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  Tessa shivers within his embrace. “No,” she whispers, “let’s not ever go there.”

  For a mature creature of Between, how charmingly naive she is.

  “As long as the moon shines on your face and the sun rises in the east—and this body takes breath—I shall not leave you.”

  Tessa sinks against the shadow of his body once more.

  Laz hopes he has not promised that which he cannot keep.

  Tessa

  They stay to the Olympic Peninsula, shadowing the rushing waters of the Dosewallips for cooler temps. Though autumn is a hard thought away, summer tenaciously clings. Water nearby is good.

  Laz nearby is even better.

  Tessa is disquieted that a ripple of potential trouble had broken the smooth surface of their uncomplicated relationship. It’s stupid to think that she could have peace. Since whelphood, Tessa’s never known true safety. First, there was her sadistic pack leader, Tramack, then after what seemed like a million years of lonely running, she struck up an unlikely friendship with Tahlia, a Lanarre princess—only to lose her to Drek’s pile of dicks, a flock of un-mateable males, as far as Tessa was concerned.

  Then there was Laz, the furthest thing from any male she’d ever imagined being with. In fact, she could have never imagined it. Or him.

  Lazarus is the salve to her savaged cycle of running and hiding that she’s been doing for twenty years. Because of him, she no longer needed to.

  But the unspoken threat of Below is ever-present, a vague threat lying in wait like a predator, robbing Tessa of some of her happiness. Their happiness.

  The emotion she’s feeling comes too close to blaming Laz for something he can’t help. He was a high demonic sent to slay the Rare One, the queen of the Blood Singers.

  In the end, destiny intervened and gave Laz and Tessa each other. Hopefully, fate wouldn’t be a bitch and take what she’d so freely given.

  So they trudge south.

  Laz gives her long looks from hooded eyes that hardly mask the glacial-blue irises or his desire for her.

  Tessa knows her heat calls to him. And they’ve certainly not ignored the summons. Her small smile at their connection is secretive.

  Perfect.

  Sometimes, as they walk, Laz doesn’t bother with affectation of humanity. There are no humans around to witness their rural trek. Or the fact that Laz doesn’t look quite normal. As she watches his sure stride, a slow smolder rises from his skin, appearing as though he has a sunburn. A closer look would cause more questions to which they would not want to supply the answers. But Laz has explained that camouflaging himself as a human takes energy. For him, the task doesn’t require as much energy as it does for other demons, since he mimics a human male closely by chance and genetics. He’s mentioned that he doesn’t have the beauty of the pure high demon, but Tessa can’t agree. Unlike that dick Praile, Laz is a gorgeous specimen of a male. Praile was dark and crudely put together, or maybe she remembers him that way because he was always gunning for her.

  Or maybe he was just ugly—and Laz is beautiful. She’s going to hang her hat on that opinion.

  Tessa’s eyes peel away Laz’s clothing as she follows closely behind him.

  Because of her heat, Laz knows when she thinks of him. It flares when she becomes aroused.

  And… there’s something she hasn’t told him.

  He can’t know until Tessa’s certain. Then she will tell him. But every minute, she becomes more sure.

  Shielding her eyes from the sun as the burning sphere travels to the west this late in the day, she sighs. The rays fall on her bare shoulder, and the warmth blisters her right side.

  She keeps in mind that at least they’re no longer walking directly into the sun.

  Tessa has traveled this way many times. It’s the safest route. Highway 101 is to the east of them, the ocean to the west, as they make their way south to the pack where Adi and Slash were headed.

  However, it doesn’t mean they might not meet… adventure along the way. Just the thought brings the crazy-ass Were to mind. Tony Laurent, Praile’s lackey, is gone, and he was unique because he possessed demon’s blood.

  But where there is one insane Were, there might be another. That brings Tessa’s thoughts back to Tahlia. Tessa’s memories of the bird in flight, landing on Lanarre as they thought to hurt Laz further, are clear.

  What became of Tahlia—is she still with Drek? Did she remain with the Lanarre? Dwelling on Tahlia makes Tessa feel pensive.

