Lycan Heat

Chapter Two

Anger seethed through Piers’ blood and seemed to seep out through his skin. That bastard, Anthony Wolfson, was going to pay for killing his brother. Yeah, Daniel had gone rogue, but Piers had been positive he’d be able to help him, except Anthony got to him first. While Anthony was an ancient, Piers was only a couple years younger. Anthony would be a formidable opponent, but he would take him out no matter the cost to himself or anyone else that got in his way.

He stood at the edge of Sanctuary, blended perfectly with the darkening shadows of the trees. No human would be able to detect his presence, but most importantly, other lycans would never know he was there either—the deer scent he’d sprayed on would see to that. He’d seen his fair share of battles within the packs, had fought his share, as well, and had honed his skills to near perfection. He’d really had no choice. His survival had literally depended on it more times than he wanted to remember.

More and more lycans were going rogue. He didn’t support their actions, and strived to help maintain the integrity of the ancient rules. Many rogues had been made to see the error of their ways, which is what he’d intended to show his brother. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. A tick started in his jaw and beat in time to his pounding heart.

He’d been watching Sanctuary for the past week, waiting for a perfect opportunity for an ambush. From the bits and pieces of information he’d overheard, he knew tomorrow night he’d finally get revenge. The lycans had planned a cook out, and their guards would be down. He scoffed. Sanctuary.

Sanctuary was supposed to be a safe place, not someplace to get murdered.

His brother had been a misguided pup, but he doubted he’d done anything so terrible that he’d deserved to be slaughtered. The guilt Piers felt at not being there for his brother constantly gnawed at him. He’d been tracking Daniel for three years and had finally closed in on his whereabouts only to find out he’d been too late. Damon, the leader of the pack, along with his brother and some others, had all been killed during a confrontation at Sanctuary. His brother’s pack had told him they’d simply been there to talk to a former member who’d run and were ruthlessly murdered for the fact that they’d been labeled rogues.

Rumor had it that Anthony Wolfson was directly responsible for Daniel’s death. Raze Jackson, the former pack member they’d been trying to talk to, and Brent Falls were also involved. If he had a chance, he’d be more than happy to knock some sense into those two, as well. Daniel and the others would never be so stupid as to intentionally start an altercation with two ancients. None of them would have been a match for Anthony or Brent.

He slid deeper into the shadows as the front of a dark Jeep came into view. His anger fired hotter. He didn’t like complications, but life was full of them, most of which would bite you in the ass. He shifted into full wolf form and ran until exhaustion nipped hard at his heels and soothed the hatred burning inside him. He was miles from Sanctuary before he shifted back into human form and picked up the clothes he’d stashed earlier in an old, hollowed out tree. He quickly dressed and made his way to the cave he’d been staying in. After tomorrow night, he could head back home to his empty house and spend a few more hundred years alone.

Alone. That’s what he’d been for practically his entire life, and that’s how he’d die—however many years that took. He wasn’t a blind idiot. He knew the chances of ever finding his mate were next to zero. There were too many rogues now. Rogues that thought it was acceptable to hunt down any female with the main scent and do what they wanted with them, including violating and killing them. Every female that carried the main scent had a mated scent, as well, but only the destined lycan mate could smell it. Females carrying the main scent were supposed to be watched over and protected until her mate was found. In fact, if another lycan harmed a female that carried the main scent, it was punishable by death according to lycan law.

Over the years, the ancients throughout the now dwindling lycan population had fought to bring the unruly pups back under control. While finding rogues and either reforming them or putting them to death was not an unusually difficult task, it was proving a losing battle for the ancients thus far. By the time the rogues were found, the damage that had been done was profound. Too many potential mates were being slaughtered. Every female lost was a lost mate to a lycan, a lost opportunity at happiness, a lost chance for love. He was certain his chance had been forfeited long ago.

He stretched out on his back on the cave floor, clasped his hands behind his head, and peered up at the rocky ceiling. He’d dreamt of her, the one destined for him. Those were the only times he’d felt utter peace in his life, the nights he’d wished to never awaken. Her soft touch soothed him in a way nothing else ever had or could. Her breathy sighs as he covered her with his body drove him wild. She was imprinted on his soul. He’d know her in an instant, though he’d never met her. Her scent, her touch—he’d know the minute he laid eyes on her that she was his. And God help her if he did ever find her.

