JOLIE
Kenny glances at the wolves behind me with a confused expression, then his eyes narrow suspiciously when he looks at me. “You’re with them?”
The wolves snort so loudly, I’m surprised they don’t choke on their own spit. I suspect that even if I’d managed to somehow escape them, they would’ve hunted me down and dragged me back. As much as I hate to admit it, I find their presence reassuring.
I should be terrified of them. I have every right to hate anything paranormal, but I find myself drawn to the pain I see reflected in their eyes.
They’re just as lost as I am.
It makes me want to fix things for them and make everything better.
“Something like that.” I shrug at Kenny, pointedly ignoring the men. The pounding music from the club fills the alley, and I know it won’t be long before someone comes out to fuck or get high or both.
“Long story short—I killed a lot of vampires who killed me. I now own everything that was theirs. We’re on our way to move into the mansion where I died. Welcome to my nightmare. The wolves say they’re my bodyguards, but the verdict is out on if they’re my jailors or not. If you’re going to join us, we’re leaving now. It’s not going to be long before others discover the bodies, and I want to be gone before then.”
I don’t wait for anyone to say anything else, just whirl and march away. Castle grunts as I walk past him, and I can’t tell if it’s in annoyance or agreement. Tobias grins at me in a way that has my breath catching, then he offers me his arm.
As much as I want to keep my distance from the wolves, I slip my hand through his arm, unable to resist the need to touch him. He pulls me along, leading me toward a waiting vehicle, one of many that I learn they have stashed around town, but I’m unable to take my eyes off where my black claws rest along the tanned muscles of his forearm. The razor-sharp nails should look monstrous, so why does a secret thrill go through me at seeing my hand on him?
Castle scoops up the unconscious cat over his shoulder like he weighs nothing, not waiting for Kenny to make the decision, then follows. I quickly turn away as memories of being carted around like a side of beef ready for the slaughter flash through my mind, and I forcefully push them away.
But it’s too late.
The memories spread like poison through my thoughts.
I’m quiet as we drive toward the mansion, the memories getting darker and harder to ignore the closer we draw to our destination. To distract myself, I glance at the backseat.
Though he doesn’t look happy at being separated from me, Tobias is sprawled out in the middle of the seat, the two lost cats squished on either side of him.
Apparently, shifters heal better when they’re near an alpha.
Who knew?
So he sits between them, arms crossed, a pout on his face, like a toddler sent to time-out. He takes up nearly the whole back seat of the truck. The dude is huge, the small space just emphasizing it. Neither Bryce nor Kenny are necessarily small men, but they look young and vulnerable sitting next to him.
Kenny appears uncomfortable scrunched up against the door, but he doesn’t protest. Bryce remains unconscious. I would be worried if his wounds didn’t look like they were healing, albeit slowly.
At three in the morning, the roads are surprisingly active. The world is alive with paranormals…and thrill seeking humans insane enough to venture out after dark.
Crazy fuckers.
Better them than me.
Castle drives with the same focus he does everything—like he expects ninjas to jump out at any opportunity and the rest of the cars on the road are opponents to beat.
His intensity is adorable, and I shiver at the thought of having all that focus directed at me.
Bad Jolie.
By the time we arrive at the mansion, I’m so on edge that my fangs are leaking venom. Part of it might be fear of returning to the place of my death. Another, darker part of myself will admit that it’s pure hunger—I’m returning to my hunting ground.
I’m not sure which is worse.
As we pull up to the mansion, it takes everything in me not to throw myself out of the moving vehicle and run. My breathing is choppy as we park in front of the steps leading up to the mansion. I grip the door handle, my claws accidentally slicing through the leather as I try to keep from losing my shit.
News flash—it’s not working.
“The whole fucking mansion should be burned to the ground,” I mutter under my breath, my skin crawling at the thought of walking back into the place where I was killed. Part of me hates that the men brought me back here.
