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  Hunter studied the man before him. Others might call Mark average, but Hunter didn’t agree. Mark certainly was no bodybuilder, but he wasn’t in bad shape. Toned—he was what they called toned. There was a nice pelt of dark hair on his chest, legs, and arms too.

  The dark brown hair was sweat-damp and plastered to his head. Mark’s soulful brown eyes were also very expressive. They were said to be the windows to the soul, and Hunter finally understood what that meant. Unfortunately, they’d been filled with fear or pain so far. He yearned to see them sparkling with laughter.

  The brown hair and eyes were offset by an olive complexion that was entirely too sallow right now thanks to the virus working through Mark’s body, making the changes that would eventually enable him to transform into a wolf.

  Regrettably, that also brought with it a high fever, chills, hot flashes, joint pain, and a whole host of other unpleasant things. The transformation rendered Mark delirious and made him relive the shooting in his mind. Hunter hated that all he could do was sit there and just listen.

  “Gun!”

  “You’re safe, Mark.” The fear in Mark’s voice sliced Hunter into ribbons.

  Nothing had gone according to plan. Instead of apprehending the two werewolves who had stolen from their pack, he and Brax had blundered into a mugging that left two innocent humans dead and another fighting for his life—a human who just happened to also be Hunter’s mate.

  The one lucky break they had was that those fuckers had dropped a wallet and that he’d noticed it. As soon as they got in the SUV, he had Brax check it. His mate’s name was Mark James, and he was twenty-six years old and from New York City.

  Mark. He liked it. It was a good, strong name, just like his right hook. Hunter flexed his jaw. He still couldn’t believe Mark punched him. Not that he blamed him, of course. For a human, Mark hit pretty hard.

  “Bad idea. Going this way was a bad idea.”

  “I know, but you’re not in that little alleyway now.”

  “Those eyes. Those eyes! Yellow? Asshole yellow! What the fuck?”

  Hunter blinked in surprise. Asshole yellow? That wasn’t a color he’d ever heard of. “Don’t worry about those eyes. Mark? Can you hear me? Look somewhere else, okay? Don’t look at those eyes.”

  “Dad? No! Mom? Mom, please!”

  “I’m so sorry,” Hunter said softly as Mark twisted on the bed. If only he could do more. Maybe if they’d gotten there sooner, maybe if they’d reacted quicker, things would have been different, but he didn’t think so. Hunter firmly believed in fate, and this situation had Her fingerprints all over it.

  “Blood. Blood everywhere. Sightless eyes. Mom!”

  “Fuck.” Hunter swallowed, then swiped at his nose.

  Hearing someone grieve was rough, but hearing his mate was almost more than he could handle. His wolf prowled relentlessly in his mind, wanting to find those responsible and rip them to shreds—preferably while they were still alive.

  “You’re okay, Mark.” Hunter repeated the routine with the washcloth, this time wiping down Mark’s chest. Listening to Mark’s desperate cries while he was stuck in a never-ending loop of the murders hurt in a way he didn’t know was possible. “You’re safe. No one will hurt you now.”

  What a fucked-up mess. Hunter had hoped to get Mark back to his pack and treat him. Then, once he wasn’t in danger of dying, Hunter planned to patiently explain to Mark that, yes indeed, werewolves did exist. Then he’d woo him as any self-respecting Alpha would do.

  He’d convince Mark that he couldn’t live without Hunter, then he’d drop the bomb about Mark being his fated mate. Mark would probably freak out at first. He was human, after all, but they’d work through it. He’d bite Mark, with permission, and start the transformation process… which he’d survive, of course. Then he’d mate Mark, and they’d live happily ever after.

  His perfectly planned fairytale romance came crashing down thirty minutes from the pack land borders when Mark’s heart rate had suddenly dropped. Faced with the choice of watching Mark die and losing his mate forever, or forcing the transformation on him in the hope he’d live, Hunter went with option two.

  He couldn’t watch Mark die. He couldn’t. His wolf wouldn’t let him. But how steep of a price was he going to pay for turning Mark without his consent? Hell, Mark didn’t even know werewolves existed, and now suddenly he was one. Or he would be if the transformation didn’t kill him.

