Lure of Oblivion, Page 2

  CHAPTER NINETEEN Ezra cocked back his fist to hit Yvonne once more, but he froze at the sound of vicious growling just outside the house. Gwen tensed, hope blitzing through her. There was so much noise out there, so many growls, roars, and screeches, that it sounded like a zoo gone crazy, but those growls . . . they were close. Very, very close. And Gwen would bet money that one of the wolves was Zander. She could feel his rage and determination, could feel that he was near. She allowed a little smile to surface as Ezra looked at her. “I told you he’d come for me,” she reminded him. Nelson grunted in her ear and dug the gun harder into her temple. She barely held back a wince. The bastard’s arm was like a thick rope around her chest, pinning her arms at her sides, and she felt like she couldn’t get enough air. Even with the gun pointed at her head, Gwen had fought him at first. But that had only made them laugh and hurt Yvonne more, so Gwen had quieted. She’d clamped her mouth shut to

  CHAPTER TWENTY Two months later Gwen nodded along as the beautiful little girl talked around a mouthful of cake, swinging her arms. Lounging in the chair beside Gwen’s, Zander leaned in and whispered, “Did you understand what she just said?” “Not a word of it.” But Gwen figured it was probably another creepy line from a movie—the Alphas’ daughter had a habit of repeating them to freak people out. It worked. Gwen was surprised the two pups were still awake. The barbecue had started at noon, and it was now the evening. The kids had spent the day cycling, arguing over toys, playing in the outdoor area, and chasing the dog that was currently lying on the grass. Most of the adults were close to falling asleep too. In fact, Kathy had passed out on one of the lawn chairs. Ally was sprawled on top of Derren in the hammock that was strung up near the play area. Other people were settled on patio chairs or sharing blankets on the ground. Although it was almost dark, the glow of the fairy lights

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Okay, I have a list—my awesome family (I love you all); my hyperactive yet nocturnal muse (can we work on the nocturnal thing?); the voices chatting in my head (you guys are the best); my superefficient assistant, Melissa (I salute you); Melody Guy (I’m impatient to read your book); and absolutely everyone at Montlake Romance (couldn’t do it without you). Last but not least, a humongous thanks to all my readers (you all rock, and you all know it). If you wish to contact me, you can reach me by e-mail at [email protected] or via social media. Website: www.suzannewright.co.uk Blog: www.suzannewrightsblog.blogspot.co.uk Twitter: www.twitter.com/suz_wright Facebook: www.facebook.com/suzannewrightfanpage

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR Photo © 2012 Steven Wright Suzanne Wright can’t remember a time when she wasn’t creating characters and telling their tales. Even as a child in England, she loved writing poems, plays, and stories. As an adult, Wright is the author of the novel From Rags, the Deep in Your Veins novels, the Dark in You series, and the Phoenix Pack series. Lure of Oblivion is the third novel in her Mercury Pack series. Wright, who lives in Liverpool with her husband and two children, freely admits that she hates housecleaning and can’t cook . . . but always shares chocolate. Visit her online at www.suzannewright.co.uk.

  ALSO BY SUZANNE WRIGHT

  From Rags

  THE DARK IN YOU SERIES

  Burn

  Blaze

  Ashes

  THE DEEP IN YOUR VEINS SERIES

  Here Be Sexist Vampires

  The Bite That Binds

  Taste of Torment

  Consumed

  Fractured

  THE PHOENIX PACK SERIES

  Feral Sins

  Wicked Cravings

  Carnal Secrets

  Dark Instincts

  Savage Urges

  Fierce Obsessions

  THE MERCURY PACK SERIES

  Spiral of Need

  Force of Temptation

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2017 by Suzanne Wright

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542049726

  ISBN-10: 1542049725

  Cover design by Katie Anderson

  For you. Yes, you.

  I almost said “Ed Sheeran”—I’m in a weird mood.

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  Gwen Miller slammed her foot on the deck, bringing the swing to a halt. They were here again. She could hear their footsteps rustling the high grass as they muttered complaints about the scents of marsh gas, salty water, and humid air.

  She sighed and rubbed her temple. God, she was too tired for this shit.

  Making as little noise as possible, she rose from the wooden swing and padded down the boardwalk that ran over the marsh, protecting her feet from the muddy soil and water pools. She stuck to the thickening shadows as she crept closer to her home. And there they were. All three males were nineteen, but she couldn’t help thinking of them as boys, even though they were built like linebackers and had proved they were capable of seriously sick shit.

  Apparently, they weren’t getting the message that they needed to keep their asses away from her damn house. That was unfortunate.

  She slipped her hand into her pocket and threaded her fingers through the knuckle stun gun in her pocket, but she didn’t switch it on. Not yet.

