Peter narrowed his eyes.Gripped the revolver harder.“What do you mean, ‘as am I?’Bait for who?”
“You,” a deep growl sounded behind him.Seconds before a weight like a wrecking ball crashed into his back.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Declan padded on silent paws up the marble staircase leading to the entryway of Epoc’s mansion, the sound of wolves howling, men shouting and gunshots firing a faint smudge in his head.His right hind leg ached from a bullet graze, a testament to the skill of the Australians.He’d been lucky to escape with just the one.The men from Animal Control had been on him before he knew it, guns tracking his mad, darting sprint.If it hadn’t been for the snarling arrival of Epoc’s guards—all still in wolf form—he’d probably be hiding under a tree somewhere in excruciating pain, waiting for his body to deal with multiple bullet wounds.No good to Regan, whatsoever.
Heart thumping, head low, he nudged open the heavy, steel door with his nose and slipped through, leaving the sounds of the guards and Animal Control behind him.
Immediately, the smell of Epoc assaulted him.Dominant.Arrogant.Violent.He bared his teeth in a soft snarl, hate licking through his blood.The man’s scent had haunted his dreams for a lifetime.He drew another breath and his hackles rose.Threaded through the scent, like cheap dime-store incense, was an underlying tinge of McCoy.Cold contempt crashed over him.He looked forward to meeting the Scottish son of a bitch again.Next time, he wouldn’t stop with just breaking his neck.
Tail motionless, he walked deeper into the cavernous foyer, tasting the air, trying to detect any hint of Regan.
Nothing.Wherever she was in the building, she hadn’t been here.
A faint whir tickled Declan’s senses and, ears pricked, he froze.
The sound was high.Mechanical.
He lifted his head, spotting a small security camera fixed high in the far right corner of the vaulted ceiling.Pointed straight at him.
Wherever Epoc is, he knows you’re here now, Dec.
Declan stared at the camera for a still moment.Felt cold, golden eyes staring back at him through the lens.
And he’s watching you right at this very second.
Crossing the foyer, he sniffed at an ancient Celtic armoire standing below a moody painting of the Austrian Alps.Once.Twice.Staring straight into the camera’s lens, and with a thump of his tail, he cocked his leg on the beautiful piece of antiquity and urinated.A primitive act.A simple message that clearly said,I am not afraid of you.
Tail wagging again, he padded out of the foyer, his mark seeping into the old wood behind him, staining it forever, the soft whir of the camera following him as he left.
He let a lowgnarrrumble in his throat.The last of the Onchú is back, Epoc.And I’m going to wipe your existence from the face of the planet.
A dark and surreal thought flashed through Peter’s head—not again—seconds before he crashed, shoulder first, to the floor.
Thick, strong hands knotted in his hair, yanked his head backward and whacked his forehead into the cold marble tiles underneath him.Bright pain consumed him, ripped down his spine into his chest.
“You’ve got to be the lassie’s kin,” the man mashing his face to the floor growled, pushing down harder on the back of Peter’s head.“You share her same tempting scent.”The fingers in his hair tugged, and a pair of glowing red-gold eyes stared into the side of his face.“Not that I’d fuck you, mind.Your sister however…”
Fury roared through Peter.He bucked backward, throwing the heavy man off him.Leaping to his feet, he spun about, glaring at the leering bastard.“Your dick goes anywhere near my sister and I’ll rip it off and feed it to you.Followed immediately by your balls.”
The man—a fucking giant—raised eyebrows the color of cayenne pepper, leer stretching wider.“O’Connell obviously didn’t fill you in, lad.About who I am and how well I know your delightfully spirited sister.”
Peter’s fingers closed tighter around the revolver and he barely controlled the desire to shoot the werewolf there and then.“I know all about you, McCoy,” he said instead.
Those red eyebrows shot up further and McCoy chuckled, the deep sound reverberating through the room.“So we can dispense with the pleasantries then.”
And he lunged forward.
Peter sidestepped him.Just.Nails like talons shredded his left sleeve, the material ripping as loud as a gunshot.McCoy twisted, an angry snarl rumbling in his throat as he threw himself at Peter again.Peter ducked, punching his fist up into a barrel-like chest harder than steel.A lowoofburst from McCoy and he swung his arm downward, his bunched fist smacking against Peter’s temple with a solid crack.
Black stars exploded in Peter’s vision.He dropped to his knees, almost losing his grip on the gun.McCoy snatched a handful of his hair and jerked him to his feet, hammering a punch straight into his gut.
“McCoy!”Yolanda’s cry cut the air, high and wild.“Stop it!”
“What’s the matter, Vischka?”McCoy chuckled, stare boring into Peter’s as he yanked him bodily from the ground by the hair.“You got to liking the taste of this pathetic human?”He ran his tongue over the tips of his teeth.“Finally found someone who likes you for who you are—a soulless bitch?”
Hot agony tearing at his scalp, Peter glared up at McCoy.“Bet I taste better than you, McCoy,” he growled, and clamped his hands down on each side of McCoy’s fist, grinding the man’s knuckles together.
