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Chapter 1
The clock alarm went off, and Cricket swung her arm out, punching the snooze button with more strength than she meant. The hard plastic collapsed around her fist.
Oh, my head. She never should have matched the Greywolf team shot for shot of hard liquor. What was I thinking? Drinking with lycans twice my size knowing I’m a light weight. They had good reason to get wasted. Last night, they mourned three fallen team members, killed while hunting a nefarious Russian werewolf mobster. Men she’d admired for their military prowess.
Yet their sacrifice was for naught. New team member Lev Volkov and enforcer, Dominic Wolfe destroyed the oath breaking pack. What started as a solemn toasting for the fallen heroes turned into a night of drinking to lycan justice and victory over the oath breakers.
Cricket rubbed her temples. Her memory of the evening pounded in her aching head. Turning wolf, throwing up, and then carried to her room by alpha team leader and boss, Rylee. Shit. She drank to victory, but why she drank to inebriation had more to do with her disappointment of being taken off the next team assignment.
Cricket had hoped to work on their latest mission. Another missing werewolf, like the last two, had disappeared from the face of the earth. Instead, she’d be stuck at headquarters tending to a deeply depressed, on the edge of insanity, werewolf prince. Not a fan of royals, still it sucked his entire pack had been massacred by the Russian mob werewolf Rylee’s team had eliminated. A lone screwed up wolf. Better a hangover than the heartache the prince felt. Her ward. He'd also been robbed of his right to kill his pack's murderers. But there was vengeance, and then justice, Team Greywolf style. What was alpha commander Rylee thinking? Not only had she brought him here, but she hoped he’d join her team.
Ugh. The last thing I want is to babysit a privileged alpha prince. Her nipples hardened. A gorgeous alpha with a body that roared for a female’s attention. Before his pack’s demise, Prince Slade was the pack player. Third in line to the Alaskan throne, he had trained as the pack’s elite soldier. Every she-wolf from here to Europe desired to claim Slade as her mate. Sadly, the beautiful alpha ladies had to wait until he recovered from his depression. Without his pack, the prince suffered from grief-related morphopsychosis. Dumb luck, Rylee assigned her to attend to the hot alpha werewolf’s needs.
How could she be in charge of the candy jar and not allowed one nibble?
Screw it. No point in fantasizing. After he healed from his grief, he’d never give Cricket, a runt, a moment’s notice. Not even a lowly omega would look her way. Runts weren’t allowed to take a mate, especially the most unobtainable alpha prince. Good. No need to bow to a higher status mate.
Cricket curled back in bed and covered her head with the pillow. Why did she have to be up so early? Slade and his werewolf shrink, Dr. Warner, had arrived the previous night. Wouldn’t the prince still be sedated?
Her phone buzzed.
Cricket winced and answered it. “Good morning, ma’am.”
“Eat breakfast and shower. Then get your ass down to the war room.” Her boss’s tone laced with anger.
“Yes, ma’am.” No one ever argued with Rylee Greywolf, head of Lycan Intelligence and commander of Team Greywolf. Cricket, especially. Despite her runt status, Rylee had made her an honorary beta in her pack. Unusual, but since Cricket looked and acted the most human, she mingled well amongst people. Rylee considered her the team’s best undercover agent. It was a waste of her talent to be stuck with some prince. Ironically, the best companion for a screwed up alpha was a wolf of low status, an omega.
A runt fell just below an omega. Even better. A groveling submissive to calm the overtly aggressive alpha. Yeah right. Bad enough she had to be submissive around normal werewolves outside of Rylee’s pack, but Slade was bonkers. She’d be expected to stoop even lower to placate his lunacy.
Groggy, Cricket stumbled to the bathroom and took some pain meds for her headache. She raked back her curly bobbed hair and stared at her reflection. At least her eyes weren’t blood shot. Except for feeling like a sledgehammer hit her, Cricket’s stomach felt better. Of course it does, I threw up on Rylee’s boots. No wonder she sounded pissed. Not about soiling her boots, though. No. Nothing so simple.
A flicker of memory revealed itself. Her words slurring as she toasted in front of the entire team, “To my shitty new assignment.”
She scrubbed her hands over her face. Great. Maybe I’m off the team, for good.
Cricket stepped out of the elevator and into the deep underground intelligence center, designed similar to the human version of the CIA, but with blue light ambiance, providing a calming effect on werewolves. Not that she needed the sedate lighting. Not with her more human temperament.
Rylee stood overlooking the console of one of her men. “Retrace every last one of his steps, even if means weeks ago.” She turned. “Cricket, let’s go.”
Cricket nodded and followed her boss down the long tunnel to the next wing. Oh good, not Rylee’s office. Maybe she wasn’t being fired.
Once they reached the end of the corridor, a steel door opened. The piercing howl of a wolf accosted her ears. Oh shit. Was that Prince Slade? “You put him in the interrogation room?” Not in a royal guest room, but in the dungeon-like holding cell meant for criminals, not alpha royals. He must be beyond hope.
“I’m afraid so. Disrespectful or not, we can’t move him to the special guest quarters until he snaps out of his rage.” Rylee entered the code to an additional high security door.
Cricket rolled her eyes. Great. Although, if he proved impossible to calm, Rylee might remove her from the assignment. Let’s hope.
The door unlocked, and they entered. Dr. Thomas Warner stood observing the immense maddened wolf behind the safety of a one-way mirror. Prince Slade growled and paced his large prison. A trapped wolf anxious to escape, to maul, to devour. There was nothing remotely “princely” about the feral beast.
Thick white fur smeared with mud and blood. Big as a grizzly and just as irate. He drooled like a wolf suffering from rabies. He had raked the walls with his razor-sharp claws, making the cham
ber look like the set of a bad Hollywood werewolf movie.
Cricket flinched. No way am I going in there.
Dr. Warner turned. “His sedative wore off an hour ago. I’m afraid if I try to inject him again, he’ll tear my throat out.”
Cricket frowned. “How did you sedate him in the first place?”
Warner, an alpha, narrowed his eyes at her, and she quickly averted her gaze to the floor. “The first time through the bars of his cage. The pilots begged me to not let him wake during the flight, and unfortunately, the dose I gave him nearly killed him.”
Rylee studied the prince. “I take it he’s a bit resentful about the trip over.”
Warner nodded. “He shifted to human form when I sedated him and slipped into a coma. Once we were on the ground, we shackled him, and I shocked him to awareness. He went wolf and attacked. Broke through the shackles, and I shot him with three sedative darts before he went down.”
Rylee pressed the talk button and spoke into the intercom. “Prince Slade, can we talk?”
Slade approached the glass and glowered. His piercing green eyes practically melted the glass. The wolf couldn’t see them through the glass, but could smell and now with the open intercom, hear them.
His menacing snarl reverberated around the room, sending a chill down Cricket’s spine. “Looks like he’s way out of my league.”
“You might be right,” said Warner.
The fierce wolf shifted to human form and pressed his face against the glass. Naked. Raw. Untamed. His uncombed thick hair and unkempt beard gave him a look of madness. His fangs and claws remained out. Even so, he was handsome, hot as hell. “Who is speaking?” he asked, his breath fogging up the glass.
“Rylee, Prince Slade, we are here to help.”
“Not you.” He sniffed the air. “The other woman.” He towered over Warner. Slade had to be at least six-foot five inches with a muscular frame that threatened quick defeat of any challenger.
Cricket swallowed. “I’m…”
Dr. Warner cut her off. “Cricket is here to help.”
