Present

The last forty-eight hours would go down as the worst in her existence. Leaving Chrystal behind had left her aching but determined. Julian wouldn’t let anything happen to her, and Dallas would lead all pursuers away. The danger would go with her, and she would deal with them one at a time. Running was a lot easier than staying.

Staying meant facing the cold reality of disappointment in his eyes, the remoteness in his manner, and the absolute dismissal when he’d ushered her into his bedroom. She’d slept in his bed, but they hadn’t shared it. Sleeping in another room would have been less lonely.

The Volchitsa didn’t cave to questioning or threats, though Julian hadn’t allowed her to participate beyond listening over the intercom. The accountant had been very forthcoming. The moment Julian walked in the room, he’d spilled his guts. After swearing he wouldn’t reveal who they were or anything else—in fact, the accountant planned to quit his job and leave town with his family.

They set sail back for a dock north of Santa Monica. He’d sent the accountant into a shower an hour before they pulled into port. After docking the boat, Julian ordered her into a seat then pulled out handcuffs.

“You’re not serious.” She stared at him. He’d barely spoken to her, and though anger simmered within him, it was hurt which kept her in check. No matter how frustrating she found the situation, she was at fault. She’d hurt him. Slugging him was one thing. Teasing him and giving him crap was fun. Causing him genuine pain?

No. Unforgivable.

“It’s this or you go into the cell the accountant was in, and it stinks.” Dry, emotionless, and practical.

Sighing, she held out her wrist. “So much for my word.”

“Don’t play the wounded bird,” he said, fastening the steel shackle on her wrist. He attached the other end to a steel bar passing from the ceiling, along a console and to the deck. Dallas eyed it critically. She’d wanted her shot at those Volchitsa. She spoke the language, and she didn’t have Julian’s moral obligations to second chances.

“It won’t break without damaging the deck.” He checked the cuff on her wrist, then tightened it a fraction. “You could shift and free yourself, I suppose.” As he spoke, he drew a slip of black leather from his pocket.

It looked like a dog collar.

Sliding it around her throat, he studied her without expression as he buckled it into place. A tag hung from it, one he turned over before letting the cool metal rest against her chest. “You might even get this off. But that will merely confirm your word means nothing.”

Boxed in, she leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg over the other. The action pushed him away.

“Bring me fried chicken on your way back. I’m hungry.”

Julian didn’t say a word as he left the bridge. Closing her eyes, she listened as he made his way through the ship. The accountant jabbered as soon as Julian reached him. The man had been a fount of information, not that he’d known as much as he wanted to share. Montague Arkady was only a name on an invoice to him. He managed his U.S. based business accounts, though he’d paid out a great deal over the last few months—all the payments had been wired to check cashing locations. Not exactly a goldmine, but Julian dispatched his Enforcers to several of the locations, so maybe it was something.

Ten minutes after Julian disembarked, Dallas’s leg began to bounce. Being forced to just sit there was driving her crazy. He’d been right about one thing—she could get out of the handcuffs. Breaking them would take time, but shifting would get her free.

Even as the thought took root, she recalled the scalding look in his eyes as he said, That will merely confirm your word means nothing.

“Fuck. A. Duck.” She clenched her fist, then forced it to relax. The collar weighed on her more than the handcuff. Keeping her eyes closed, she regulated her breathing. Inhaling for four counts, hold for four, then exhaling for four. The method dated back to her earliest days of training. Later, Julian stressed the power of breathing when it came to holding off her temper and emotional turmoil brought on by not shifting for extended periods of time.

She’d managed to not shift for more than six months once. The last month had been absolutely brutal, but necessary. The same six months had gifted her with the ability to hide her scent and to hone her senses to razor sharp. She didn’t need her wolf form to read tracking scents or focus her hearing. One by one, she could attune individual senses as needed.

A talent she’d been told once belonged exclusively to alphas, most likely because pack bonds gave them a surplus of energy. Dallas might have been her grandfather’s first choice, but Brett had been his best one. Her young cousin had grown into an extraordinary young man and the mantle of power draped him well.

