. It was night time, you were understandably distraught. I think you’re a strong witness and you gave us some great details, but in stressful situations, this can happen. We see things differently and our fear gets the better of us. These men were monsters, no question. And maybe your brain assigned them some extra monstrous qualities to make it easier to swallow that men can be so cruel.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears and she looked away, too overwhelmed to argue. He didn’t believe her. Etienne probably didn’t either.

“Or,” Etienne said, rising to stand and folding his arms over his chest. “Maybe he was one of those people obsessed with vampires and had some body modification done. Like a goth. Filed his teeth down, had strange contacts in. She said his eyes were glowing in a weird way. That’s a possibility too, isn’t it Detective?”

Blackbourne’s jaw flexed as he eyed Etienne with something close to annoyance. “It’s a possibility, sure,” he admitted before clearing his throat. “But let’s try to stay on the same page here if we can, and focus on the things we’re sure of, yeah?”

Taya nodded, and sent Etienne a small, grateful smile. He’d swooped in and saved her again, in a way. Standing by her side and supporting her when she needed it most. She made a mental note to thank him again before he left, and wondered if she shouldn’t get his address so she could send him brownies or something.

A semi-hysterical laugh bubbled to her lips and she choked it back.

“Here are some chocolaty treats as a thank you for saving my life and for believing me that one of my attackers was possibly a saber-toothed tiger or a vampire.”

Seemed like a fair enough trade.

The rest of the room seemed blissfully oblivious to her little internal crack up and she sucked in a steadying breath before rejoining the conversation.

“Maybe we can add the fangs after Officer Stone is finished with her drawing and see if it resonates with either Etienne or I? We can always erase them, right?”

“Sure, sure,” Officer Stone said with a nod. “I’m almost done here and I can definitely do that, let me just…” She trailed off, tongue perched on her upper lip, brow furrowed in concentration, and her drawing hand flying now as she worked. They all watched in silence for a moment until she finally looked up with a satisfied nod. “Okay, people. I think we’ve got him.”

She held up the sketch with a flourish. Taya closed her eyes for a moment, hoping against hope that she didn’t fall apart when she faced her attacker again. Even a two-dimensional rendering would no doubt take its toll on her mentally, and she centered herself to prepare for the blow.

She opened her eyes and gasped as a thousand thoughts ran through her head at once. She barely heard Detective Blackbourne’s muttered curse.

“Jesus Christ.”