  As one of the boys raised a bat to the windscreen of her truck—motherfucker—she made a tsk sound. All three swerved to face her, eyes wide. Going by the state of their pupils, they’d all been drinking. And going by the cans of spray paint at their feet, they’d come prepared to make a fucking mess of her truck and maybe even her home, which doubled as a B&B.

  The buzz and drone of the insects stopped, and the cool breeze paused—as if nature itself was waiting to see how this would play out.

  “Evening, boys,” Gwen drawled. “So, you’re back. Not getting bored of this at all?”

  The ringleader and pain in her ass, Brandt, gave her a mocking smile and put his hand over his heart. “You don’t like my company? I’m offended.” His expression sobered as he went on. “You know what to do if you want me out of your life.”

  Yeah, she did.

  “You can make this stop so easily, Gwen. You just have to do a little thing for me first. Change your statement. Hell, even she had the sense to alter hers.”

  “She” being the female shifter he’d beaten months ago with a metal pole while his friends had watched, urging him on. Gwen had found them in the trees near the border of her family’s land, and she’d shot at them several times to chase them off. She’d then taken the drugged and shaken shifter, Andie, to her home, where Gwen had called the sheriff.

  That call had proved to be a waste of time.

  The sheriff hadn’t arrested the boys—he’d brought them in for questioning. That had lasted mere minutes before all three were released. He was tight with Brandt’s socially influential father, Ezra Moore. Neither of t
hem thought of Andie as a person with rights. The police hadn’t taken photographs of her injuries or done a drug test that would have proved her drink had been spiked. They’d pretty much swept the incident under the rug, like it was nothing.

  That didn’t mean Brandt would get away with it, though. Andie had reported the attack to the shifter council, which was originally formed to appease humans who didn’t like that shifters solved problems mostly through violence. While the council’s rulings often prevented wars between packs, it also punished humans who committed crimes against shifters if human law enforcement didn’t take care of it themselves. As such, Brandt would have to stand before the council—something, not surprisingly, he didn’t want to do.

  The boys had harassed Gwen for weeks, trying to force her to alter her statement. They’d also done the same to Andie, who was scared out of her damn mind and eventually folded under their intimidation tactics. Gwen couldn’t really blame her. Andie wasn’t part of a pride, so she had no protection from her kind. Gwen, well, she didn’t back down for anyone.

  The shifter council didn’t care that Andie had backed off. Once an incident was reported, the council always investigated it.

  “You need to get off my land,” Gwen warned the boys.

  “I go where I want, when I want,” said Brandt, dark eyes drilling into hers. His attitude was quite typical of the Moore family. The rich bastards lived in fancy homes, drove fancy cars, and had more money than sense. That would have been fine, except that they were also extremely arrogant and considered themselves superior to just about everyone.

  Brandt stepped out of the shadows, and the moonlight illuminated his face—that was when she saw the bruised jaw, swollen eye, and split lip.

  Gwen couldn’t help but smile. “My, my, my, don’t you look pretty.” Seemed like Ezra had lashed out at his son—most likely for bringing this kind of attention to the family. It wasn’t uncommon.

  Brandt’s face hardened. “You’ll look just as pretty soon enough.” He twirled his bat—a move that was meant to intimidate her. A move that also didn’t work.

  “Does your mommy know you’re out of bed?”

  He stilled, and his two friends let out low whistles.

  “That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one day, honey,” said Mack, chewing on gum.

  The third boy, Rowan, nodded with a smirk that he appeared to wear permanently. “Maybe we should find a way to keep that mouth busy.” He leered. “Yeah, I think you should suck my dick.”

  “You’ll need to get one first,” she said drily.

  Brandt laughed, not at all bothered by the “traitor” look that his friend sent him. To these idiots, this was one big game.

  Gwen cocked her head, glaring at Brandt. “You’re not at all sorry for what you did, are you?”

  He shrugged, snorting. “She’s a shifter—why should I be sorry? They’re abominations. But you . . . you’re human, so why would you care what happens to her?”

  “She’s a person, just like you and me.”

  “She’s nothing like us,” he snarled. “She’s a goddamn animal.”

  “Funny . . . the only one I saw behaving like an animal that night was you. You drugged her and then beat her with a pole while she was weak and unable to defend herself. You think that makes you a big, brave guy? It doesn’t. You don’t have that thing”—she clicked her fingers a few times—“a soul.”

  His eyes flared. “I’d be careful if I were you, sweetheart. You don’t have your shotgun with you this time.”

  She gave them each a dismissive look. “I don’t need a shotgun to deal with three little boys.” The knuckle stun gun she discreetly pulled out of her pocket would do nicely.

  Brandt licked his teeth. “Little, huh? Maybe I should show you just how big I really am.” He grinned. There wasn’t just heat in his gaze, there was something else—something ugly and twisted. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, babe?” He advanced on her, mouth curled. “Why don’t you spread those legs for me? I think you’d enjoy it.”

