The Burning Claw Read online

  When the sunlight streaming through her window pulled her from her sleep, Sally blinked several times, trying to push away the grogginess. She was tired and felt as though she’d spent the night crying over the loss of a loved one. At first she didn’t move, lying perfectly still trying to contemplate the dream that was still vivid in her mind. When no answers came, she got up and shakily went about the task of getting ready for her day. As she went through the motions, she again felt the same funny feeling as she had in the dream—the feeling that this world was the actual dream and that the dream forest was actually real. It had certainly felt real. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel the soft dirt in between her toes and still hear the crunch of the leaves. But most of all, as if she were hearing it blaring from the wireless speaker resting on the nightstand beside her bed, she could still hear the howl. And that memory brought pain. Just thinking about that howl brought unexplained tears to her eyes. The tears were real; that she could see as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror.

  This is silly. Sally sniffed. Why am I so upset? It was only a dream.

  She shook herself and hopped in the shower, hoping that the hot water would wash away these weird feelings. But it did nothing more than wash her hair and body. The mournful spirit was still heavy inside of her.

  Her breakfast croissant tasted like stale cardboard, and the glass of orange juice that she usually enjoyed was sour on her taste buds. Her legs felt as if she were wearing concrete shoes as she walked and her arms were just as heavy. She plopped down on the couch and groaned. What was wrong with her? She had to do something to get herself out of this funk, and quickly, before she had to go to her first day of work.

  At two-thirty, Sally trudged down the stairs of her second story apartment and proceeded to The Dog House for her first day of work. Something about hitting the sidewalk and hearing the rumble of the passing cars seemed to lift a little of the heavy weight out of the pit of her stomach. And as each step brought her closer to the front door of the bar, her sadness was slowly being replaced with an extreme nervousness that she hadn’t really expected. Her palms were already sweaty and butterflies were beginning to dance in her stomach. She kept picturing herself attempting to spin bottles and do fancy tricks with the drinks. But each time she tried, she saw herself clumsily dropping the bottles and drenching herself, and her irritated customers, with alcohol.

  Why would she be picturing that? Sally wasn’t going to be trying any fancy tricks. She was going to be too concerned about memorizing the drinks to attempt any tricks. She wasn’t a drinker but she knew just from looking at menus in restaurants that there had to be tons of combinations out there. What had she been thinking? Why had she ever thought she could be a bartender?

  Just as she reached the door, she pulled in a deep breath, straightened her spine, and told herself to suck it up, buttercup, because she wasn’t a coward. She would walk in that bar and she’d work her butt off and failure wasn’t an option.

  With those confident thoughts filling her mind, and the disturbing remnants of the dream now buried in the back of her mind, she pulled open the door and walked into the building. She walked into a large room full of tables, both tall and short, arranged haphazardly toward the center of the space. Booths lined the right hand side of the room and four pool tables dominated the left side. Neon lights yelled at her from all around, luring her in, tempting a good time if she would only let go of her inhibitions. Music was playing but it wasn’t loud. It hummed in the background, giving the mind a focal point and distracting the customers from the cost and calories contained in the mixed drinks and French fries they were cramming down their gullets.

  “Sally!” A boisterous voice boomed across the room. She turned her head in the direction of the voice and saw Cross standing in a doorway that led to the back of the bar.

  Cross motioned her over and she made her way through the maze of tables. Just as she reached the end of the bar, another man stepped up from behind Cross. He was tall, probably about six feet she guessed. He had kind, grey colored eyes, a strong jaw, and lips that looked as though there was always a ready smile waiting to spread across his face. His hair was sandy brown and worn a little longer on top, sweeping to the side across his forehead. He was cute and he was checking Sally out just as thoroughly as she’d been doing to him.

  Someone cleared their throat and Sally’s eyes snapped back to Cross who was smirking at her. “This is Jericho. He’s going to be training you.”

