Chapter 4: Liam

I can’t catch my breath as I all but run from the building. My thoughts a jumbled mess. Feet nearly slipping free of my unlaced combat boots. Something Duncan has told me a number of times will land me on my ass or face. His words almost hold true tonight as I stumble through the glass doors, sucking in the night air as if my life depends on it.

I just kissed a demon. Not any demon, the queen of demons. The one who stole the souls of my kind, my alpha’s son, just last night. It’s not even that I kissed our enemy. It’s not that I kissed a murderer. It’s that I liked. That my body responded so completely to her, even my panic hasn’t reduced my arousal. That I craved her like I used to crave-. My thoughts shut down, refusing to even think her name, as my knees crash into the concrete of the sidewalk beneath me.

What the hell did I just do? How am I going to explain that Fallon Taylor still breathes?

It’s not long before I will myself back to my feet. The drive back to my place should take less than ten minutes. Once I’m safe behind the golden locks and latches of my door, I can break down. I can lose all sense of sanity because of what I just did. Because of the trust I just broke.

My door slams as I shove it closed behind me, hands in my hair again. The cozy space charges with the sounds of my huffing breaths and pacing feet. The anxiety knotting my intestines. Duncan will never forgive this. But beyond that, I’ll never forgive myself.

Step by step, I strip out of my clothing, desperate to remove every trace of Fallon Taylor being pressed against me. My dick, still rigid, pointing straight, didn’t get the memo. I am wildly attracted to that woman -thing- but I hate her with every figment of my being. I will do what needs to be done for my brother. I will kill her and every single one of her kind if that’s what it takes for my pack to sleep a little more soundly at night.

The scorching water of my shower pelts against my back, hand braced against the white tiled wall. It’s been enough time to catch my breath, for my heart rate to slow, and still it speeds as if in the Indy 500 thinking of Fallon. It’s not just lust, or anger; it’s grief, and pain, and disgust and pity. Pity for her and my pack. I should have no pity for Fallon, but I also know why she is the way she is. The choices that were taken from her. It only explains why she’s become this hardened woman, fighting to sit on top of the world. It doesn’t excuse what she did to those boys last night, though, barely into their twenties.

As the water shifts from burning to temperate, I finally leave it, a towel wrapped around my hips. Eager to calm my restless nerves, hand wrapped tightly around the neck of a bottle of jack, I slump to the floor. Back pressed firmly against the wall. I have no plan. I have no story. But I need one before I can face my pack again. Before I can tell Corrine and Duncan that I may not have killed their son’s killer, but I will. That I passed up a chance for vengeance. I owe them that much for all they did for me, when I nearly lost myself.

Her face floods my vision, as if she’s standing right before me. Sobs ripping from my chest. I miss her more than I will ever admit. My one chance at happiness and a family, stolen because some demon went on a rampage at a concert, killing over forty people and sucking each and every one of their souls from their bodies. Soraya, my mate, had been there with several other pack members, just ready for a good night. Like I said, we do our best to blend in with society. We gravitate towards the same things other creatures and humans do. In that way, we’re no different.

Soraya was the only werewolf to die that night. The other two pack members she was with, Bailey and Ivan, barely meet my gaze anymore. They avoid me as best they can, choosing to stay in the pack house, the very place I avoid unless needed. The guilt haunts them as much as the loss cripples me. Duncan and Corrine technically live in the pack house, but generally spend more time in their downtown condo than there. The rest of us live scattered around Chicago, in apartments and row houses and some of us mini-mansions of our own. Those of us not married, mated or dating, choose to live with one another. Not me though. I keep to myself, sequestered in the apartment that was once Soraya’s and mine.

Betrayal knots my chest. She may be long dead, coming up on five years, but she was still mine. My mate. The one in this world made just for me. And tonight I gave into carnal urges for the first time since losing her. Touching another woman. Being aroused by her and breathing her in like she was the air, I needed to survive. I don’t deserve my position or Soraya, but the least I can do is earn it, by murdering Fallon and any of her cronies.

Peeling myself from the hardwood floor, the typical sandy shade blending with the remaining tan on my own skin, I head for the bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it looks just like any other bachelor pad would. Navy blue comforter with matching pillow cases, white sheets, blackout curtains. Soraya had only lived here a week before she died, her parents wanting her to be eighteen before moving in with a man, despite us knowing we were mates long before that. She never even got a chance to leave her mark here. Her décor plans still in the binder on my desk in the office. Right where they’ll stay.

Shrugging into a fresh tee and my favorite brand of sweats, I launch myself onto the bed. The memory foam molding up around my body. I pray for sleep to claim me. Or even an idea of what I’m going to do, to flood into my mind, but nothing comes. It’s just the still of the dark, my breathing, Soraya’s face and Fallon’s lips. Groaning into the comforter, its fabric clenched tight in my fists, I scream.

Hours pass, me alternating between screeches of frustration and staring at the ceiling, when a ping from my phone pulls me out of my tormenting thoughts.

Walter: Status update?

Me: Still breathing.

Walter: Shit.

Walter: Four more dead.

Walter: Not our pack.

His last text throws me into action, my bare feet slipping into those same combat boots, I refuse to lace up. He picks up after just one ring, the exhaustion thick in his greeting. The clap of my boots against the hardwood, nearly drowns out his sigh and the shuffling in the background. But I can hear it loud and clear. Disaster just struck for the second night in a row.

“Where?” My teeth clenched, canines aching at the gum to elongate. Just two more days until the full moon, but my wolf wants out now. He’ll have to wait, unlike wolf shifters that can change at will, us werewolves are bound to the full moon. We’re slaves to it’s cycle, our wolf souls bound for life.

“Highland Park area. A wealthy family, assassinated in their home.”

“Why are we getting involved?” My words echoing off the concrete floors and walls as I enter the garage. The beep of my car locks coming undone only amplifies the noise.

“Apparently there was a message left for Duncan.”

“Shit.” The curse slips past my lips as a hiss as I climb into the jeep. “Where am I meeting you?”

He relays the address, straight up Sheridan road, where the houses only get more extravagant the further you go. Throwing the car into reverse, then drive, I fly out of the garage. Enough time has passed for the streets to empty, the changing lights being the only barriers keeping me from reaching my destination quicker. Opting for highway versus city driving, it only takes me thirty-five minutes to reach the destination.

Red and blue lights dance against the dark and sandstone of the massive home. Shaped like a U with a circular drive of gravel. Recognition between the cops and homicide detectives comes quickly. The officers, werewolves and one of the detectives, Victor Aurora, a Vampire I work closely with. A whirlwind of movement and bodies surrounds the property -forensics specialists, personnel from the medical examiner’s office, other wolves from this family’s pack.

Taking my hand, Victor and I shake. Him giving me the rundown of what they know so far. The bodies were mauled much like our young had been the night before, making me bristle with anger, their souls long gone from their bodies. Victor saunters off, a cigarette bobbing between his lips and the bodies of one of the most prominent werewolf families are carried off. I should have killed that bitch when I had the chance.

Whoever did this - and I have a feeling I know exactly who - wanted all us werewolves to know they are dispatching the leaders of every werewolf pack, one by one. They’re coming for us all.