As her respiration settled and her heart slowed, her mind wandered. From the moment she gave birth to Chrystal, the bond between them had been almost too tight. As her mother, it was Dallas’s great joy to protect her, but the sense of pack bonds intertwined amongst their familial ties. Balancing her daughter’s needs had been a constant struggle.

When she recognized why the dynamic between them shifted, she became even more determined to keep her from the packs. Omegas needed constant protection from the most balanced of wolves, because they could draw out the worst traits in the wolves around them.

Well aware of her uglier side, Dallas embraced her craftier, clever aspects and did everything she could to protect her daughter. Yet, I didn’t protect her as well as I should have. Or as well as Julian might have.

The sudden jump in her pulse had her clenching her fists and exerting her discipline once more. What was done was done, she could only embrace the now. Her choices were her own. She’d made them, and she’d accepted losing Julian years before. The pain lashing her soul at the moment was what she deserved.

Switching mental tracks, she fixed on less agitating thoughts. If Arkady really was hunting her, why would he attack the packs? Was it related to wanting a U.S. passport? No matter how she twisted the information, it didn’t make sense. Yes, she’d sensed others on her trail for a few months after that meeting, but she kept her distance and made sure Chrystal got her money…

Then nothing.

Opening her eyes, she stared out the windows toward the ocean. Other yachts obscured her line of sight, but the water was out there. She could make out the white foam cresting from larger ships passing and churning the water in their wake.

A cruise ship glided into view, the massive beast a throwback to her years venturing from the ports along the California coast. Another job she’d surrendered after Chrystal was born. Being gone for fifteen to twenty-two nights at a time was fine when it was only her.

And Julian. Even if her conscience wanted to keep filleting her, she didn’t have to listen. Julian had been gone on his tasks nearly as often if not more than she on her jobs. They didn’t live together.

Until Oregon.

The experiment gone wrong. They did better when they were reuniting. Though the house had offered them a respite from the rest of the world. There it had been only the two of them. No other wolves anywhere in the region. He’d purchased it under the name of a shell corporation, and they’d begun to spend every available weekend together or apart, working on renovations.

During one particularly long jaunt at sea, Julian decorated five different sitting rooms, so she could pick her favorite. It had been ridiculous and sweet. In turn, she’d built him a three-day map of various terrains and located troops so they could play real life Risk.

Engrossed in the memory, she nearly missed the faint sound of a thump on the deck. The moment it sank into her, however, she canted her head. Listening. A heartbeat, not hers, not the two men below decks still secured in his mobile prison. The shuffle step, an attempt to maintain stealth betrayed the newcomer was not Julian.

Twisting in the seat, she tracked the movement on the lower deck. Finding nothing on the console she could use, she reached with her free hand to the tag on her collar—it had a looped piece of metal serving as the fastener. Fitting her finger against it, she began unbending the metal. The tag slipped free and she pulled the circlet off of it.

The steps on the lower deck headed for the center of the boat—stairs up or stairs down? Flattening one end, she kept the other curved. Sliding it into the keyhole she searched for the catch. The standard steel handcuffs could be tricked into releasing if she could apply the right amount of pressure—it would break the lock, not the cuffs themselves. Technically she would still be within Julian’s restrictions.

Shifting breezes carried the distinct flavors of cigar, herring, stroganoff, and bourbon. The combination nauseated her as soon as it touched her nostrils, the burning sensation clinging to her nostrils. Finding the latch inside the lock, she forced the pin into it, then the tumbler released and the shackle popped just in time for the steps on the deck to jog up the stairs.

Adjusting the handcuff to appear still secure, she remained in the chair. The steps paused a few feet away. Crossing one leg over the other, Dallas glanced toward the wide open doors facing the rear deck. It was the primary access to the bridge.

A shadow elongated as a figure stepped into the opening. Tall, she’d guess around six feet. A little on the scrawny side, though shoulder width didn’t always serve as a good indicator for strength or lack thereof. Short dark hair and an unkempt beard hid half his facial features, but the dirt on his face didn’t say much for his hygiene.