  Jericho held out his hand. “Welcome to the Promised Land, Sally,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. She chuckled inwardly. This one was going to be a flirt.

  “Actually, the Promised Land was in Canaan, not Jericho.” She smiled as she took his hand. Instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and placed a kiss on the back of it.

  “There is nothing sexier than a woman with brains to go along with her beauty,” Jericho said as he released her hand.

  “Jericho, enough. I pay you to train her, not woo her,” Cross grumbled. “Show her the ropes and keep your hands to yourself.”

  “What if she doesn’t want me to keep my hands to myself, boss?” Jericho’s eyes never left hers as he spoke.

  “She does, and she’s standing right here,” Sally said crossing her arms in front of her and meeting the cute bartender’s stare.

  “Feisty too? Hot damn, you are just a gem in this ugly rock we call earth.” Jericho motioned for her to follow him behind the bar.

  “He’s all talk,” Cross said softly as she passed him. “He’s a good guy and a great bartender.”

  Sally nodded. “I kind of figured he was harmless.”

  Cross shook his head. “No, not harmless. He will definitely attempt to get some action with you, and he can be a bit of an idiot when it comes to attractive women. But he has a good heart. Just make it clear if you want things to stay in the friend zone—very clear. As a rule, I don’t prohibit relationships among employees, but I don’t necessarily like it, either.”

  “Roger that.” She nodded and stepped behind the bar next to the man in question.

  “Was he giving you the whole Jericho’s a man-whore speech?” the bartender asked as he began setting up empty glasses in front of him.

  “Not exactly. But I will tell you, I’m not a one-night-stand kind of girl, and I am not interested in a relationship other than a friendship.”

  Jericho stopped what he was doing and looked down at her. His eyes suddenly became serious. He seemed to come to some sort of conclusion as he nodded at her. “Got it. Buddies only.” He clapped his hands together and then rubbed them like a giddy little boy. “Ready to learn how to mix drinks, buddy?”

  She laughed. “Even if I wasn’t, you look as eager as Ralphie about to get his Red Ryder BB gun. How could I not get excited after seeing that face?”

  Bethany was tired of sleeping on the makeshift bed she had constructed by piling together several layers of sweatpants. She wasn’t ungrateful. And she knew that it was much better than the accommodations that she had enjoyed only a couple of days ago, locked in a dungeon guarded by bloodthirsty monsters. But knowing that there were beds somewhere in the building, with soft mattresses and clean sheets, just waiting to give her body the restful, restorative sleep it needed after so many sleepless nights, made the pile of sweatpants a bit less appealing.

  Two days had passed since she’d been taken from the vampires and deposited in a room with a feral werewolf. Not just any werewolf, mind you, but one that claimed that she too was part werewolf. But that wasn’t the most shocking part. No, the most unbelievable part of her dramatic rescue was that the werewolf also claimed that she was his mate. Not only did she have no idea what that entailed but the same werewolf had also told her that he’d gone feral and that he would most likely have to be killed by yet another more powerful werewolf. And she had thought things were weird with the vampires.

  For two days she’d watched Drake pace the floor in both his human and wolf
form. She’d talked with him calmly and listened to him declare his devotion to her—a person he didn’t even know. She’d seen him rage, railing against the bars as she described only a tiny portion of the torture she’d endured at the hands of the vampires. She’d also listened to him growl and snarl at every person who dared to enter the room, especially the males. She had a hard time reconciling the soft-spoken gentle Drake, who stared longingly through the bars at her when they were alone, with the snarling beast that erupted from the man every time the door to their room opened. It was like watching a real life Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde happening right in front of her several times a day. And while she was confident that Drake wasn’t going to hurt her, she didn’t understand what was going on and the psychological strain of everything that had happened, and everything that was still happening, was simply becoming too much for her.

