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  “Fine, I’ll give you three days. Let me know if you hit any road blocks.”

  Ian jumped to his feet and dragged Clare from her chair.

  She didn’t struggle during their exit but as soon as their feet hit the pavement she yanked her hand free.

  He leaned against the building. “Did you mean what you said? Your dad would help us?” He couldn’t tell with all the mixed lies and truths. Born shifters must have to learn to play with their truths since their parents could sniff out a lie.

  “Are you kidding me? If my father found out the sheriff might call Homeland Security on us, I’d be the one tied up in the trunk but headed home.” She pursed her lips and she searched the street. “Where did all the people go? It’s quiet all of a sudden.”

  “Let’s go.” He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her to the side street where he had parked the car. Rounding the corner, he came to a halt and Clare collided into his back, her forehead hitting between his shoulder blades.

  “What the hell?” She rubbed her head and came around him. She went still. “Oh my God, we’re so dead.”

  The word dogs had been carved into the hood of Pallas’ car.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gas fumes masked the scents inside the manor’s garage. It clogged Clare’s nose and dried her throat. She stood at attention next to Ian who leaned against the wood plank wall, picking at his fingernails. She’d spent most of the afternoon tossing and turning while her imagination ran wild with images of how the vampire would punish them for the damage on his precious car. The lower the sun rode in the sky, the less chance of her resting.

  The vampire circled his vehicle, gaze roving over every inch of glossy surface. He stopped at the hood and ran a fingertip over the carved word in the otherwise flawless paint job. His growl rivaled her father’s.

  The hairs on the back of her neck rose. All exhaustion vanished as adrenaline kicked into gear.

  “Those blood-bags have a lot of nerve. There was a time when humans knew their place on the food chain.” Pallas rubbed his fingers together. “I think they need a reminder.”

  “They didn’t know the car belongs to you.”

  His daggered glare cut across the room.

  She gasped, half expecting to taste blood. “Sir.” What would she suffer at his hands? She’d witnessed enough of his creative penalties. She squared her shoulders. About time she joined the others in humiliation. No good deed should go unpunished.

  “Sir?” He moved around the car like fluid. “Now you show me respect? Where was it when you choose to steal my car?” The townspeople most likely could hear him. He paced in front of them, jerking his hands and arms as he switched to another language that more suited his accent.

  Ian lifted his head. He scratched his chin and yawned.

  Clare flinched as Pallas voice grew even louder. She wasn’t used to yelling. Her father grew quiet when furious.

  The vampire shoved the garage side door open and stomped across the lawn toward the manor.

  Clare rushed to follow and noticed Ian still remained leaning against the wall. She returned and grabbed his hand. “Come on.”

  He rolled his eyes and followed. “The more you defend us, the worse the punishment will be.”

  “We’ll make him understand.”

  “He doesn’t want to understand, Clare. He wants to smash things.”

  She yanked for him to hurry and they caught up to Pallas as he shoved the manor door open with a crash. Shifters in the kitchen scattered like dry leaves in the wind. “It’s not like we had much of a choice.”

  Pallas rounded on her and Ian. “And exactly how did she threaten you into action?”

  “By registering the pack it makes us legal citizens of this county. Otherwise, we’re considered rogue.” Clare sounded out of breath even though the run had been short. She spoke so fast her tongue felt knotted.

  Darrell and Blain entered the kitchen with Penny trailing their footsteps. “It’s not like you could have gone into town in daylight to register us a pack. Someone had to do it since you neglected to inform the authorities.”

  “You were part of this?” Pallas’ eyes darkened until barely any whites showed. Temperatures plummeted in the room and Clare’s teeth chattered.

  Ian blocked her view as he set himself between her and Pallas. “If we’re not registered in three days, she’ll call Homeland Security. They’re bad news. The kind that carry silver and wooden bullets.”

  Pallas bared his fangs. “This does not concern me. My wolves taking matters in their own hands without consulting me does.” He turned on their friends. “You three get your toothbrushes and report back.”