The presence of fur in his scent combined a sour layer of refuse created a less than appetizing bouquet. Different scenarios flashed through her mind. Did she wait to see what his play was? The scent he carried didn’t seem reminiscent of any of the U.S. packs, but she didn’t know Three Rivers—did they have a scent yet? Some of the Enforcers, like Julian, had been gone from their packs for so long they didn’t carry the same markers. She didn’t. Did she take him out because he’d invaded Julian’s territory? A bold move for anyone not a friend? What if she played victim? Was he here to rescue her? Kill her?

So many potentials.

The wolf didn’t look at her, other than in passing as he eased onto the bridge. The hesitance in his actions made sense. Julian’s scent would be strongest here. A full minute passed as he studied the open bridge, before finally trailing his gaze back to where she sat.

Bored with the suspense, she raised her eyebrows. “Hello?”

Nostrils flared, the wolf stalked toward her, pausing just out of reach. His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward then took a deep breath.

As unappealing as he was at a distance, he was downright repugnant up close.

“Dallas Dalton.” The wolf licked his lips after saying her name, and the action left her feeling dirty all over. His gaze flicked to where the handcuff still appeared attached, then he clapped his hands. “I win.”

“Bully for you, Stinky. What do you win? An ass kicking?” Maintaining a bored façade when choking on his unpleasant odor took considerable willpower.

“Five. Million. Dollars.” Stinky continued as he advanced the steps separating them. “You will cooperate. Or I’ll kill you.”

“I will, huh?” Raising her leg, she planted her bare foot against his dirty shirt. God she was going to need a bath after this. His yellow teeth bared in a snarl, but she made a clucking noise. “Not so fast, you malodorous mongrel.”

He blinked. “Malodorous? You find me attractive, da?”

Dallas blinked. The language barrier didn’t improve her opinion “Nyet. Who is going to pay you such a hefty bounty for me, you fetid pile of manure? Kto platit shchedrost'?”

It was Stinky’s turn to look surprised. “Ty govorish' po-russki?”

“Don’t try to charm me with your wit now.” At his blank look, she shook her head. “Kto platit shchedrost'?” It would be nice to have a name to give Julian to apologize for the blood she was about to get on his polished wooden floorboards. The yacht was pristine in its attention to detail, and she had no doubt he’d done all the work himself.

“You are prisoner. You don’t ask questions.” He gripped her leg. “You go. I take.”

Coiling her leg, she jerked out of his grasp. His filthy nails scraped a bloody trail across her calf. It was time for him to go. He lunged for her, and she snapped her foot out and caught him in the chin. The wolf flipped over backward, blood spraying from his damaged mouth. Shaking her wrist to free herself of the handcuff, she hesitated at the sound of a second leap onto the deck, then steps racing up the stairs.

Leaning back, she kept the handcuff and began to smile as Stinky rose, bloody nosed and snarling.

“Someone’s in trouble.”

“Bitch, you be mine before I give you over.” Probably not the best phrase, because Julian’s presence rushed into the room like the backdraft of a fire overpowering the stench of her would be kidnapper.

The wolf’s dark gaze skipped from her to Julian.

“Hey,” she said by way of conversation. “We have company. He’s pretty rude though. Do me a favor, and don’t kill him?”

“Why not?” The deadly intonation held only the mildest of interest. The storm lashing around Julian did not promise a welcome reception.

“He wants to deliver me for a hefty bounty. That means he knows where he wants to take me to get that much money. Worth questioning.”

The other wolf didn’t wait for Julian’s response as he rushed him. The battle lasted less than a minute, and Julian moved like a living blade. His every motion seemed perfectly in balance as he avoided strikes from the other wolf while he delivered brutal shots. Bone crunched in Stinky’s wrist, then Julian twisted and locked his gaze with hers as he slammed his elbow into the other wolf’s face.

Stinky went down in a heap—a steamy, boneless, bloody heap.

Crossing her legs once more, she said, “And here I am…right where you left me.”

“You broke the handcuff.”

Dallas rolled her eyes.

“You should have done it sooner.” Then he glanced at her leg. “Go clean that up while I take care of this.”

Sliding her hand out of the broken cuff, she stood. “So I don’t get points for staying?”

“No.” Julian didn’t look at her. “How much was the bounty?”

“Five million dollars.” She leaned against the open door. “His English sucks, and I have a feeling he’s fresh off the boat…literally.”

