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As Vaughn entered a spirited conversation with Fergus and Brannick, her memories grew clouded with her time as Max’s chosen mate. She’d loved the big wolf. She’d felt such guilt that he’d died the way he did, ambushed when he’d returned from a long weekend at her home. He’d barely crossed the bridge into Savage Territory when he’d been shot and killed.
“Hello, Emma. How are you?”
Emma recognized the raspy wolf voice and a shudder ran through her.
Dagen.
He’d spoken quietly, and she suspected his intention was to make sure Vaughn didn’t hear him.
Still holding Vaughn’s hand, she pivoted slightly toward the alpha who had taken over Max’s pack. Vaughn stayed put since he was still engaged in what sounded like a loud though friendly debate with Fergus.
Dagen stood a couple of feet away, flanked by two of his powerful pack-mates. Emma now stood at a right-angle to Vaughn. Very clever of the wolf.
“You know what I think about you, Dagen. There’s no need for small talk, so why don’t you and your friends just move along.”
He spoke in a low voice. “You’ve always misunderstood me. I’ve protected you in ways you can’t even imagine. I merely wanted to congratulate you. I heard about the good deed you and your vampire friend just accomplished.” He lifted a bottle of beer to her. When his gaze fell to her hand still held in Vaughn’s warm clasp, his eyes darkened and his lips turned down.
She couldn’t get over the feeling Dagen had always thought of her as belonging to him. It made no sense, yet she could feel his anger.
He was a bit shorter than Max had been, and fell a couple of inches shy of Vaughn. But Dagen had powerful shoulders and arms, exposed by a leather jacket with the sleeves cut off and dotted with at least two dozen spiked silver studs. He worked out and it showed. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on his lean, muscled body.
He had dark ferret-like eyes always on the move. He wore his blackish brown hair in a Mohawk, his scalp on the sides shaved clean and bearing a series of skull tattoos along the space above each ear.
He had a lot of charisma and women went for him. He wore black leathers treated with the same spiked studs down the outer seams. Steel-toed boots made a horrific promise to anyone falling during a mano-a-mano battle with him.
He lifted the bottle to his lips and took a swig.
Dagen had made a play for her after Max died, but she’d never had the smallest interest in the shifter. He was all sleaze, and she knew in her gut he was the one who had assassinated Max.
When Vaughn turned toward her, Dagen moved a few feet away, his beta guards with him.
Vaughn’s grip tightened on her hand. “That’s Dagen, isn’t it?”
“Yep, that’s him.”
“He looks different with the Mohawk, but I remember him from when I was hunting for my sister. What did he say to you?”
She switched to telepathy. Shifters had excellent hearing, and she didn’t want her conversation with Vaughn reported by anyone eavesdropping. Would you believe he wanted to congratulate us on rescuing the girls?
Like he gives a shit.
Exactly.
Dagen stood a few yards distant. He was still watching her, but he hadn’t yet made eye-contact with Vaughn. When he did, it wouldn’t be good.
Vaughn growled softly, a very alter kind of sound. He’s after you, Em. I can smell it from here.
I know he is, but I’ve never understood why. It’s like he’s obsessed. Maybe he thinks that because I was with Max, I should belong to him now, sort of an alpha thing.
Whatever it is, he’s pissing me off.
She felt the tension in his body and because of it, she turned toward him, which forced Vaughn to focus on her.
Listen to me. If you start something here, you’ll have to finish it in a one-on-one fight. She inclined her head toward the sand pit. You don’t want to do that. Dagen won’t battle with honor, and he’ll kill you if he can.
She saw that Vaughn’s fangs were low on his lips. Sorry, Em, but it may not be up to me.
The entire tenor of the room changed in a heartbeat.
