One Month Later

Thursday March 22

By midday, the Syndicate’s Tower cast a long, dark shadow over nearby row houses and modern condominium buildings at London’s core. Four enormous round windows, the remnants of the clock faces that had once graced the walls just below its peak, peered out from its summit like the eyes of a sentinel watching over the city.

The secret organization, oddly enough, had hidden itself in plain sight at London’s heart. An almost perfect vantage point for keeping an eye on would-be criminals.

Phair had known of the existence of the Syndicate for some months, but today marked the first time he’d been invited to their headquarters. From what he understood, it consisted mostly of a particularly gifted group of humans known as Hunters. Highly skilled investigators of sorts, tasked with finding—and sometimes taking down—London’s more shady residents, in particular those who threatened to do harm to shifters.

But why Phair, of all people, was now making his way up to the top floor of the tower remained a mystery, at least to him. He wasn’t a Guild member or a Hunter, and he was a Pack member in title only. He’d told himself a hundred times that Roth’s invitation had been nothing more than a kindness bestowed upon him in a moment of vulnerability. Much as he respected the Alpha, he’d never taken the offer particularly seriously.

Anyhow, this mysterious meeting might turn out to have nothing to do with the Pack. It was Bertie, the head of the Syndicate, who’d rung him this morning to ask him to attend.

“You’ll find me on the tippy-top floor!” she’d chimed over the phone. “I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to that handsome face of yours. I might have to bite it a little, you know, just to get a taste of your new and improved gorgeousness.” Bertie had never been one for subtlety.

If any male shifter had so much as threatened to hint at the possibility of sex, she’d have been naked on the floor before anyone could say Holy shit, Bert.

Phair, filled with a mix of dread and curiosity, should probably have taken the elevator up to her office. But in an attempt to delay his arrival as long as possible, he decided to jog up the numerous flights of stairs to the tower’s peak.

As he eased his way upwards, he marvelled at how easy the climb was. The procedure a month earlier had gone remarkably well. He hadn’t had the predicted toxic reaction to the solution that Emma had created; in fact, if anything, the results had been quite the opposite. After a few days’ recovery, he’d found himself feeling incredible. No aches, no pains, except for a little muscular soreness. Which seemed normal, given that his body had gone through a somewhat incredible growth spurt.

He’d always been a large man, but now? He was…well, bigger.

Much bigger.

One benefit of the change was that he’d found himself with no shortage of energy—and his déor was even more energetic than his human. The beast inside him would have happily run all day, if Phair had given him free rein. Apparently a Béorn, like a border collie, never tired. He needed very little sleep. At times Phair felt like he had an enormous hyperactive pet living inside his human body.

But his human side hadn’t had quite such an easy time growing accustomed to his newfound strength. Occasionally he pulled at a door handle only to have it come off in his hand. Or he’d pat a dog and elicit a whimper or a low growl in retaliation for his overly aggressive touch. And there were a few other unfortunate consequences of the procedure, as well.

For one thing, his temper had grown volatile, even more so than when he’d been a mere Grizzly shifter. Sudden bursts of rage frightened him enough that he’d never spoken to anyone—not even to Emma—about it.

For another thing, he hadn’t touched a woman in over a month.

Members of the opposite sex had occasionally approached him in pubs, of course, eager to buy him a pint and take him home, or even just for a jaunt to the back alley for a quickie. The fairer sex had always tended to be curious about his muscles, particularly what he looked like under his clothing. But now they looked at him as though he were a meat trophy. A delicious beefy prize to claim for their own—at least for an hour or two.

Much as he’d been tempted to take up more than one offer of carnal bliss, he’d resisted every single time. For some reason, the one night stands that had once excited him had lost their appeal since the procedure. The truth was that he’d begun to crave intimacy in a way that he never had before.

He needed something more, something deeper.

Perhaps it was the animal inside him that made him crave intimacy. His Béorn, after all, had the blood of Dire Wolves inside him. The blood of those whose ancestors had taken part in the Ritual, the mating rite between two male shifters and one woman.

Or maybe the simple truth was that the procedure had turned Phair into a lust-monster, as well as a gigantic beast.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he needed a mate. Hell, he would have settled for a mere touch, if it came from the right woman. A kiss. Anything, really, to settle his inner animal down and assure him that she was out there somewhere. Because with every day that passed, the beast’s need grew.

A Béorn in need was a dangerous creature.

* * *

When Phair had nearly ascended all of what seemed like six thousand steps, he let out a whistle to alert Bertie of his proximity to the top level. Best to warn the Syndicate’s leader that he was near. He’d seen more than once how excited she became in his presence. For all he knew, she might be standing in her office naked, waiting with bated breath for his arrival.

He shuddered at the thought. As much as he enjoyed her quirks, and much as he could have used a roll in the hay with a potential mate, he had no great desire to see Bertie—of all people—in all her bare-arsed splendour. She was more randy aunt than potential lover. Adorable, outrageous and matronly.

Not exactly destined mate material.

“Come on up, big bear,” sang her familiar voice when he’d whistled a second time. “I can’t wait to see you!”

Oh, piss. She sounded way too…stimulated.

Stimulated Bertie was never good.

“Are you clothed?” he asked, trying, and probably failing, to make his voice sound cheeky.

“Come see for yourself!”

Phair trudged up the final steps, sniffing the air to brace himself for the terrifying potential of finding himself alone with a far-too-horny woman who didn’t possess a single ounce of shame.

Fortunately, his nose quickly picked up the scent of a couple of shifters: Roth, his partner Laird…and someone else.

A someone else who halted him in his tracks.

Damnation, he thought. Of all the shifters I could have to deal with today…

Immediately, Phair recognized the distinct, musky scent of the Trekilling Pack member named Cadman. Friends and foes alike called him Cad. It was a nickname that could have been custom-designed for a bloke who made an almost nightly game of hitting on women in London’s abundant pubs. Phair had heard the rumours about his lothario-like behaviour, and he’d seen Cad in action on more than one occasion.

The young man was a handsome bugger, and human women were drawn to him, as they were to most shifters.

Phair couldn’t exactly hold that against him, though. It was more the eagerness with which he encouraged them, stroked their flesh, led them on with seeming promises of relationships that never came to pass, that annoyed the living piss out of the newly-minted Béorn shifter. Cad was not a fellow who oozed respect for the opposite sex, and he’d always struck Phair as little more than an irresponsible player.

Taking in a deep breath, Phair told himself to suck it up and proceed into the meeting. Don’t worry about him, he told himself. Besides, it was probably hypocritical of him to dislike any man for being a horny bastard, given how much he’d begun to crave the company of females.

Maybe—just maybe—what bothered him about watching Cad in action was that the wanker reminded him of his own desperation.

And his own loneliness.