  The Lanarre do not accept female rejection easily.

  Tessa nearly runs into Laz, she’s so in her head. Not good.

  Laz captures her easily. Though Tessa is nearly six feet tall, he towers over her, built like any Lanarre soldier, or even the more brutally fashioned Reds of her kind.

  But Laz is his own breed, completely unique. They’re still not sure what part of him called to the part of her that answered.

  Gently gripping her elbows, Laz frowns, the barest of vapors rising from a twist of lips. “What has you so hard in thought you almost ran into me?”

  “I—” What do I tell him? She’s worried about Tahlia, anxious to get to a Were pack that won’t force-breed her. And Tessa has a precious secret that’s making her crazy.

  Laz smooths his thumb over her bottom lip, and the plump flesh trembles beneath that soft touch. “What is it the humans say? Ah, yes…” His light eyes pierce her. Those eyes have been scarlet then sinking to ebony with murderous intent. They’ve been black with evil—yet that gaze with her is the iciest shade of azure. “Do not borrow the worry.”

  Tessa dumps her forehead against his chest. “I can’t not borrow it, Laz.”

  “You care too deeply, Tessa.”

  She searches those translucent eyes. “And you don’t?”

  His smile is wide, teeth very white against lips that appear painted by rubies. “Only for you.”

  Her gaze holds his for a handful of seconds.

  “That is the capacity I’ve been given, Tessa.” Laz’s large hands cup her head, forcing Tessa’s eyes to his. “I am demonic. And not a lowly demon, Tessa—but high demonic. I am the fiercest of us all, save one.”

  She opens her mouth to speak, and Laz shakes his head, stating, “Remember what I said about words having power.”

  Tessa nods underneath his hands, and he suddenly releases her, snapping his head to the right, then left.

  Tessa instinctively sucks in a deep breath through her nostrils and comes up with a scent she knows well.

  Males. Were.

  She is supernatural and Alpha. Laz is the fiercest being designed by their universe.

  It’s just… there are so many humans. Sometimes their numbers overwhelm even the bravest of them all, driving scent of her own kind beneath the radar, so to speak.

  As the males appear, walking on the other side of the river and moving in the opposite direction, Tessa tenses out of habit.

  And for all his speeches, Laz takes her hand, drawing her nearer to the protection of his body.

  Just in case.

  Laz

  Laz trusts no one except Tessa.

  It’s a very clean perspective, which he’s held for a thousand years. Of course, before he found his Redemptive, his understanding of trust was vague and unrealized.

  No longer. Having trust in another is something that is terrifying. And marvelous.

  She is so beautiful. From the fashioning of her form to the uncertain way she loves him, Tessa is an artful masterpiece of existence. Someone he could have never even fantasized about her. There were no such things Below. Certainly, Laz enjoyed females. Demonic have needs, and female demons certainly do, as well.

  The coupling is never soft. It’s a coming together. Slapping flesh. Synchronous release. Nothing more.

  Not the level of deep companionship he feels with Tessa.

  Everything threatens that, Laz realizes as his eyes travel the distance of several yards to a group of human scum.

  As
you were, Laz mentally commands, though he knows they won’t comply. He has been too long in the realm of Below not to naturally anticipate human impulses and those of the supernatural of this realm.

  “Laz, there’s six of them,” Tessa says, her voice like steel. The jumping pulse in the hollow of her throat tells him all he needs to know, since he is disadvantaged with regard to the scenting ability of her kind. “And they are not humans.”

  His Redemptive is afraid.

  And these males of Between will pay for her fear.

  With blood.

  Tessa

  “They are your kind, Tessa,” Laz echoes her thoughts.

  Swallowing what feels like a golf ball, she answers, “Yes.”

  That is worse. All-human males could be dealt with.

  She watches them come.

  The tall one in the center mows through the icy river, completely disregarding the swift-moving water that clears the tops of his tall black boots, drenching his denims. His eyes are pinned on Tessa, utterly dismissing Laz.