He’d never let her go.

The darkness inside him that screamed out for redemption was overwhelming at times. Redemption only she could give him. Protectiveness swelled inside him when he thought of how tiny she was in his dreams. He was big, probably too big for an angel such as her. His size and demeanor would scare the hell out of her. He grunted at the thought and frowned. The only downfall to the dreams was he hadn’t been able to see her face clearly.

His palms itched to feel her skin, to peel her clothes off and to bury his face in her soft hair as she welcomed him inside her. Anger boiled to the surface hot again. It would never happen, and it was useless to fantasize about it. Besides, this wasn’t the time or place for such a thing to happen anyway. He must focus on avenging his brother’s senseless death. Nothing would get in his way.

He grunted again and rolled to his side. The thought of killing another ancient, especially one with a mate, gnawed at him with teeth of guilt. It couldn’t be helped. Rogues were punished for anything that went against ancient laws, and ancients should have to answer for their crimes as well.

Although, technically, killing an ancient was against the rules, he felt the action of cutting down another lycan for a mere title was punishable no matter who did the killing.

He’d thought about asking Anthony his side of the story, but if everything he’d heard was true, he’d probably be attacked as well. Attacked, outnumbered, and most likely, murdered. Son of a bitch. He hated it when doubt reared its ugly head. He’d been on the hunt for revenge for so long, now that it was imminent, he had time to think things through more carefully. He knew none of it really mattered in the end. Someone had to answer for his brother’s death one way or another.

He closed his eyes and immediately started to doze.

Raze followed Sherry as she tentatively walked around the darkening compound. Her flowery scent, while probably light to humans, was nearly shorting out his nose. At least the perfume was effective at masking her scent—to a point. A lycan wouldn’t pick up her scent as far away as normal, which made him breathe a sigh of relief.

While she was marked with the main scent, which meant she was destined to be the mate of one of his kind, just as her sister had been, he was glad she wouldn’t be an easy target. Janine had been trying to get Sherry to agree to come with them to Sanctuary for a long time. Raze had only recently turned his mate, and she was insistent upon telling Sherry what they were.

While he was proud of Janine for not wanting to keep it from her sister, he wasn’t sure he agreed completely with telling her.

He’d tried to make Janine see that it wasn’t necessary to tell Sherry, as her mate may never find her—may not be alive for that matter. His woman was stubborn, though, and didn’t want to lie to her baby sister any longer. He didn’t blame her and would probably want to do the same if the situation were reversed, but the overwhelming urge to protect Janine from being hurt extended to Sherry as well. Because if anything hurt Sherry, it hurt Janine, and Raze would do anything in his power to keep Janine from suffering any more in her life. She’d already been through enough.

He wasn’t for sure how Sherry would take the news, but he was sure that she was aware something wasn’t all together normal. For one, even though he was sure Sherry trusted him, she seemed uneasy around him at times.

Most humans did tend to get a little wary around lycans if only because their instinct warned them something was different. He was also aware that Sherry had noticed Janine’s limp, or lack thereof. Once he’d changed her, the malady, which was a result of a shattered leg sustained in the wreck that had killed her parents, had healed.

“What in the heck do you guys do up here every weekend?” Sherry kicked a pebble into the woods. “It’s so quiet and boring.”

“We think of plenty to do,” Raze chuckled.

“Eww. I don’t want to know anything about you and my sister’s sex life.”

Sherry made a gagging noise.

“I wasn’t talking about that,” he laughed.

Although he’d never deny that making love to Janine was one of his most favorite, time consuming things to do. When they weren’t making love, they were running in the forest, helping out at Sanctuary, or visiting with the other lycans.

“Really, because I swear to God you two are constantly groping or kissing.” She smirked.

“You really should try to get in touch with nature a bit. It’s quite beautiful.”

“Yeah? I don’t think so.” Sherry looked around and frowned.

“Come on. Let’s go back to the cabin. I bet Janine has something scrumptious cooking for dinner. He sniffed the air. In fact, he was sure of it.

Another one of his favorite things—eating his mate’s wonderful cooking.

Sherry nodded and followed him back.