  Her near breaking point had come yesterday. Bethany was severely dehydrated, or at least that is what Drake had told her, and so she’d been drinking every ounce of water that the other people brought. It took over twenty-four hours for all those ounces to catch up with her, restoring her body to some sense of normalcy. The feeling was almost a foreign sensation, considering that she had been given only enough food and water to stay alive during her captivity with the vampires. As such, she’d not had to use the bathroom very often. But she’d had to go yesterday. Bethany had pounded on the door and when no one came, she’d opened it a crack, just enough for her to shout that she needed to speak to someone.

  “A female,” Drake growled from behind her. “Make sure it’s a female, Bethany.”

  She was practically dancing from foot to foot when someone finally came. A guy stood at the top of the stairs. Bethany shook her head.

  “Not you. Sorry, but it has to be a girl and I need her to come now. Please,” she added when she realized how bossy that had sounded.

  She continued to bounce on her feet and, after what seemed like fifteen minutes, a girl came barreling down the stairway. Bethany backed away from the door to keep from being plowed over by the woman. It wasn’t until the woman was no longer moving that Bethany realized it was the girl named Jen from the group that had rescued her.

  “Is everything okay?” Jen asked, looking quickly from the cage to Bethany and back to the cage. Drake growled at her. To her surprise Jen didn’t back down. “Remember your place, Drake.” Her words were laced with power that even Bethany could feel.

  “Everything is fine, well…” Bethany paused still moving from foot to foot.

  Jen waved her off. “Yeah, yeah. I get it. Everything is as fine as it can be for a chick who’s been slurped on like a juice box for eleven years, rescued by werewolves, and thrown into a room with one of those werewolves who happens to be feral and her mate. Everything is just peachy.”

  “The chick also happens to need to use the bathroom,” Bethany added and smiled sheepishly.

  Jen grinned. “I was trying really hard not to ask if you had some weird tick that made you hop around like that. Okay, question answered. Come on.” She motioned her to follow. “I’ll show you to the bathroom and loan you some clean clothes. You can take a shower and get the vamp stench off of you.”

  Bethany didn’t move. She turned back to look at Drake who was staring daggers at Jen. “What about him?”

  Jen stopped at the bottom step and turned back to the man who was currently in his wolf form.

  “Phase,” she ordered. When he didn’t, she took a step toward him and growled. “Now.”

  Drake didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter. Where one minute he’d been a wolf, the next he was a completely naked man. To her surprise, neither Jen nor Drake seemed bothered by the nudity. He picked up the sweats he’d been wearing before and slipped them on and then took a step toward Bethany, but his eyes remained on the Alpha.

  “She has needs, Drake, and it is your job, as her mate, to make sure those needs are met. Right now, she needs to pee. She also needs a shower, and, bloody hell, maybe, just maybe, she needs a break from your growling, feral, overbearing ass. You have my word as your Alpha that she will not go near any males. I will take her straight to the bathroom and bring her straight back. Please don’t make me drag Decebel into this and have him restrain you.”

  Bethany looked at Drake. Their eyes met and the intensity of the emotions swirling in his gaze caused her to catch her breath.

  “I’m sorry.” She heard his voice in her mind. “I know you need to take care of things. But because my wolf is nearly in full control, I can’t think beyond the need to keep you close. Go,” he said suddenly, both in her head and out loud. “Go. But please hurry back. I’m sorry to ask that.” Drake reached out a hand to her. She stepped close enough to touch it. The skin on skin contact seemed to bring both of their anxieties down ten notches.

  “Let’s go Bethany, or you’re going to pee all over the floor, and I’m sorry, but my hospitality stops just before the peeing on the floor mark.”

  Bethany let go of Drake’s hand and felt the anxiety rush forward again. She gritted her teeth and pulled back her shoulders. She wasn’t a coward. She could walk away from him long enough to get cleaned up and take care of her business. As soon as the door to the room closed behind them, Jen grabbed her arm. “Run,” she said just as a loud banging sound came from the room behind them.

