Pack or Prey (Wolfblooded book 1)

Chapter 15, Part 2

While that unspoken truth hung in the air between us, I watched him. He took another drag of his smoke and rolled his shoulders. He was on edge. I recognized the body language. Something was distracting him from his thoughts, a persistent niggle in the back of his mind that he was trying to push aside.

He spun around quickly, his eyes tracking something unseen and unheard by me. He shushed me with pursed lips even though I had said nothing. I couldn't, but he still found it necessary.

Frank walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the hanging light bulb and a tangle of emotions in my head. His movements were so careful as he slipped out of the door that he reminded me of an animal stalking prey. Maybe he had heard something outside? Werewolves had super-hearing or something, right?

I realized I really had no idea what werewolves could do. Other than what little Liz had explained, of course. I wrestled with the probability of getting whoever's attention. I could scream, or try and rock the sidecar around until they heard me and came. If our visitor could hear me, then Frank could too and it would bring him right back here.

That was the last thing I wanted.

The door eased open, and my eyes snapped over to it, expecting Frank to waltz in. Instead, another figure moved silently into the room.

"Shit," he whispered when he saw me.

He kept his body partially crouched and stepped out of the shadowed doorway. It was Detective Sheppard. I growled against the rag in my mouth.

"Shhh," he demanded as he slipped behind me, resting his gun on my shoulder and training it on the door across from us. His free hand worked the knot behind my head. "I got you, Harley. We're getting out of here, I promise."

He was trying to be reassuring. Bless his heart, but I wasn't completely assured. Not with an obsessive, werewolf ex-boyfriend lurking around. The rag dropped from my mouth and I spit out the grease and grime that plagued my tongue.

"Untie my wrists," I said in a harried whisper. I tried to look at him over my shoulder. "He'll be back any second. You need to get me undone and get out of here—"

A heavy clunk rang out behind me, and I watched the detective drop to the floor like a sack of flour. I twisted around as much as the chair allowed and saw Frank staring at me, eyes wild.

He disappeared for a second before I heard something dragging over the concrete floor. He pulled Sheppard's body around me by his ankle until he lay completely in view. His other hand held an old, metal, dented gas can which he dropped to the ground next to the cop's head.

His eyes bore into me, a wild jealousy burning in that stare. They screamed his outrage at the detective trying to take me away from him. That was not allowed. Me leaving on my own terms was apparently one thing, but having another man steal me away was something completely different. It was a call for violence of the worst kind. He pulled his gaze away from me and looked down to the offender for a few heartbeats, visibly trying to keep his temper in check.

"Pack or prey, Harley," Frank finally said, nostrils flaring with his deep and measured breaths.

I stared at him, completely swallowed by my fear. Afraid to say something. Afraid to stay silent. I was afraid to make the wrong move or give him the wrong answer. Not only was my skin on the line, but now Detective Sheppard's was as well.

"What?" I settled for simple, honest ignorance.

"I said," his voice was edged with impatience, but he paused to swallow it down, "pack... or prey. You have a very simple choice to make. Let me turn you. Let me bring you to the life you were born for. I know I haven't been the easiest guy to be with. I'm not an idiot, Harls. I know what I've done to you. You need to believe me that there was a purpose to it. I needed to be sure. I needed to know you were strong enough to handle this."