That got Julian’s attention, and his nostrils flared. “The herring.”

“Kind of funny when you think about it.” Red herrings, and all that. Instead of responding, Julian went through the wolf’s pockets and set what he found on the console before he hauled the wolf over his shoulder.

When he turned and found her still there, his blue eyes went to cold steel.

“Fine, I’m going.” She raised her hands in a show of surrender before pushing away from the wall. The scratches on her leg were uglier than they felt. Pausing on the deck, she scanned the docks. There seemed to be a lull in movement. Aware that Julian waited just inside the bridge, she added, “It’s clear.”

He didn’t hesitate before exiting the bridge then descending the steps. The show of trust surprised and pleased her. Maybe they could work together, if nothing else. Then she’d tell Chrystal the truth and introduce her to her father. If neither wanted to see her after that, they would have each other.

Reaching the lower deck, she paused as the smell of fried chicken assaulted her. A bucket sat on a lounge chair as though abandoned as soon as he boarded the vessel. Lifting it, she opened the lid and peered inside. All breasts and legs—no wings. Wings were the worst kind of chicken, they had no meat on them. As tempting as it was to dig in, she wouldn’t.

When he was ready to eat, she’d share it with him. Leaving the food in the kitchen, she grabbed a washcloth and soaked it down then began to clean out the scratches with some dish soap. It stung like hell, but she didn’t slow until she’d wiped away the blood and hopefully cleaned out any bacteria left behind by Stinky.

Julian returned from below decks, and shed his shirt. Not that she minded the view, but it wasn’t for her benefit. As fast as the shirt went into the trash she knew he wanted the other wolf’s scent off him.

Striding inside, he said, “How long was he aboard before I returned?”

“Five minutes. Not sure how he found your floating castle, but he walked right on board and then came upstairs.” Grimacing, she finished another round of wiping down her leg, then checked the docks. One wolf finding them was strange…

A first aid kit landed on the lounger next to her. Julian continued on. “It could be a coincidence,” he said as though echoing her thoughts. “But we’re casting off.”

Pressing her tongue against the inside of her teeth, she debated responding. Then sucked it up. It didn’t matter if he wanted anything from her. She’d offered her help, she’d made her bed, and she’d lie in it. “Can I help?”

The hesitation was brief, but pronounced before he said, “Start the engines.”

“On it.” She snagged the first aid kit, then returned to the bridge. She didn’t know this version of yacht, but she’d spent enough time on different ships over the years. Getting the engines warming, she double-checked their fuel then the other gauges.

When Julian arrived, she moved to the open doorway and kept her gaze on the docks. He called the harbormaster even as he began reversing from the slip. Keeping her senses attuned, she caught the flash of movement on the docks.

“Duck,” she said and dropped. A bullet pinged inside the bridge. Then a second. Glancing over, she blew out a breath of relief. Julian crouched, his hands on the controls.

Sparks exploded from one panel when a bullet hit it.

“Here,” Julian said, and metal slid across the floor. She caught the rifle, and made her way onto the deck in a duck walk. Using one of the lounge chairs, she went flat and brought the rifle up. It was a sweet, sleek weapon.

Putting her eye to the scope, she sighted her target. He continued to fire, even as the yacht continued toward the channel. It wouldn’t be long before they had company of the law enforcement type.

They already had three prisoners, and she was really tired of the bullets pinging against the pretty ship.

Breathing, she pulled the trigger on the exhale. Eyes open, she had a perfect view of the back of their would-be assassin’s head exploding. Only then did she close her eyes and take a deep breath.

Julian’s voice drifted out to her. “…at the Marina. Be there to take the body into custody.”

The body? She spared a look at Julian. He had a satellite phone in his hand, and he’d stood once more, increasing their speed on their way out of the harbor.

“Collect the body, and get it to Delta Crescent for autopsy. Clear the case here.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

“I love it when you talk all authoritatively.”

A beat of silence then Julian snorted. “Shut up, and bring the rifle back in here.”

“Yes, sir.” Scooting off the lounger, she still scanned the rapidly retreating harbor behind them. Some rifles didn’t need them to be close to land. Back inside, she checked the safety on weapon before handing it back to him. “So, I’m thinking you were right and this might have something to do with me.”