  “No, I wouldn’t.” She yanked the bat out of his grip and slammed it into his bruised jaw so hard she was surprised she didn’t hear his teeth rattle. At the same time, she switched on the stun gun and hit him in the solar plexus just long enough to send him dropping to his knees, dazed and shaking.

  Rowan and Mack stared down at him, eyes wide. She braced herself for them to come at her, but shock seemed to have immobilized them.

  Snapping out of his daze, Brandt stumbled to his feet. “You fucking bitch.” He idiotically took an aggressive step toward her, but then froze at the cock of a shotgun that came from somewhere behind her.

  Mack and Rowan swallowed nervously—probably because they had a good idea who was holding that shotgun. The person in question wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a trespasser. Hell, he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot anyone.

  “Brandt, we should go,” said Mack, a tremor in his voice. “I’ll back you all the way on this, but I ain’t getting shot or Tased for you.”

  Licking his lips, Brandt took a step back.

  “That was smart of you, freezing like that,” Gwen told him. “Because I gotta say, the idea of Donnie blowing your brains out fills me with a morbid kind of joy. I don’t like to deny myself joy. Life’s too short for that.” She flicked a look at his crotch. “But I guess you’re used to things being short.”

  Brandt’s eyes blazed with indignation. “My father will—”

  “I don’t care. You wield his name like it’s a sword, thinking it will protect you. No matter what you do, I’m standing by my original statement. In light of that, I suggest you stop wasting both of our time, run along home, and never come back. Ah, I can see your bruised ego’s struggling with that, but coming back here would be a serious error on your part.

  “Now, personally, I think it’s far past time that you boys left. I advise you to back up slowly. If you run, you’ll trigger Donnie’s hunting instincts, and he’ll start firing like he’s facing an invading army. That would suck. Not so much for me, but definitely for you.”

  Mack and Rowan did as she advised, but Brandt stood firm as he glowered at her, fists clenched, clearly at war with himself.

  “You need to fight that ego, Brandt. If you want to live, that is. I’d be thoroughly glad to hear that you don’t want to live.”

  He took a deep breath and finally backed away. Casting looks at her over their shoulders, the three boys jogged away and disappeared into the trees.

  She knew that wasn’t the end of it. The Moores never backed down. But then, neither did Gwen.

  Balancing the bat on her shoulder, she turned to the large three-story house and climbed up the stone steps and onto the wraparound porch. The wooden boards creaked as a tall figure stepped out of the shadows, dressed in camo gear and holding a shotgun, looking like he’d just walked right out of a war zone.

  “You handled that well,” said Donnie, her foster uncle. He was ex-military and the ultimate conspiracy theorist. He was also a little unstable and often disappeared in the woods for days at a time, “on patrol.” Donnie felt more at ease outside, surrounded by nature.

  The locals thought of him as an eccentric, and he let them believe that because it meant they underestimated him. The truth was that Donnie was extremely intelligent and a strategic mastermind.

  “You didn’t think to shoot at their feet to scare them off?”

  He rolled his eyes. “I had my gun trained on them the whole time; you were never in any real danger. You don’t need my help anyway.”

  That was because he’d trained her to defend herself. He’d also trained her to use many of the weapons he’d stashed—some of which she was pretty sure Uncle Sam would want back, especially the rocket launchers. When she’d asked why he had all the weapons, he’d simply said, “Just in case.”

  Pulling a leaf out of his fuzzy salt-and-pepper hair, Donnie looked in the direction in which the boys had disappeared. “The Moores are scared. They t
hought you’d back down by now, and they’re starting to panic because they have no idea what it will take to make you do it.”

  Nothing would make her back down.

  “What I want to know is how they’re managing to electronically mess with you. Draining your back account, maxing out your credit cards, and canceling your cell phone contract—that takes skill.” He shook his head, lips thinning, and began to pace . . . and she sensed one of his rants coming.

  “You know, this kind of thing happens too easily because we have the Internet,” he insisted, words coming fast and sharp. “Now it’s so simple to invade people’s privacy using spam, viruses, and Trojan horses. I’m telling you, the Net is evil. It has no ethical guidelines. Think of all the child pornography, cyberbullying, and websites that actually promote suicide—”

  “Donnie.”

  “—and encourage depressed teens to make suicide pacts. Not that the CIA, FBI, or any other organization cares. Oh, no. They’re too busy spying on us using—”

  “Donnie.”

  His expression cleared, becoming one of total calm. “Hmm?”

  She sighed. “You coming inside?”

  He lifted his gun. “I want to check the little pricks have left first.”

  “All right. Be careful.” Pulling open the front door, she winced at the squeak of the hinges. She would have oiled them, but most of the guests came to experience what it was like to stay in an allegedly haunted house. They seemed to like hearing creaks, thuds, squeaks, and other weird noises.