Chapter One
“You sure she’ll be here?” Jaxon narrowed his eyes at the large bartender standing behind the bar, who also happened to be a werewolf named Gary. Jaxon placed his hands on the sticky counter and leaned forward. The bartender’s fear was overwhelming. “If I drove my ass all the way down here on a hunch, someone is going to get their ass handed to them. You feel me?”
“Easy, man. I told you she’s been coming in all week. So far she hasn’t missed a day.” Gary frowned and wiped down the bar with a dark cloth. He put the bar towel aside and grabbed another longneck beer out of the cooler. He popped the top and shoved the beer at Jaxon. “I wouldn’t give Barrett bad intel. That would be like signing my own death warrant.”
“I’ll give her a few more minutes, and then I’m leaving.” Jaxon grabbed the beer off the counter and glared at the bartender. He pushed off the bar and headed to a small table near the rickety old jukebox. He flipped the wooden chair around, straddled it, and faced the door.
He studied the crowd, a mix of humans and werewolves in the Treetop Bar and Grill. The familiar scent of warm beer, stale cigarettes, and desperation filled the room. The jukebox wailed an eighties song while a few guys played pool in a dark corner. Older men sat huddled in the corner of the bar, talking about sports and women while nursing their beers before heading home for dinner.
There was a time he couldn’t get enough of this place. He remembered hot summer nights playing pool and drinking beer and wishing the morning would never come. Back when he was younger and dumber and knew nothing about the true heart of a female.
He’d learned soon enough that a woman’s heart was cruel and selfish, and that he’d been foolish enough to believe that love really existed.
It was a hard lesson to learn: the power a female could hold over a male when she had his heart in her hand.
He grabbed his beer and took a deep drink. His gaze landed on the familiar initials carved into the scarred table and froze.
Anger, hatred and bitterness swelled in his heart like ocean waves filling a hole at the beach.
J.T. loves G.W.
“Fuck.” He stood so fast his chair fell over and smacked onto the wooden floor. The patrons barely gave him a glance before turning their attention back to their drinks.
“I heard that hot Pack Master is looking for me,” the sultry, feminine voice whispered near his ear.
He slapped on a grin to hide the seriousness that was brewing in his head.
“Hello, Ella.” Jaxon turned. “Or should I say, Witch?”
She narrowed her pretty green eyes at him for a fraction of a second and then glanced around the room. She was wearing a short black leather skirt, a skintight white shirt, and boots with come fuck-me heels. Her makeup was heavily applied, and her lipstick looked almost black.
“Keep your voice down,” she scolded. “There are some humans in here, you know.”
“I doubt anyone can hear us over all that noise.” He cut his eyes at the jukebox, which was playing a song by Abba, and then looked back at her dark lipstick. He hadn’t known the witch was into the Goth look.
“It’s not noise. It’s my favorite song.” She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin.
“You have no taste in music.” He cringed. He knew all about the Witch of Yazoo City’s preference in music from his fellow Guardian werewolf, Lucien.
“Really? I bet all you listen to is that metal stuff that makes your head hurt.” She crossed her arms, forcing her breasts to strain over the top of her tight shirt.
“I’m not here to talk about music. I’m here to take you back to Mississippi.” He took a drink of his beer without breaking his gaze from hers.
She shook her head and smirked. “I’m not going anywhere, Wolf.”
“Now see, that’s where we have a difference of opinion.” Jaxon shoved one hand in his pocket and pointed his beer at her. “Tell me something. The curse should have brought you back to the cemetery, but it’s been months now and you are still free. How’d that happen?”
Lucien had been sent to Ella to discover who was behind the torture of Arkansas Guardians, who were the protectors and defenders of the werewolf population. Ella had given them information but had escaped from her cursed prison in the cemetery when she stabbed Lucien’s female, Catty. Only a blood exchange would allow Ella to break the curse, and it was only temporary.
“I need blood. I have to have someone’s blood every week to keep the curse from pulling me back into that fucking graveyard.” Her emerald-green eyes flashed in anger.
“You may be hot, but you’re one crazy bitch.” His snarled, and the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention.
She leaned into his personal space and trailed a finger down his chest. “Aww, you think I’m hot.” She arched her eyebrow. “I have the hots for your Pack Master, Barrett, but I don’t think he’ll mind me scratching my itch with you.” She gave him a wink. “What do you say? Wanna give it a go?”
“I’m not here for a roll in the sack, Witch. I’m here to bring you back to Mississippi.”
“So are the Arkansas Guardians bringing me in?” A look of surprise crossed her face. “Shouldn’t it be the Mississippi Guardians?”
“Barrett wanted his men to bring you in since you escaped on our watch,” Jaxon said. He knew Barrett wanted to handle this himself to keep the relationship between the state of Arkansas and the state of Mississippi on good terms. Things were volatile with the Louisiana Pack, and Barrett knew it was smart to stack up his allies in case shit went sideways.