The look he gave her would have peeled paint.

“Don’t get smug.” Ignoring the bullet hole in the chair, she dropped back into the seat she’d been handcuffed to and opened the first aid kit. “I’m also thinking I was right…and it has something to do with you.”

The only question was whom could they have collectively pissed off this much?

Decades earlier…

Dallas poured two glasses of wine. The kitchen renovations were only half done, but they’d installed a nice refrigerator and the wine was chilled. Julian met her at the front door when she arrived the night before, and they’d taken their reunion to bed. One nap later, she’d woken to find the bed empty. Thankfully, she hadn’t missed the wedding. It was scheduled to begin airing at two, and she couldn’t wait. It had been the only story in the magazines for weeks—poor kid survived the backlit photo highlighting she didn’t have on a slip.

Like anyone really cared? But, oh, the scandal in the gossip columns. Giggling to herself, she carried the wine glasses to the living room. This had been the second room they finished after their bedroom. Depending on which of them arrived first determined which part of the renovation they tackled next. For two years, they’d been working on the house—a weekend here, a weekend there, and the odd full week.

Sometimes she was here all by herself. Julian’s tasks seemed to grow by the year, and it was odd. As Enforcer, all he really needed to do was keep tabs on his Lone Wolves and track the occasional Rogue. The why behind his preoccupation continued to elude her.

But this time? This time I’ll get answers. She had some news of her own. After several years with the cruise line, she was ready to hang up her voyager badge and stick around more long term.

Turning on the television, she found the channel with the newscasters talking about what people could expect when they began airing the whole procession live. She had to grin. It was already morning in London, and the image included a voiceover from the reporters describing the scene at St. Paul’s Cathedral, including their security protocols.

She seriously doubted they were sharing all of them. No one was that foolish. Leaving the wine, she checked the fireplace. Wood had already been stacked; it just needed to be lit. A glance at the clock said she had about five minutes, so she closed her eyes and listened.

Julian was on the far side, in the unfinished wing—where he’d insisted on placing his office. Odd, but then he liked his alone time, too. Jogging, she made it to his door just in time to hear his voice raise.

“Dammit, Sphinx, I told you not this week. Do a headcount, then check the residences of anyone you can’t find.” A murmur of response indicated a wolf speaking on the other end of the phone. “I don’t care if they went on vacation, they know to check in before they relocate from their designated location. Make a list, then move on.”

Silent for a moment, she could almost picture him standing rigid. Economy of motion didn’t reveal the way his mind worked. He could turn over a dozen scenarios in his mind, postulate their outcomes, and make a decision in the same time it took others to even consider the facts.

In a world where survival of the fittest ruled, Julian always seemed to have a leg up.

“I’ll deal with Toman,” Julian said finally. “He’s never cared for the risk of a challenge, but constantly bouncing wolves who might possess the ability is not a solution.”

She should have knocked, but he had to know she was out there. If he didn’t say anything, then he didn’t want her interrupting. So she waited.

“No, Toman’s always had this issue. I’ll deal with him. You check on the wolves still in Dallas and Fort Worth. We’ll need to scatter them. I don’t want more than three, four Lone Wolves tops, in any city. I don’t care how large it is.” The other wolf said something, and Julian chuckled. The sound wasn’t friendly. “We’re not encouraging liaisons or alliances. You put two wolves together for too long and they will form loyalty. Three, and they’ll build an alliance. Four? Four elects one as a leader, and then we’re having to execute. If you don’t want the job any more, Sphinx, you can step down and return your days as a Lone Wolf…if you do want it? Then shut up and get off my phone.”

Whatever the other wolf said, the call was over.

The authority with which he spoke held Dallas trapped. Since when did he decide who was a Lone Wolf and who wasn’t? And two wolves left together too long formed loyalty?

Was that what happened between them? Had she developed a loyalty for the arrogant Enforcer who’d originally been tasked as her watchdog? Retreating from the door on silent steps, she mulled the decisions of the last few years.

Lovers who met weekly, then long weekends, then a week’s vacation. Their relationship had deepened to the point where she discussed her plans and her choices with him before finalizing them.

