Changed

Chapter Five

Shane settled into the booth he’d been guided to and studied the rogue werewolf across from him. The male looked like shit, his eyes bloodshot, breath reeking of whiskey. Shane had gotten word that a snitch was willing to talk about the attack on Jackson’s pack for the right price. If there was one benefit in coming to town as a rogue it was having access to insider information. All it had taken was a phone call to churn the wheels, bringing him face-to-face with a male who probably wouldn’t live to see another day.

“Thanks for meeting me.” Shane initiated the conversation, ready to get the ball rolling. “I was told you might have information I need.”

The loner laughed, giving his head a shake. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Why not?”

“You don’t look like someone I need to get involved with.”

Now that was very true. “Can you help me or not?

“For the right price? Sure I can help you.”

No way would he pay the fucker. That went against his grain.

But his companion didn’t need to know that just yet.

“Then talk,” he ordered, letting his beast peer out through his eyes.

As a born Alpha he had the power to influence wolves. It was a birthright he’d walked away from. The act had eaten at his soul like acid but he’d had no choice. His mate had called to him and he’d followed, trying to find her despite the darkness that always kept her from view. They’d shared dreams but each one was a black void, revealing nothing but her soft voice as she called out to him, drawing him in. Once there she trapped him with sensation, forcing him to use all his senses, only to vanish into thin air.

At first that seemed fine. Dreamsharing was tricky business.

But then she hadn’t sought him out.

The last few months he’d felt her need rising. If she hadn’t hit her first mating heat she would soon. Which was why knew something prevented her from seeking him out. In his torment the wolf had started sharing its thoughts and view on things. The animal figured if she couldn’t come to them then they’d go to her. He’d shaken off the idea until weeks had passed. Unable to stay but devastated to leave, he’d said goodbye to his pack.

A hot stab of pain pierced his chest.

Handing the reins over to another Alpha had broken something inside him. He still wasn’t certain he was entirely over it. Thankfully the wolf had risen to hold him, taking away his pack urges as it guided him where it felt he needed to be. As a result he’d landed in Atrum Hill. He couldn’t identify the connection, unable to sense his mate, but his wolf told him they had gone far enough.

So he’d put down roots, joining Jackson Donovan’s pack.

Yet his mate still remained out of his reach.

He’d visited the packs, gone on hunts, hoped for a glimpse or sliver of scent of the woman who belonged to him. But he hadn’t found her. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised. Maybe he was delusional but he’d always trusted his wolf. The beast knew this was where he was supposed to stay, no matter how long it took.

What if it’s wrong? What if there’s nothing here but an empty existence?

“I ain’t saying shit until I see my reward,” the male retorted. “You got the money?”

He lifted his gaze, staring at the male who’d addressed him. The rogue smirked, amused and unthreatened by Shane’s command. It wasn’t any wonder. Shane’s wolf was sidetracked, thinking only of her. His nerves weren’t as good as they used to be, his patience unusually thin.

They couldn’t function like this.

How could he command respect if he didn’t fucking respect himself?

Focus, damn it.

Thrusting aside thoughts of the female he yearned for, he let months of frustration course through him, providing it with an easy outlet. He didn’t hold back, letting his animalistic nature in on the high. The wolf responded, equally angry and frustrated. He snarled, baring his teeth. The rogue paled, the smug smile wiped off his face.

“How about you start talking before you ask about green?” Shane kept his lips back, his teeth in full view. “That’s right. I’m just itching for a fight. Provoke me again and you won’t like what happens. I’ll use your ass to wipe up the bar. Give me a reason to jack you up.”

“I’m just passing through. I’m not trying to make enemies.” The male swiped one of his filthy hands through his tousled hair, cowed and submissive. “And my information is secondhand.”

Funny he didn’t mention that before. “Then say what you came to say.”

“Were you really a loner? You don’t look like a rogue.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

“But you joined a pack.”

“I’ve recently found my female,” he replied, lying just a teensy bit. The rogue was suspicious. He needed to find common ground. “That changes things.”

“I wouldn’t know,” the informant confessed sheepishly. “Not being mated and all.”

A waitress walked over, moving with a grace that only vampires possessed. She crossed the distance in the blink of an eye and stopped beside them. “What can I get you?”

“A shot of house whiskey,” Shane replied, keeping his gaze on the rogue.

In a flash the server was gone. Totally expected considering her nature. The Divide was the perfect place to meet all things supernatural. The staff didn’t stop to chat. Therefore there were never unnecessary questions. Just the way werewolves and blood drinkers liked it. Since it was midday the joint wasn’t hopping. That would change once the sun dipped below the horizon. After dark patrons would jam the bar and crowd the small dance floor.