“How noble.” She studied her long pink nails and looked unimpressed. “I wonder if all that nobility falls to the side when Barrett’s in bed. Bet he gets real nasty when he’s horny.” Her lips curled up into a wicked smile.
“Is sex all you think about?” She was beautiful. But she was also dangerous as fuck. A psychopath in heels.
“Don’t try to talk to me about virtue, Jaxon Taylor. I’ve heard all about your reputation.” She propped her hand on her hip and grinned. “Makes me wonder how hard you’re gonna fall when you find the right female.” She leaned in and placed her hand on his lower stomach.
He grabbed her hand. “Let me guess, you think you’re the right girl.”
“I’m the right-now girl. Not the right girl.” She leaned in and smirked. “There’s a difference.”
The fact that he had a reputation wasn’t news to him. The fact that even the Witch of Yazoo City knew about him made him uneasy. Still, it was better to be a man whore than to get his heart broken again.
He’d been down the road of heartache and heartbreak and had no fucking desire to make that trip again. He cut his eyes around the room.
This place brought back too many memories, too much pain to make him feel at ease. It was a place he’d sworn he’d never visit again. But when he’d gotten the intel that Ella was hanging at the dive, he’d had no choice but to go. He was here to get her and take her back to Mississippi before she could do any more harm.
* * *
Ginny McGregor sat in her Mercedes and tightened her grip on the wheel. Damn her husband, John, for making her come here to pass off some information about the Arkansas Guardians.
She knew he was testing her, testing her loyalty to him and the Louisiana Pack.
He had nothing to fear. Since her father had forced her to wed John seven years ago, she’d done nothing to give her husband a reason to doubt her. Her faithfulness to him wasn’t born out of some undying love for him. No, she was faithful to him to make sure the one male she had loved would never be hurt.
Jaxon Taylor.
Once, she’d been full of hope and love and eternal optimism. That had all died the day her father killed her grandmother and forced her back to Louisiana.
The day of her wedding, her life had changed forever.
Now her life consisted of doing what was expected, not getting angry, and sure as hell not having a voice. Those were the things that kept her alive.
“Get over it, Ginny. It’s not like you’re going to know anyone here.” She grabbed the large envelope and her purse off the passenger seat and opened the car door. The Arkansas humidity slapped her in the face like a wet mop. If she weren’t a Southern female, it would have been miserable. She’d long since acclimated to the weather and, in some respects, embraced it.
She headed toward the building, walking on her toes so her expensive heels wouldn’t sink in the dirt. Despite her confident stride, her gaze was constantly searching the parking lot for anything out of the ordinary, anything suspicious.
It was still light, so only a few Harley Davidsons and a couple of pickup trucks sat in the grassy parking area out front. The bar was in the middle of nowhere. The nearest town was twenty miles away. The place used to be a hangout for underage teens, but it had lost its appeal when the law cracked down. Now it mainly catered to bitter old men and bikers looking to get drunk fast.
She quickened her footsteps and wished she could have worn something more casual, like jeans and a T-shirt, instead of the white pants and matching blouse she had on. Her feet ached from the high heels, and she couldn’t wait to change into the ballerina-style flats she kept in her car. If it had been up to her, she would have worn something casual and comfortable.
But her life wasn’t her own. It belonged to John, her husband, her mate… her owner.
John dictated everything about how she looked from her clothes and hairstyle—even the color she painted her nails. He insisted she look like the wife of the future Pack Master of Louisiana and not some common housewife.
She would give anything for a simple life, a life of her own where she could do what she wanted and live how she wanted. A life where she only had to worry about herself.
She took off her designer shades and patted the shimmer of sweat that had settled on her face. She took a steadying breath, opened the door, and stepped inside.
The wave of emotion washed over her so swiftly it almost knocked her back a step.
It was a place she used to meet him. The only male she’d ever loved. Anguish tugged at her heart, and she forced herself to swallow the knot in her throat.
She spotted the bar and made her way over. The sooner she delivered the parcel, the sooner she could get the hell out of the place.
If John asked her to come back here, she’d refuse.
Her stomach clenched. Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t refuse John. She remembered what his punishments felt like in the form of bruises and broken bones.
Maybe one day he’d be so angry with her that he would end her life with a silver bullet to the skull. At least it would end her misery.
She stepped up the bar and placed the large envelope on the counter. She met the gaze of the bartender. His narrowed gaze tracked down her face, past her chest to her hand resting on top of the envelope. His eyes widened, just as she’d known they would. He’d seen the insignia ring letting every werewolf know she was the wife and mate of John McGregor, the son-in-law of Edward Boudier.
To the werewolf population, she was untouchable.
“Would you care for a beer, Mrs. McGregor?” The bartender blinked several times and took a step back from the counter, wringing the bar towel in his hands.