  They stood straighter and blinked at one another.

  “Now!” Pallas’ voice acted as a whip and they took the back stairs two at a time. Continuing through the house, the vampire entered the full lounging room.

  Everyone seemed to sense his mood and grew quiet, stopping whatever entertainment they’d found to keep busy.

  “Two of your buddies,” he said the word with much distaste and he glared at the couple, making it clear who were the culprits. “Took my brand new car without permission and returned it damaged.” His eyes returned to their previous midnight brown and he smiled.

  Clare’s insides turned to liquid. This was worse than his yelling.

  Blain, Darrell, and Penny raced down the front stairs and reported to Pallas, toothbrushes in hand.

  “Good. To start the evening’s activities, I will have you three clean my vehicle inside and out using those brushes. The rest of us will march seven miles into the woods to the top of Murphy’s hill and dig a grave for my sullied vehicle.”

  Someone groaned.

  He pointed to the guilty party. “You can duck walk the whole way. Once we’re finished we’ll return for my car and carry it out there for burial.” His gaze snapped to the other three. “It better sparkle.”

  No one moved. He was going to make them bury his perfectly fine vehicle? She opened her mouth but Ian kicked her in the foot.

  He gave her a shut-up-fool look.

  Pallas swung his head slowly as he scanned the room. “Fall out.” The order came out as a whisper.

  Clare started for the door with everyone else, but the vampire grabbed both her and Ian’s arms. “Not you two.” His smile grew wider. “I have a special task for self-proclaimed alphas.”

  Blood drained from Clare’s head as all sorts of terrible ideas came to mind.

  “You will both sit in the car while it is cleaned and carried, watching over your pack do all the hard work.”

  Tears threatened to fill Clare’s eyes. “But—”

  “Don’t challenge my authority again, little wolf. I still have your daddy’s phone number. He leaves me a message every night to see if you’re ready to come home.” He gave her arm a hard squeeze, making her bones creak. “Are you ready?”

  “Never.” Her voice shook, with fear or with fury, she wasn’t sure.

  The shifters carried his car the last few feet to the garage. Covered in dirt and sweat, they appeared ready to drop. Pallas suppressed his grin at the memory of their sad faces when halfway home from burying his car, he’d declared he wanted his car fixed rather than buried. He had them march back, dig his vehicle out, and carry it home.

  His own task master had pulled the same stunt when he and his clan brother Daedalus trained as warriors, except they carried a fucking dead warhorse between the two of them. That ass of a teacher had been inspired. The experience had brought him and Daedalus closer. Centuries later, they could still count on each other. His brother would have fit when he heard about what happened to the car he’d gifted Pallas.

  Pallas swept his shoulders clean of any debris from his trek in the woods. He’d always felt more at home in the wild. It was a bond he shared with shifters. Well, shifters from his time. These creatures seemed ill fit to survive outside of civilization.

  His first choice of training quarters had been an is
olated island off the northern coast of Scotland. Daedalus vetoed the decision since he financed this experiment. He offered Pallas a state of the art training facility in the center of Chicago full of equipment and tools the likes he’d never seen. He’d left Daedalus halfway through the tour and went for a walk. Two weeks later, he came across this place. Shelter and some modern conveniences yet acres of private woods. (Those hunters had ignored his no trespassing signs.) Daedalus didn’t know that Pallas had switched off all the electrical breakers except the one for the fridge and the basement.

  The shifters dropped the car and it bounced with a metal grinding squeal.

  “Hey!” He shoved them out of his way. “You don’t need to break it more.”

  Many were already sprawled on the ground. They acted more like humans than the beasts inside their hearts. It took all of them to lift and carry the car. Their ancestors could have done it with only four. He circled the vehicle but didn’t see any visible damage. “Clean her up and store her inside before the sun rises.” He didn’t want the paint job to fade.

  “What?” Some numbskull asked, but Pallas couldn’t figure out which one.