  Bethany started to turn around but Jen jerked her forward and up the stairs. “He’s going to go berserk no matter what. His wolf is feral, Bethany. He can’t stand being separated from you, especially when he knows you’re in a mansion full of other dominant male werewolves.” They sprinted up the stairs and down the hall together, but Bethany continued to hear Drake’s roars coming from the floor below. He sounded not only angry but anguished as well.

  “Here’s the bathroom,” Jen said pulling them to a stop and pointing to the right. “There are towels on the counter and all the necessary items a girl needs when she finds herself having a been underground for a decade kind of day.”

  “Does that kind of day happen often?” Bethany asked, her brow raised.

  Jen smirked. “Too damned often, little wolf, too damned often.” She pushed Bethany toward the door and started to pull it closed. “Oh, and only open this door when you hear three knocks, a pause, and then three knocks again. I’ll bring you some clothes.” She glanced over Bethany’s body. “Once we get some food in you and some meat on your bones, you look like you’ll be about my size. So the clothes are going to be baggy for now.” She started to close the door and then stopped, holding up her finger. “Oh, one more thing, when you look in the mirror, don’t freak out, and whatever you do, don’t scream.”

  Bethany locked the door as soon as it was closed and then turned to look in the mirror. She froze. She couldn’t have screamed if she had wanted to because there was no air in her lungs to create the sound. The last time Bethany had seen herself in a mirror had been eleven years ago when she’d been seven years old. She had expected that her body and face would have changed. She wasn’t stupid. But knowing it and seeing it right in front of her…well that was two very, very different things.

  Her hair was long, dark, and an unruly mess. Her eyes looked too big for her thin face. Her nose was okay she supposed. It was a nose; how great could it really get? Her lips were pink and full, but they seemed to stay in a state of perpetual droopiness. Bethany pulled her lips up into a smile. Creepy, she thought. Who would have thought you’d need to practice smiling?

  After staring at her face and overanalyzing every inch of it, she started to remove her clothes. The first thing she noticed about her body was that it was basically a skeleton with skin on it. Attractive, she thought.

  Reluctantly, she began to turn. Bethany twisted her head so that she could see her back in the mirror. For the second time since she’d looked into the mirror, she lost her breath.

  Starting on her right hip, traveling down to mid-thigh, were what could only be described as intricate tattoos. She stared, tryin
g to contort her body so that she could get a better look. With a sudden gasp she realized that she’d seen the markings before, very recently. They looked just like the ones she’d seen on the neck of the large werewolf currently trying to break through iron bars one floor below her. How? she wondered, gaping at herself in the mirror.

  The markings were dark black and appeared as though they’d been expertly drawn upon her flesh by someone very talented. Her father had a tattoo and she remembered how the ink looked on his skin. These were much the same. Bethany ran her hand down her hip and thigh over the patterned skin. It was completely smooth. She grabbed a hand towel that was hanging by the sink, doused it with water, and vigorously began rubbing her thigh. The marks were unaffected, but she did manage to redden and irritate her skin with the friction. She immediately regretted this action. But could anyone blame her for trying?

  Vampires, werewolves, true mates, and now mysterious markings? She was tempted to say that life couldn’t get any weirder, but she knew that she’d probably be proven wrong. Bethany debated calling the abrupt blonde girl called Jen and asking her about the markings, but the thought of showing her naked body to anyone, male or female, almost made her retch. Deciding that there was nothing she could do about the marks for the moment, she took care of the things she could. First, she relieved herself and tried not to moan, as the pain that had been building in bladder eased. Then her eyes landed on the shower. A small smile crept onto her face. She walked over to the shower and twisted the knobs marked c and h. As Bethany held her fingers under the flowing water to gauge the temperature, her mind jumped back to a time when her mother had taught her how to do such a thing. She remembered that she had politely informed her parents that it was time for her to start showering on her own. She’d just turned seven and she didn’t want to be babied. She could run the water by herself, thank you. Their assistance was no longer necessary.