It was almost comical how frightened he was of her.
If only he knew the truth: that she herself didn’t wield any power. And if something happened to her, John probably wouldn’t give two shits. He’d just move on to the next female he set his sights on.
She had once thought that protection was found in her last name.
Now she was beginning to doubt even that would be enough.
She should be heading back. But she wanted to enjoy a few minutes of freedom away from John. One drink wouldn’t hurt.
“Do you have Chardonnay?” She glanced at the barstool, making sure it was clean before easing onto it.
He frowned and then caught himself. “Sorry, no. But I have some wine coolers.”
“Beer is fine.” She didn’t normally drink beer. Maybe a glass of wine every few weeks, and only when she knew her husband would be out of town on business. Otherwise she didn’t drink. She needed to be alert and on her guard around John.
“Thank you.” She slid him a twenty.
“No, it’s on the house.” The bartender waved her away.
She nodded and stuck the bill back in her leather purse. She lifted the cold bottle and pressed it to the insides of her wrists before taking a drink.
The bitter brew on her tongue sent her back a million years ago. Back when she was young and without a care in the world. Back when nothing could ever go wrong.
Back to a time she was happy.
* * *
Jaxon’s gaze slid across the room to the woman who walked through the door. Her face was hidden from his view by the short silky blonde hair that curtained her face. He started to turn his attention back to Ella, but something about the stranger held his attention.
“She’s way outta your league, wolf.” Ella leaned in and sneered.
“What do you know about it?” He lifted his eyebrow, but didn’t look away from the blonde at the bar. He usually stayed away from blondes. They were nothing but trouble. But he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away. “Do you know her?”
“Nope. I don’t have many friends, and I sure as shit don’t have women friends,” Ella said defiantly.
“Maybe you should try to be nicer.” He glanced at Ella and then back at the stranger, who was now sitting at the bar.
“I’m nice. I am. Who said I wasn’t nice?” Ella crossed her arms. “It was Catty, wasn’t it?” she huffed. “Jesus, it wasn’t like I killed her.”
“You stabbed her through the chest and left her pinned to a tree. Face it, you’re not exactly a girls’ girl.” Jaxon glared.
Ella rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. It didn’t kill her. She’s a werewolf—I knew she wasn’t going to die. Besides, I needed to get out of that hellhole.”
“Which brings us back to why I’m here. I have to take you back.” Jaxon reluctantly looked away from the stranger and back at Ella.
“You don’t understand what it’s like to be held prisoner in a place you hate. To lose everything you know and love and be expected to just accept that it’s the way things are.”
His chest tightened.
He knew that better than anyone.
“I’m here doing my job. Nothing personal.” He held up his hands. He glanced over at the stranger at the bar, who was now picking up a beer.
There was something oddly familiar about her. Something so familiar it was wildly distracting. He shook his head and looked back at Ella.
“Not personal? Right. You Guardians don’t know a thing about me. Yet you judge me. Believe me, it’s personal.” A hardness settled across her beautiful features. She truly looked like the evil witch he was here to capture.
Jaxon sighed. “I do know there have been fifteen deaths since your escape, and they all happen in places you’ve been spotted.”
“I’ve not killed anyone. There’s no proof.” She narrowed her eyes and propped her hands on her hips. “You’re not going to pin those deaths on me.”
“Look…” he started to respond, but the woman at the bar made a familiar motion that caught his eye.
He held his breath. It couldn’t be.
She tucked her hair behind her left ear, ran her hand behind her neck, and then rubbed her left shoulder like it ached.
It couldn’t be.
Buzzing noise filled his ears. His gut clenched.
If he were standing behind her, he would see the spot on her shoulder that she rubbed, the scar she’d gotten when she’d gone to the beach and fallen on a seashell. A scar that had gotten immersed in salt water and hadn’t vanished despite her werewolf blood.
It was her. It was Ginny.
The second her name popped in his head, she turned in his direction as if sensing him in the room.
Their gazes locked. Shock registered on her face. They both went perfectly still.
“Fuck.” The curse slipped past his lips out into the dingy bar, where it was eaten up by the noise of the jukebox and the mumble of conversations.
He wanted to go to her, to pull her into his arms, to scream and ask her why she did what she did. But in the end, he still had his pride. He did the only thing he could think of.
He wanted to hurt her back for all the pain she’d caused him.
He grabbed Ella around the waist and pulled her against his chest. She struggled for a second or two until she realized his intention.
“Well, it’s about time, wolf.” She purred as she ran her hands up his chest and locked her fingers around his neck.
He narrowed his gaze on Ginny, wanting her to feel a fraction of the pain that she had caused him every single day of his life since their wedding day. He wanted her to suffer as he had suffered. He wanted her to know how it felt.
He held Ginny’s gaze and smirked.