“I’d start talking if I were you,” he pushed, voice low. “Time’s almost up.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t.” That was the truth but he decided to bend it to suit his needs. “But remember who arranged this meeting. I wasn’t the one offering up answers for money, and I wouldn’t have heard about the gossip if I didn’t have a strong connection with loners around these parts. You offered me a service, not the other way around.”

“True.”

Shane nodded, staring at the male. “So tell me why I’m here.”

“Word has it a female sent someone after your women.” The way he said it made Shane’s hackles rise, like he knew far more but wasn’t sharing unless he had to. The fucker thought he was clever. “She found a loner and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

That was interesting. “What kind of offer?”

“What kind do you think?” The rogue snorted, his roughly shadowed face contorting into a façade of self-loathing. “Reckless we might be but we don’t have a death wish. It just takes the right amount of convincing. A little bit of comfort, you might say.”

Make that very interesting. “She fucked him?”

The male nodded. “Rumor has it.”

Pack bitches would never lower themselves to rogue’s level. No matter how great the temptation. He’d been told so as a boy and learned it firsthand after he’d left his pack. Not that it mattered. On a mission to find his mate, he didn’t want anyone else. But he’d seen the way females had looked at him when he’d arrived at Atrum Hill. They appreciated his appearance but they weren’t likely to touch. Only two women were desperate enough to consider such a thing and—surprise, surprise—they both wanted Chloe Bryant dead.

“Do you have a description?”

The rogue paused, shifting back as the waitress returned with a shot of whiskey in the center of a tray. Shane pulled out a wad of money, letting the rogue get a good look. Then he pulled a large bill loose and exchanged the money for the drink.

“Keep the change.”

The woman left and Shane slid the money into his jacket. The rogue’s eyes followed each motion of his hand and then his gaze dropped to the liquor. The drunken male was practically begging for another taste of rotgut. Pack wolves weren’t known for heavy drinking. Loners, on the other hand, descended into absolute destruction. It was a part of their nature.

“A description,” Shane goaded the male, keeping his fingers at the base of the glass.

“Tall and curvy. Good and clean. Dressed nice.”

“Hmm.” That wasn’t nearly enough information. Lots of women fit that description. Rotating the container between his fingers, Shane asked, “Anything else?”

“Brunette. Long legs.” The man studied Shane’s fingers, licking his lips. “Real pretty.”

“Is that all?” He knew it wasn’t. The male was holding back.

“I didn’t see her, remember?” The rogue’s dark black eyes bore into Shane’s, something a lesser wolf wouldn’t do to an Alpha male unless it was reckless or totally insane. “Are you going to drink that?”

“Maybe,” he drawled, staring the moronic werewolf down. “Maybe not.”

“She was muscular and trim. Built well enough to be full-blooded were.”

“Gyms and steroids have advanced the human race.”

“My friend said she liked to throw money around. He thought she had plenty to spare.”

“Your friend?” Shane questioned, still holding the idiot werewolf’s gaze.

“More of an acquaintance,” the male quickly amended, looking away. “A braggart really.”

Bullshit. Loners didn’t brag to wolves they felt were weaker than them.

“You expect me to believe someone told you he fucked a bitch who wanted members of my pack dead? That seems like something a man should keep to himself if he wants to keep his head on his shoulders. Loners avoid wolves for a reason.”

“Unless they’re blowing through town.”

“Like you?”

“Just like me.” The mongrel nodded.

“So what have you got to hide?” He pushed harder, needing to know. “Would your acquaintance be the same male who attacked the females in our pack? Seems to me that’s where this conversation is headed.”

He saw the panic flare in the rogue’s eyes, noting how quickly the male lowered his head. The lack of response sealed the rogue’s fate. As soon as their meeting was over Shane would escort the poor bastard to a bunker used to do things humans couldn’t know about—mostly involving torture and eventual death. The rogue deserved no less. Secondhand information was one thing. This fucker had known a male was going to attack female members of a pack yet he’d done nothing to prevent it.

“Are you hard of hearing? Do I need to repeat the questions?”

The male balled the hand he’d rested on the table into a fist, lips sealed.

No answers. Not that Shane had expected any…yet.

That’s a bingo.

“It’s cool. I understand. Like I said, I have questions and you have answers. That’s why I came. Here, this is yours.” Shane passed the drink over and glanced around for the waitress. What he had in mind would call for a bottle of triple-strength whiskey—the kind werewolves needed to get good and buzzed. She returned, waiting for instruction. “The hardest whiskey you’ve got. Four glasses, double shots.”