  The passenger side door opened and Clare climbed out. “Ian and I will do it.” She glanced at him with a raise eyebrow. “With our toothbrushes?”

  That one pushed at his control. If not for her connection to a powerful pack, he would have eaten her for dinner. Women in his time knew their place. On their backs, legs spread open, or on his dinner plate. This one wanted to wear an alpha’s crown and so far the only one challenging her was Ian the troublemaker. Or maybe he should say, courting her. Pallas wasn’t sure yet.

  “No toothbrushes. Use the hose and sponges in the garage. I wouldn’t want you to break a nail.” He strolled toward the road, allowing the night to swallow him from the light pouring out of the garage. If he could rename his wolves like he used to do, he would have given Clare the name Rage. Either she was feeling it or causing it.

  Once out of sight, he ran through the farmer’s fields toward town and dinner. The pickings were slim in a small place like Alberg. When he had awakened from his centuries’ long slumber, Daedalus had explained the no killing rule most vampires followed in modern time. Letting his prey live made them available to sip from another day and made relations with the humans easier. His kind, the Nosferatu clan, wouldn’t ever be accepted in society though. They were too other. Better for him to stick to the shadows and feed from the fringe.

  Business first. He stopped behind the sheriff’s office and scanned the building—security cameras and an alarm system. These things he now understood and like their forebears, the humans forgot to look to the sky. Keeping out of range of the cameras, Pallas bent at the knees and jumped. His landing on the flat roof could have been softer as he rolled over the rough surface coming to a stop against a roof hatch. He tore the locked lid open and climbed inside.

  Nothing rang. It didn’t seem like he triggered any alarms. He exited what appeared to be a closet for cleaning equipment. The office was of open design, small and tidy. Two wooden desks on opposites sides of the room with a seating area by the front door.

  Pallas strolled through the darkness, not needing light to see. Clare and Ian had said the sheriff placed the folder of paperwork in her desk. Daedalus had neglected to inform him of registering packs. He would read through the papers and consult his brother on the etiquette of disposing local law enforcement officers.

  The Vanguards tasked him to create an elite shifter combat team. At first, he saw this as no challenge but the packs sent their worst possible candidates. He couldn’t remember the packs so filled with mistrust toward their own kind. He’d spent most of his time among wolf shifters. He understood them better than he understood vampires. Probably because he’d been wolf born. Staying awake in this age was proving to be interesting after all.

  He sat at the worn desk. The owner kept all the writing utensils tidy in a cup, a set of files piled neatly on the left, and a coaster. He picked it up and sniffed. Coffee. The smell appealed to him even though he could only drink a few sips of the stuff.

  A click went off by his ear as the safety of a gun released. Cold metal kissed his temple. “Raise your hands where I can see them.”

  He set his hands on top of the desk and twisted his head. “Sheriff Lee I presume.”

  She held a Glock 22 to his head. That would hurt and take some time to heal from, but it wouldn’t be fatal. What amazed him was her ability to maneuver the room in pitch darkness and he hadn’t heard her. “Stand up and face the wall.”

  He rose to his feet but faced her.

  She pressed the gun to his chest. “Move.”

  With preternatural speed, he plucked the gun from her hand, turned on the desk light and set the weapon on her desk.

  She fell back into a fighting stance, hands raised, feet wide apart. “What the fuck are you and why are you in my office?” Her voice shook and the air filled with the scent of fear. Her straight brown hair was pulled back into a severe bun, revealing a strong jaw and delicate cheek bones. Sharp intelligence glinted in her eyes as she assessed him head to toe.

  “I’m not here to rob you.” He took a couple of steps to the right, testing her reflexes.

  Like clockwork, she maneuvered her stance to counterbalance his position.

  He leaned forward to meet her intense gaze. “The real question here is why a well-trained fighter is working as a sheriff in Nowhereville?”

  She raised her eyebrow then kicked out with her right leg, sweeping his legs from under him.