  Would Mark ever forgive him?

  Saliva in an open wound was all it took. But biting Mark where his shoulder and neck met—well, that had nothing to do with the transformation and everything to do with claiming Mark as his mate.

  He hoped the mating bond would give Mark the added strength he’d need to survive. But it was a risk. Turning him and mating him at the same time might save him, but it could also be more than his body could handle.

  Mark muttered something but seemed to settle down a bit. Still, he was restless and burning up. He’d clutch at the sheet then release it, roll to his side, then flop onto his back.

  Every couple of minutes he’d whimper softly. The sound was a shot through Hunter’s heart every time. They were several hours into the change, and Hunter had barely slept a wink.

  “Phlegm wouldn’t go with my look, sorry. Think this is close enough, Typhoid Mary.”

  Startled, Hunter sucked in air, got strangled, and started coughing. Was Mark hallucinating? Who was he speaking to anyway? It certainly wasn’t Hunter.

  “I’m as pure as the driven snow.”

  “Sure hope the fuck not,” Hunter countered quietly as his bedroom door creaked open.

  “Considering what a kinky bastard you are, that could be a problem. I did knock, by the way. I guess you didn’t hear me.”

  Hunter jerked around in the chair and stared at his brother. “Shit, Zane.”

  “And as usual, you are neck deep in it. We need to talk.”

  “We do, but I’m not leaving him. If you want to do this now, we’re doing it here.”

  “That’s fine.” Zane entered the bedroom and shut the door, but he didn’t approach the bed. “Am I too close?”

  “No. My wolf knows who you are. I’m fine.”

  “Hate to tell you, but when it comes to mates, blood is no guarantee your wolf is going to stay calm with another male in the room. At least not until you complete the mating process. Which you can’t do until he comes through the change.”

  “I’ve got more in front of me than just him surviving the change.”

  “Yes, you do. You bit him, without consent, thus starting the transformation. That’s bad enough, but Brax said you gave him the mating mark—and again, without consent.”

  “He’d been shot in the gut, was bleeding out, and his heart rate crashed on me. What was I supposed to do? Let him die? Lose my mate? Turning him was the only way.”

  “I’m not judging you on changing him. It would’ve been better to first tell him what we are, but that wasn’t an option. Not if you wanted him to live. Now, the mating bite? That’s another thing.”

  “I know. I know, okay! But you know many changed humans don’t survive. By mating him, I tied us together. I’m hoping my strength will give him what he needs to pull through.”

  “And if he dies? He could very well take you with him.”

  “It was a risk I had to take. I can’t lose him. You’re mated. You have to know the desperation I felt in order to do this.”

  “I get it. I do. But he didn’t consent to this, Hunter, and no matter how you justify it, that’s going to be a problem if he survives.”

  “I know. I’ll deal with it.”

  “You’ll have to. All right then. Moving on. Brax said the two werewolves had already shot the humans by the time you found them. He also said he got their scents, and it matched the ones from the robberies.”

  “He’s right. It’s the same two.”

  “Did you get close enough to see facial features?” Zane asked.

 
; “No. Brax and I had been careful tracking them, but the wind shifted at the last moment, and they caught our scent. They were running by the time we reached the humans.”

  They’d robbed two businesses in Dayville before taking off. He and Zane had retrieved the video surveillance, but the two wolves had been careful. They didn’t have a clear image of their faces. But one had slipped up, and the camera had caught his profile. They were big, muscular white men with shoulder-length brown hair who favored jeans and T-shirts.

  Zane had their best guys working on trying to figure out who they were. They would eventually, and then either he or Zane would take care of it themselves. Still, Hunter had to hand it to those two.

  Coming into another pack’s territory, especially one as big as that of the Day Canyon pack, took some balls. Or sheer stupidity. He wasn’t sure which. Regardless, the two idiots managed to piss off him and Zane, and Hunter happily volunteered to take a Beta and track their asses down.

  He certainly wasn’t expecting what happened.

  “Anyway,” Zane said, “I sent five more Betas to Las Vegas to see if they can pick up the trail. Hopefully they’ve left the area.”