In another town the order might have raised eyebrows. One double shot of the hard shit could put a werewolf on his ass. But this wasn’t another town. This was Atrum Hill, nestled in an area where humans refused to roam. Packs existed in the open, uncaring if humans knew where they were. They didn’t like hiding their nature, pretending they still existed in the shadows. There was a good reason mortals avoided the area. Once they came here they’d be lucky if they made it out alive.

“Whatever you say,” the waitress responded dismissively.

She vanished and Shane reached into his jacket for the money he’d flashed at the rogue. He pulled it out slowly, making sure he made a show of it. “No troubles here, I just need you to work with me. Why don’t we start with your friend’s name?”

The rogue still wasn’t convinced, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

“What’ve you got to lose?” Shane asked. “With this,” he thumbed his finger over the bills, “you can split and we never have to see each other again. We don’t want you. We’re only after the person responsible for the attack. If the pack wanted you dead they wouldn’t have sent me. I’m too new. Think about it for a second.”

After several seconds the grungy werewolf replied, “I don’t know much. I really don’t. My information is secondhand.”

You’ve already said that and I call bullshit.

“Then tell me what you can and answer a few questions. Then you can take this,” he tossed the bills onto table and the metal clip holding the money in place rapped against the table, “and go about your business.”

The money called to the loner, Shane knew it did. If there was one thing rogue wolves lusted after more than booze and sex it was cold, hard cash. He’d offered the incentive, tempting the male to jump the fence into luscious green pastures.

“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

Touché. “How do I know you’ll keep yours?”

“Good question.” The mongrel studied the cash in front of him. What he couldn’t know—and never would—was Shane had piled the center with small bills so the amount was far less than it seemed. “You’re not going to give me time to think about it, are you?”

“No, I’m not.” Shane reclined in his seat. “You want to help me out or you don’t.”

“All you want me to do is tell you what I know, right?”

Not really. “I need you to answer questions as well.”

“That’s it?”

Two words—a question that wanted more reassurance than an honest answer—and Shane knew he had the bastard. The promise of alcohol was nice but the allure of money was even better. He’d known it was only a matter of time. Given enough rope, a lone wolf would always hang itself. Since there wasn’t anyone around to look after them, they usually dangled and rotted to death.

“That’s it,” he answered, thrumming his fingers on the table. “The money is there. Two grand just like you asked. You can be in, out and on with life in a few minutes.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything you do.” Soon he’d be able to contact Jackson with information. The pack would take care of matters, get things in working order, and he could breathe easy for a change.

“That’s a helluva lot.”

Yep, he definitely knows more than he’s letting on. “A man gets what he pays for.”

The server returned with the drinks and he motioned for her to put them on the table. As she did he thought about the mate he’d yet to see, wondering what she looked like. Would she be blonde, brunette or maybe a redhead? Tall or short? The one thing he knew was she was she’d be slim, like all werewolf females—soft skin, lush curves, a sexy as hell shape.

She’d also be soft-spoken.

That was the only glimpse he’d been given of her. Each word breezed from her lips, a soft caress in his ears. It had been enough to put him on the edge, his teeth lengthening in his mouth. He wanted to take her, mark her and claim her. The trouble was he couldn’t find her, not matter how hard he tried. And she couldn’t find him.

Where are you?

Come to me.

Why do you keep doing this?

He didn’t understand her questions. To his knowledge he wasn’t doing anything.

Were females initiated the dreams, drawn by inner awareness. Each time he’d tried to answer he’d stumbled over his tongue, his breath catching in his throat. There were no words, only whining sounds that roused him back to reality and ripped him from sleep.

Tearing them apart, leaving him completely empty.

He yearned for her, ached for her and couldn’t stop thinking about her. Soon he’d lose every ounce of his control and go fucking crazy. Even as a born Alpha there was only so much he could take. A mated man needed the other half of his soul.

Why does mine have to be so hard to find?

“Damn this is good shit.”

Shane came crashing back to reality. He’d drifted again, thinking of his female at the most inopportune time. She was close. Even if he couldn’t see her he could feel her. Still, if he lost his rank in the pack—even if he found her—he’d have nothing to offer her. He had to make sure she had adequate protection and family, those who would love and care for her. He couldn’t go back home. His pack had made that clear before he’d left.

“Here,” Shane said, handing the man a fresh glass. “Have another.”

“I don’t know where to start,” the cur slurred and downed his drink.

“The beginning is usually best.” In your current state, sooner is probably better. “Go with the flow. Tell me what’s easy.”