  He landed in a crouch and caught her ankle as she swung that leg back down at his head. Nice move. He lunged, keeping his speed at human pace, and tried to land a hit.

  She blocked each of his moves, not breaking a sweat.

  “Very good.” He circled her. “Military?”

  She kept him in her sights, hands raised and ready to strike. “You haven’t answered any of my questions. Why should I answer yours?”

  He could pluck them from her mind if he wanted, but that would be boring. He left the world ages ago because of ennui. Repeating past mistakes would be foolish.

  Limbs lithe and movements sure, she drew his eye. Without a telling sign, she threw a simple jab and caught him off guard. She almost shoved his nose through his brain.

  He stumbled and cupped his nose. “Fuck.” Enough was enough. He sped past her and shut the light off then grabbed the file off her desk. He was already climbing to the roof when gunshots went off in the office. Blinded by the dark, she had still tried to kill him.

  Chapter Twelve

  The empty cereal bowl, sitting on the table in front of Ian with a box of Frosted Flakes and milk, glared back at him. He never realized how central a role food played in his life. The human part of his body didn’t mind sugary carbs. The wolf part starved for meat.

  Sleep eluded Ian. Unlike the others, he hadn’t been abused by physical labor all night. Instead, guilt ate his conscience. Punishing the other shifters for his mistake destroyed his peace of mind. It had taken all his self-control, and Clare’s support, to keep him from helping with digging last night. Deep down inside, he knew if he had, it would have forced Pallas to make things worse for everyone else but him and Clare. The vampire truly was the devil.

  So now he sat in the kitchen, unable to rest, waiting for everyone to wake and hate him. He’d had a chance to finally fit into a group of shifters and he’d blown it again.

  He shoved his chair away from the table. Maybe he should go for a run. The sun shone low in the sky. He had a couple hours before everyone woke, but knowing his luck, the vampire would make them run a marathon in every article of clothing they owned tonight. He wouldn’t put it past, Pallas. Not after watching Jeremy waddle for seven miles. Ian should conserve his energy.

  Poor kid. Good thing shifters healed well. Jeremy’s humiliation might take longer to fix than his sore thighs. Ian pinched the bridge of his nose. His own humiliation would never
fade.

  Pallas knew him well. Forced to watch others suffer for his mistake had been the perfect punishment. They would hate him and he’d have a hard time fitting in, like with his old pack.

  His stomach growled. The fridge and freezer were filled with raw meat. It was like Pallas wanted to tempt their dark side. Many of the shifters whispered the vampire feared modern tech so he refused them electricity. At first, Ian had agreed, then he saw the classroom built in the basement with the lights and computer systems. Not to mention the fridge ran on electricity so the manor was equipped with a functioning power box.

  Ian rested his hand on the fridge door handle. His insides burned as his inner beast clawed under the surface for release. He hadn’t shifted in days and the animal wanted to feast. He’d been told eating raw meat would give more power to the beast, more control over their physical form. Allowing the animal supremacy would lead to worse things. Any shifter who lost control didn’t live for very long. Either his pack or the humans would put it down. Take away any means of cooking and stock a fridge full of their beast’s greatest desire was the right combination to drive a shifter mad. Pallas wanted to find out if he had any weak links in his crazy idea of a boot camp. That was the vampire’s real motive for keeping the electricity off.

  Turning his back on temptation, Ian leaned back on the fridge and stared out across the room at the barren hearth. Abandoned pieces of wood lay on the charred stones. Many had tried to make fire since his arrival. None had succeeded beyond some smoke.

  He crossed the room, determination in his stride, and bent to search through the wood scraps. He had no experience in making fires without matches, but he’d been an avid fan of the television realty show Survivor, where he watched many contestants make fire successfully. How hard could it be? With a sharp kitchen knife, he carved out a groove down the center of a long piece of dry branch. This method was his favorite of the many used on the show, besides using flint, which he didn’t own. He snorted. This boot camp could be his own version of the show, except instead of winning a million dollars he’d get to live.