  That’s his first mistake.

  Any Were will want her, and his second error in judgement might be his intent to snatch Tessa because she’s in heat. Tessa’s mated to Laz. Their combined scent permeates her skin. The Were will have scented that much.

  It is the oldest law of Lycan that a female and mate shall not be separated. But has a male Were ever taken a female from her legitimate mate because he wanted her?

  Yes.

  It’s rare, but it has happened.

  She continues to scrutinize their steady progress as they draw nearer.

  There is no running. Males will outpace her. That’s a hard, cold truth.

  The one in the center means business. Tessa has dealt with derelict males before, and he has “the look,” as she thinks of it. His lank hair appears as though it needs a perpetual haircut, swinging with his steady progress. The knees of his soaked denims are caked with filth and dark from the river. Brows lowered, he barks a command Tessa can’t make out over the roar of the water, directed at a sniveling Were at his right.

  The smaller Were breaks away from the loose, triangle-shaped formation at the front of the group and moves farther away.

  Laz’s eyes flick to the one who extracts himself from the group, and she can practically feel her mate’s tension mounting.

  A third, so fair-skinned that he almost appears to be albino, follows suit, moving in the opposite direction.

  Tessa’s apprehension deepens.

  The other three follow the leader.

  Tessa knows this is a pack of opportunity, nothing more. Though that knowledge doesn’t make her feel better. “Rogues,” Tessa says quietly for only Laz’s ears.

  “What does that mean?” he asks just as quietly, never taking his eyes from the approaching males. “They are a packless assortment?”

  Despite the circumstances, Tessa gives a grim smile. Packless assortment indeed.

  “Laz, I do love you.”

  He answers immediately, “As do I, you, my Redemptive.”

  “Don’t tell them what you are right away,” she says quickly, barely keeping the begging from her voice.

  Regardless, he must hear her words heavy with worry. “I can pass within human norms, and though I don’t carry a scent, it is my lack of odor that will give me away, ultimately. I cannot be vampire, for I daywalk. Process of elimination.”

  He’s not just another pretty face, Tessa thinks. Laz possesses a sharp mind. Whether that’s an outcome of his thousand years of life experience or if it’s natural intellect, in the end, it’s unimportant. His cunning will be an asset if they’re to escape male Were bent on harming them.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bray

  W ell what do ya fuckinʼ know? Damn—life is good. After the miserable failure of trying to reclaim his spawn and barely escaping, a few things have gone Bray’s way.

  Earl and Billy survived. A miracle. They’re fucking first-class dumbshits.

  Then they managed to pick up three more rogue Were. There’s not a lot of them running around, and usually, they kill each other off in bids for turf and females. And they’re barely Were, as in freshly turned. Bray is convinced that’s why that bitch Jenni pulled one over on him in the parking lot of the McDonald’s where Devin worked. They still smell like humans, at first.

  It was a miracle that Bray was able to convince the new douches to start a pack.

  Of course, Bray’s methods of manipulation could be referred to as convincing. The reality was that the three newbies started seeing things his way after the business end of his fists got busy with their faces, and his talons cut through the red tape.

  That’s a big motivator.

  They healed up nicely and are on board with the only plan that counts—Bray’s.

  Now a female Were and her male companion—who Bray can’t scent for shit, which he doesn’t like, not one fucking bit—has wandered right into their path.

  Bray doesn’t dig passing up opportunity. That’s for losers who don’t think about their own survival.

  Like he used to be just a couple years ago before he caught the Lycan train.

  That feels like a lifetime ago. Like Bray was running around being a dull tool, and after the change, he’s been honed to a razor’s point.

  Bray’s learned to like it.

  “Hold up,” Bray says in a frequency humans aren’t able to hear. Good thing everyone with him is Were.

  Earl sidesteps Bray’s sudden halt, nearly running into the back of him. If Bray took a hard right, Earl would break his neck, his head’s so far up Bray’s ass.

  Earl’s a good little puppy dog.