“His name is Randy. He came from Cali.” He snickered. “Easy to remember.”

“Randy from Cali.” No sense in asking for a surname. Most rogues didn’t use them. “How long has he been here?”

“A month, I think? Something like that.” The rogue shook his head, shoulders relaxing. The liquor was doing its job. “He didn’t like talking about the past but he did love to brag. I ain’t shitting you. The man loved to talk some trash.” As he cackled, spittle formed around his lips. “He had some crazy stories to share. Insane fucking stuff. He’d been all around the world.”

“Which is how you found out about the female who’d hired him?” Yes he was leading the witness but he didn’t give a shit. At this rate happy-go-drunk-me asshole would walk off the beaten path and start telling Shane things he didn’t need to hear. He threw a pawn across the board, viewing their talk like a game of chess, hoping for a shot at the queen. It was all about strategy. “You don’t know her name by chance?”

“You’re trying to trick me.” The drunk snorted. “It won’t work.”

“Don’t think so highly of yourself. I told you why I came. You sent out a call and I responded.” He shook his head, his agitation very real. “You want money. I want answers. It’s not rocket science. I’d prefer not to waste any more time. You want to ditch town. I want to help you. The sooner you answer my questions, the quicker you can hop a train to wherever the fuck it is you want to go.”

Perhaps he should have felt ashamed for outright lying but he didn’t. This rogue was beyond hope, living a lost life. It was awful to see but it was a reality with some werewolves. Something inside them never felt the need to connect with a pack, making them dangerous and untrustworthy. There was no loyalty, no devotion. Death was probably the best thing for him. He’d only bring misery to everyone he met.

“That’s true.”

When in doubt, rely on reason. “Yes, it is.”

“I think it was…Sonja?” The dirty mongrel scratched his mud-crusted hair. “No, that’s not it. Sarah? No, that’s not it either.”

“Serena?” Shane offered, setting what hoped was a decent trap.

“No.”

“Sabrina?”

“No?”

“Desiree?” he asked, wondering if it might be that easy.

“Nah, it started with an ‘S’. It was definitely an ‘S’ name.”

“An ‘S’ name,” Shane repeated, pretending to think it over. There was only female with an ‘S’ name he was interested in. “Serephena?”

“Pfft,” the mongrel blew bubbles from his lips and it was a nasty sight, “no.”

“Selena?”

“Nope.”

“Stacey?”

“Another no.”

With an open board, Shane took his shot. “Simone?”

“Simone…” The man rolled the name off his tongue. Then he laughed, floating on a whiskey high. “Simone. Yeah, that’s it. You know her?”

I certainly do. But I’m not telling you that.

“More like a lucky guess, but the name is familiar.” Smiling, he passed over the other drink. “Go ahead and take this. I’m on call tonight. If the boss finds out I’m slouching on the clock he’ll kick my ass.”

Shane thought the man said thanks but he couldn’t be certain.

In a few more minutes the pitiful male would be so sloshed it would take a wheelbarrow to roll him out the door. Thankfully Shane had supernatural strength and could carry him over his shoulder. It would create less of a scene. He wanted to get the loner good and drunk. Everyone in the bar—if they were inclined to care in the first place—could assume what they wanted.

That’s it, buddy. Almost there. Drink up.

“By the way,” Drunken Louse informed him matter-of-factly, “I don’t like this town. Everyone likes starting shit. And they’re always running their mouth about something. Blah, blah, blah. You listen long enough and you’ll know everybody’s secrets. I’m not like that, you know. I keep to myself.”

By offering up information to strangers for cash? I don’t think so. “I can see that.”

“It’s been a crummy fucking week, man.”

And it was only about to get crummier, not that Shane was sharing that information. A call to Jackson was definitely on the day’s menu. It was time to get cracking. Not knowing who had been responsible for Chloe’s attack made things difficult. They couldn’t reach out and ask questions if they didn’t know who they could trust. The pack needed a hard target and now they had one.

Simone Wilson just fucked with the wrong wolves.

With a bit of manipulation Simone could be fooled as easily as the shitfaced male across from him. She didn’t know the wolf that had attacked Chloe had been killed. Jackson made sure to keep that under wraps. They had to plant seeds, start the rumor mill churning. If she was afraid of exposure, Simone might slip up and reveal herself. With a bit of luck this would be over in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.

“Hell, go ahead.” Shane gave the rogue the last drink. “You need it more than me.”

“I sure fucking do.”

Pawn takes queen. Rook takes king.

There was a glory in the game of chess, a thrill like none other.

Even if his opponent wasn’t up to snuff, he accepted victory.

Check fucking mate.