  “More than likely. I mean, robbery is one thing, but this? Murder?” Hunter toyed with Mark’s fingers. They curled around his and tightened. Mark’s grip was so damn weak. “The humans handed over their wallets and jewelry, and those assholes still killed them. They used guns.” Hunter sneered. “They seem pretty familiar with them also.”

  “That actually helps. Maybe it’ll narrow down our search some,” Zane said. “There aren’t too many packs who tolerate gun usage.”

  “Oh, there was also a rogue in the area too. I caught her scent, but….” Hunter’s nose twitched, and he sniffed subtly. “But she pulled a disappearing act.” Fuck. Zane was right. His scent was beginning to bother Hunter, his wolf in particular. The animal knew perfectly well who Zane was, but… well, dammit. Neither of them liked having such a dominant predator so close.

  “A rogue? A female, you say? Interesting.”

  “Well, major metropolises are neutral grounds.” Hunter’s attention returned to Mark, who’d jerked his hand away.

  “True, but we wolves do better in packs.”

  “Not going to argue that, but I’m guessing she’s a rogue for a reason. By the way, there’s blood all over your SUV. Sorry about that.”

  “Brax told me. Don’t worry about it. In the grand scheme of things, what’s a little blood? It’s not that important.”

  “I appreciate that, although it was more than a little blood. Brax was pretty sure you were going to shit kittens.” Hunter’s wolf huffed. It was as close to a laugh as an animal could get.

  “Brax always thinks I’m going to shit kittens. Anyway, I know it’s hard having another werewolf in what’s basically your den right now, so I’m going to stay away until the transformation is complete. I’m just a phone call away if you need me.”

  Hunter relaxed once Zane shut the door behind him. His wolf did also. Mentally he reminded his animal that Zane was his brother, but it didn’t do much good. His mate was weak, vulnerable, and unable to defend himself.

  After he checked Mark’s pulse again, he settled down to keep watch.

  Chapter Three – Mark

  NAUSEA CLAWED at Mark’s throat, waking him. He tried to force it back, but nope. Not happening. A small trashcan appeared in front of him, and he grabbed it. His stomach contracted violently, forcing whatever was still in him, out. The disgusting stench invaded his nostrils, and he heaved again, even though there was nothing left.

  Had the food at one of the many casinos been spoiled? Food poisoning—just what he did not need. His belly cramped again. Had he managed to catch Michael’s damn flu? Michael had been puking up his toenails shortly before Mark and their parents left for vacation. He’d jokingly called Michael Typhoid Mary right before they’d left. If he’d caught the plague from Michael, Mark would kick his ass when he got home, just on principle.

  “Why don’t I take that? The smell can’t be doing you any favors.”

  Thoughts of the flu, promised ass kicking, possible food poisoning, and just about everything else vanished as his gaze flew to the owner of that compelling voice. It all came rushing back.

  Sure enough, the blond god was sitting there as calm as could be—as if puking into a trashcan was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe it was. Maybe for a kidnapper this was business as usual.

  The trashcan tilted precariously, but the stranger grabbed it before it could tip over. It was real. The shooting, the kidnapping, all of it was real. Fear crawled up Mark’s back. Adrenaline kicked in, and he scrambled backwards until he hit the headboard.

  Pain from his belly had him grabbing his stomach, and he touched a bandage. He glanced down. Oh fuck, there was a bandage wrapped around the lower part of his abdomen, which was startling enough. But the lack of a shirt? Hyperventilating might be next up on the agenda.

  He moved his legs, and the brush of cool sheets against unclothed skin only succeeded in freaking him out more. Where were the rest of his clothes? His cell phone?

  Fuck, he was butt ass naked, in a bed with some stranger sitting nearby, stranded who knew where. Hyperventilating, with a side order of gibbering panic, was definitely a possibility.

  “You’re safe, Mark. Please calm down.”

  Why did people say that? Did they actually think it helped calm someone down? It didn’t. It only fucking served to make him less calm, dammit.

  Also, dude knew his name. Mark didn’t know which scared him more.