  Billy’s a fucking lunatic but minds well. Jury’s out on the other three dudes. But they’ve got the right set of teeth on them, so to speak, so Bray thinks he doesn’t have a lot of sculpting work to be done with them.

  They’re free of the morals a lot of dicks seem to be saddled with.

  Bray likes easy.

  And right now, across the Dosewallips river is a female Were with some no-name fucker. She’s Alpha, by the smell of her.

  Bray’s cock swells with anticipation.

  “You guys see the bitch across the way there?” Bray asks unnecessarily. They could smell her five miles back. They’d been trotting in her direction for an hour.

  They all nod.

  Earl looks vaguely uneasy.

  Bray delivers a brain duster to the back of his dumb skull.

  Earl yelps, his greasy hair flying up from the back of his neck.

  “Fuck!” Earl shouts, shooting a pissed look at Bray. “I don’t need know dusters to get it.”

  “Nope. Ya need a bunch of those in a row. Ya still got a fucking soft spot for females.”

  Sometimes it’s just fun to hand ʼem out, don’t ya know? Bray gives a mental chuckle.

  Earl drops his hands. “It weren’t my fault that Jenni got away.”

  Bray bares his teeth, and Earl retreats a step.

  “We’re not fucking going there right now.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder, where he knows the bitch and male walk in the direction from where they just came. “Right now”—he enunciates slowly—“we have werewolf pussy a few yards away.”

  “Can’t scent the male,” Tom interjects logically, clear blue eyes narrowed at Bray.

  Bray hates that fact, and he hates that someone besides him has voiced the only issue they have.

  Tom has pretty-boy looks, like he just stepped out the door of a prep schools.

  That’s not what he is, though. Like Bray, he was turned against his will, made rogue because of his deeds.

  Tom was in college, and date-raped the wrong girl.

  A female Were.

  When she couldn’t be easily subdued, he bashed her on the head and dragged her into the nearest back alley and fucked her while she was unconscious.

  That was the last act he executed as a human.

  Can’t judge a book by its cover, Bray supposes, b
ecause this guy looks as squeaky clean as they come. Speaks rich, looks rich, and can act the part. But he’s got that rotten center that speaks to Bray, like a donut that’s been plugged by decay.

  Tom’s dishwater-blond hair is trimmed just so around his ears, with just enough length on top to offer contrast. Bray doesn’t give two shits and a fuck about his own hair. When it gets in his way, he hacks it off.

  Sure helps with getting the chicks right where Bray wants them since Tom's MO is serial date rapist. To each their own. Can’t fault his tactics.

  “Can any of you scent him?” Bray’s eyes level on the loose group.

  Earl nods. “I get somethinʼ.”

  Makes sense. Earl is chasing a Forrest Gump IQ, but his scenting ability is out of this world.

  “What?” Bray pegs hands to hips, giving Earl the stare down.

  Earl stutters, “Don’t know. Just pick up that he’s not human.”

  Tom chuckles. “No kidding? Yup—pretty sure an Alpha female wouldn’t hang with a human male.”

  They all turn to scrutinize the pair across the river. And wouldn’t you know that they’re checking out him and his boys too.

  That’s fine.

  “Looks like the good Moon is shining on us, boys,” Bray murmurs, turning and walking the gentle slope that leads to the banks of the Dosewallips.

  “Hot damn!” Billy says, trotting after Bray.

  “Wait a sec, Bray!” Earl calls out. “Shouldn’t we, ya know—find out what that dude is?”

  Soon enough, they will.

  Tom, Craig, and Ted scoot after them.

  “Is there a plan?” Tom asks.

  Bray shakes his head. “There’s six of us and two of them. The male dies, the female lives long enough to put out. A little Were tail will go a long way in taking the sting outta not getting my kid.”

  The peanut gallery is silent. Good thing. Bray’s got his sights on the bitch across the river. She’s the salve to his aching ego, dwindling bank account, and the recharging of the battery he has to manufacture before he gets his ass back down the Northwestern and claims his blood.