Julian didn’t.

Walking, she returned to the living room and retrieved her wine glass. The coverage focused on the palace in London, and the huge crowds lining the streets. The carriages were visible on the other side of the gate. Dignified, elegant, and deeply entrenched in tradition—that little girl had no idea what she was about to buy into.

Taking a long drink of the wine, she curled onto the sofa. A footstep in the hallway warned her of Julian’s arrival.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, not slowing until he picked up his wine glass then dropped on the sofa next to her.

He tugged her feet onto his lap, and covered her ankle with a warm hand.

“You’re cold,” he said, then passed her his wine glass. Easing out from under her legs, he went to the fireplace and soon had the flames licking up the kindling. On his way back to the sofa, he snagged a blanket, then draped it over her legs before reclaiming his spot and putting her legs over his lap.

“Thank you,” she told him, passing the wine glass to him.

“I’m glad you woke up,” he said, continuing to pet her leg through the blanket. “I lost track of time and was on my way up to get you. I know you wanted to watch.”

“I did,” she said, murmuring against the glass then taking another sip. “Did you get any sleep?”

“No, you were zonked, so I left you to it. I had to check on my messages.” His message—the service he used that let any Lone Wolf of his check in twenty-four hours a day. He checked it at least three to four times a day when she was with him. If he went too long in between, it agitated him.

“Everything okay?” He’d been talking to another Enforcer about that Enforcer’s Lone Wolves and about the alpha of Willow Bend.

“It’s fine, and now you have my full attention.” He glided his hand to her thigh and she smacked his fingers lightly.

“I want to watch the wedding.” And sort out the storm of confusion brewing within her. He wasn’t wrong about what he’d said to—Sphinx, was it?—leave two wolves together and they formed loyalty.

Instead of responding, he continued to stroke her leg. The massage soothed the agitation writhing within her, but he also wasn’t really watching the television. His gaze was elsewhere.

Between the reporters sharing their experiences from within the crowds, to the carriages leaving the palace and the cameras zooming in on their royal passengers, to the flames flickering in the fireplace, she kept glancing at Julian. His attention was on none of it. Preoccupied, he barely touched his wine. The only activity he participated in was massaging her calf.

They would be better off if she left it alone. When they were together, they had fun. He was a terrific lover, a thoughtful friend, and a good companion. Why risk it to satisfy curiosity over a conversation she shouldn’t have been listening in on in the first place?

Three times she debated asking the question, and three times she silenced the impulse with a drink of wine. The fourth time, her glass was empty and even as the bride stepped out of the royal carriage, her dress so incredibly long that the train would take several seconds to follow her down the aisle.

“What’s wrong?” She curled her toes against his leg.

“Politics,” he answered with a sigh. “The packs play them, then it’s left to us to clean up after.”

Her grandfather wasn’t one for games, and he’d mentioned Toman. “Is someone creating a problem for you?” She didn’t mention the other Enforcers on purpose.

“For all of us,” Julian said, then sighed. “But you don’t need to worry. I won’t let it change anything for us.” Then he eyed her wine glass. “Refill?”

“I can get it…” But she trailed off as he rose and plucked her glass away. The soft kiss he pressed to her lips didn’t abate her worry. He disappeared down the hallway toward the kitchen, and she glanced back to see the soon-to-princess arrive at the altar where the prince awaited her.

The distance between his world and hers couldn’t be more vast, and they were about to commit to a lifetime together while the whole world watched. A decade with Julian—they might have only had a fraction of that in real time, but they were together.

Weren’t they breaking the law? The law he swore to defend. The law he’d just been stressing to another Enforcer they couldn’t allow to be broken because they let too many wolves stay in one place.

They’d bought a home together. No, he bought it, and then surprised me with it.

Still wrestling with all of it, she missed the vows being exchanged and the singing. But Julian returned with a fresh wine and a platter of cheese, fruit, and crackers. The effort made her smile. Julian constantly wanted to take care of her. She brought him her problems, they debated her choices—sure she still made them. Yet, he never did the same with her. He kept what was going on with him to himself.

Maybe it was time to rethink her choices. He needed protecting every bit as much as he believed she did.

She never did tell him about the career change.