  “If you’re panicking about the lack of—look, you were shot in the gut and bleeding everywhere, and as you can imagine, it got all over your clothes. Hell, it got all over everything. That’s why I stripped you. No other reason, okay?”

  No, not okay.

  “The bullet’s out.”

  Someone had removed the bullet. And Lord have mercy, he hadn’t known. Someone had fucking dug around in his guts and removed the bullet. It must have been done here and not at a hospital. Had the equipment been sterilized? Had a doctor done it? Or had it been just whoever happened to be hanging around?

  He was going to die from infection, wasn’t he? His head spun sickeningly, and black dots danced before his eyes. He happily embraced the darkness. Unfortunately, he dreamed of those men shooting his parents, of a smirking smile and yellow eyes.

  He woke screaming.

  “It’s okay. I promise you, you’re safe.”

  Mark jackknifed up in bed. The lack of agonizing pain in his belly barely registered. He glanced in the direction of that voice and screamed again.

  “Mark, please, it’s okay. You’re okay. No one is going to hurt you.”

  The stranger was one of those men with the funky eyes and fangs. Not a man. That insidious thought left him reeling. Visions of yellow eyes—he was calling it asshole yellow—and pointy teeth, along with sounds no human throat could possibly make, danced in his head.

  But that shit wasn’t possible. It was make-believe bullshit for movies and books. He must’ve been hallucinating due to shock and blood loss. He’s not human. Nope, he wasn’t going there. No way. Shit like that was not real, dammit. Neither are fangs and yellow eyes.

  “How long have I been here? Been sick? Who are you? What’s happening to me? Why am I here? Why did you take me?” How long had he been missing?

  “My name is Hunter Day. What’s happening to you is that you’re going through the transformation. Being so ill is part of that. This is the second day, and it’s morning. I wish there was something I could do to help, but there really isn’t, outside of making you comfortable.”

  “Transformation? What does that mean?” What the hell was this dude talking about? Was this some kind of secret government operation where they experimented on innocent people off the streets?

  “Where do you get this stuff from? Of course I’m not experimenting on you. I’m not planning to harvest your organs,
by the way.”

  So, he must’ve said that aloud.

  “As to why you’re here, and why did I take you? Well, that’s a long story.”

  Weren’t they all?

  “This is going to take some explaining, so be patient, please. I’m an Alpha werewolf, and I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true. My Beta, Brax, and I were in Las Vegas hunting two werewolves who had broken into two pack members’ businesses. They were the ones who mugged you and your parents.”

  Mark stared at Hunter. Had he heard that right? Surely not. Minutes ticked by as neither of them spoke. A buzzing started in his head as the words alpha and werewolf played on repeat. The silence unnerved Mark. “Did I, ah, did I hear you right?” he finally blurted.

  “Yes. I’m a werewolf. I can change into a wolf.”

  So apparently Mark’s ears weren’t playing tricks on him. This man said he was a werewolf—what the fuck?—who had the ability to change into a wolf. Nuts. This was completely nuts. Dude was a few bricks short of a load. There was no such thing as werewolves.

  Heaven help him, he was trapped with a lunatic; he had to be, because none of this could possibly be true, but… yellow eyes. And… sharp, pointy teeth. Both were things no human had. Speaking of teeth, Hunter’s were perfectly normal now, no stabby fang-looking things on the top and bottom. Maybe he’d imagined it. All of it.

  So, of course, his brain gleefully showed him scenes from every werewolf movie he’d ever seen. He shut that shit right down. He wasn’t going there. Nope. Those were just movies. Nothing more than actors in costumes and elaborate makeup. There was no such damn thing as a werewolf.

  “No telling me that’s just not possible? No exclamations that I must be insane?”

  “No.” Mark might be thinking it, but he damn sure wasn’t going to say it.

  Honestly, he didn’t know what to think. Maybe the guy was insane. Hell, maybe he was. Maybe he was dying in a back alley right this minute, and this was all a nightmare. One thing was for certain, until he saw somebody turn into a wolf in front of him—Lord have mercy—he was going to humor the fuck out of Hunter.