Page 13 of Brock’s Mate

Fuck.

You promised, his wolf said. No more broken ones.

Brock didn’t answer him—he didn’t know what to say. He picked up Desi’s phone and flicked the screen on, tapping on the text alert to open the message:

I know where you are.

You didn’t really think you could get away from me, did you?

Brock growled.

There was no name on it; just the number. Whoever it was, Desi had deleted him from her contacts. Smart girl. Too bad she hadn’t quite managed to delete him from her life.

He glanced towards the restrooms. Desi was in danger of going wolf right now, and he’d bet a whole lot of something that she had no idea what was happening to her. But he’d bet a whole lot more that whoever sent this message did.

Desi had to be the rogue the Council had put the alert out on—but Brock didn’t think she was really rogue, as in ‘gone off the rails and overcome by violent, murderous urges.’ She showed all the signs of being a newly Turned shifter who had no clue what was happening to her.

That sent a hot wave of anger through him. Turning someone against their will was possibly the most serious crime a shifter could commit—worse than murder.

Not only was it a total violation of someone’s free will, it was also the most likely way to get shifters outed to the public—something they’d managed to avoid pretty much since the beginning of time. In the few places and times where they had been discovered, it had not ended well for the shifters. Hell, people were still making horror movies about it.

Shifters who were Turned against their will, with no care or preparation, rarely survived. The ones that survived it physically usually didn’t survive it mentally. It was too much for them to handle, and they never learned to accept and love their animal. Most of them went insane, or rogue for real—and they had to be put down.

He’d seen that happen too many times, and it was always tragic.

He couldn’t let it happen to Desi.

We don’t do that anymore, Brock’s wolf reminded him. But he was already on his feet, Desi’s jacket in his hand, her phone in his pocket.

What the hell else are we going to do? Brock growled to his wolf.

Luckily Titan was over at the other end of the bar, convincing a girl who’d clearly had too many Dirty Drinks that she didn’t want to take her top off and dance on the bar.

Brock assumed they were saving that until next week. He’d heard rumors about body shots, too.

But he was grateful, because no one was watching the hallway to the restrooms, trying to prevent his escape.

Even with all the people and all the scents, he could pick Desi’s out. It stopped at the door to the second ladies’ room. He went on down the hall and leaned out the back door into the crisp February air. She definitely hadn’t come this way.

Not yet.

But she would.

Either out this door, or out the restroom window, he thought, positioning himself between the two.

He could feel her wolf’s emotions from out here—her need to run and her instinct to keep herself hidden. No way she’d leave through the front. If she was smart enough to last this long without getting caught, she was smart enough not to do that.

It was less than ten minutes later when the door opened and she stepped out. He could smell the wolf now, stronger. He hoped she wouldn’t Change right here; this would be a hell of a lot harder if he had to go wolf and chase her down.

“Desi,” he said quietly.

She whirled around, her eyes flashing bright gold. Damn. It was a good thing she had come out this way—any shifters in the bar would know she was out of control, and any humans would wonder what the hell was going on with her.

“Fuck,” she said, her voice gravelly with the wolf. “You really are a stalker, aren’t you?”

“No. But I’m not leaving you alone. You’re not okay. You need help.”

“I’m fine,” she growled. “And you have no clue what I need.”