Training Their Mate [Pack Wars-Book 1] Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Training Their Mate

  Pack Wars-Book 1

  by Vella Day

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief questions embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kimberly Killian

  Edited by Maureen Sevilla and Anne Marie Carroll

  Final Pass by Victory Editing

  Published in the United States of America

  Copyright 2013

  Chapter One

  Liz Wharton wanted Harvey Couch dead.

  She’d put enough GHB in his coffee to make the average man drop to his knees in minutes, and yet each time she’d gone into her new boss’s office, the raping bastard hadn’t looked cross-eyed once. How was that even possible?

  He’d holed up in his office for the last hour, and she prayed by now he was slumped over his desk. Her pits stunk from nervous perspiration waiting for the moment to pull the trigger. It was horrible enough that he’d raped her mom twenty years ago, but last week she’d found her dead mother’s diary that revealed Couch had returned week after week until her mom finally killed herself.

  Christ. Just go check on him.

  You have to look. Then you have to shoot him.

  She clutched her purse with the gun inside and strode toward his office. If he came at her like he had her mom, she’d shoot the bastard in the balls—then in his heart.

  After glancing behind her to make sure no customers had wandered in, she inhaled her courage.

  The November skies had grown darker than usual, and the gunmetal gray clouds rumbled. A bolt of lightning lit up the office window. She clasped a hand to her chest and forced her heart to slow.

  Stay calm.

  She wanted to get the hell out of here, but she couldn’t just walk out without knowing for certain if he was ripe for killing. She tapped on his door and held her breath. If he answered, she would just say goodnight. It was a few minutes past five already.

  “Come in.”

  Fuck. How did I fail? The bastard should be drowsy and glassy-eyed, if not asleep.

  She pushed the door open and stuck her head into the room. The asshole was upright and appeared completely in control of his body. Her brain searched for words to cover her disappointment. “I’ve sorted through all the manifests, filed them, and sent for a few more resumes. Is there anything else you need before I go home?” Besides kill your sorry ass?

  For a brief moment, his muddy brown eyes appeared to glow amber, but she chalked it up to her nerves and the fading light coming through the window.

  “No, Ms. Chambers. You did a fine job today, dear.”

  Ms. Chambers. She liked the name she’d chosen. She’d spotted it stenciled on a building plaque she passed on her way here from the parking lot. No way could she have used her real name. After all, he might have recognized it. “Yes, sir.”

  He looked down then glanced up. “It’s good to have you on board. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Dismissive prick. This wasn’t finished.

  She’d played it smart though. Every time she’d come into his office today to ask for more instructions or to give him something, she’d glanced at his calendar and mentally noted where he needed to be later in the week. He hadn’t seen the last of her.

  Her chest constricted, and before she passed out or acted more suspicious, she had to leave. One thing for damn sure, she couldn’t come back to the office after her failed attempt. Not to mention being near the vile man churned her stomach something fierce. She’d just have to figure out another way to kill the asshole.

  She turned around and forced herself to take metered steps back to her desk. Running would signal something was wrong. As she inspected her office area to make sure she hadn’t left any scrap of evidence behind, she heard him on the phone.

  As unobtrusively as possible, she slipped into the muggy Florida air where a light sprinkle had already begun to fall. Her stomach rolled from the exhaust fumes mixed with the smell of urine from the storefront next door. She hurried toward the remote parking lot and glanced around her. Despite this being a small city, it was still a city and there should have more people outside despite the inclement weather. Whatever.

  The urge to run to her car almost won out, but she kept her gaze straight ahead and her stride even and strong.

  Why hadn’t the bastard collapsed?

  He’d drank almost the whole damn cup of peppered coffee. She’d pilfered the drug from her BFF, Chelsea, who took a very potent sleep aid that was laced with GHB, as close to a truth serum as she could find. Thirty minutes after her friend ingested the drug, she was out cold for at least four hours. Even though Mr. Couch was a much larger man, he should have been affected.

  Yes, taking the drug from her friend had been wrong, and more than one twinge of guilt had consumed her, but she’d had no choice. The man had ruined her life. She just prayed Chelsea never found out. If she had, despite the circumstances, her levelheaded friend would have tried to talk her out of confronting him.

  As Liz approached the remote parking lot, she increased her pace, in part out of fear someone would arrest her for what she’d done and partly because the rain was pounding harder. It would have been nice if she’d thought to bring an umbrella, but her mind had been focused on murder.

  Several boarded up storefronts ratcheted her creep factor. She needed to reach the lot fast and drive home. Focused on her destination, she picked up her pace. Her foot bumped into a cup full of change, and only when her toe connected with the metal object, did she spot the sleeping transient under the awning. The cup rolled four more feet before stopping.

  “Sorry.” She retrieved the container and replaced the coins.

  The man didn’t stir. Why couldn’t Couch have fallen asleep like that?

  With one hand, she covered her nose to prevent inhaling the stench of the man’s body odor, and with the other, she dug in her purse for loose change. Counting the coins, all she managed to find was eight-five cents. Pathetic. If she hadn’t bribed the former worker at Couch’s company to quit her job so Liz could take her place, she would still have her stash of emergency cash.

  She dropped what little money she had in his cup, but even the clinking sound of the coins didn’t rouse the poor guy. The wind picked up and along with it came chillier air. Time to go.

  to the lot, the rain came down in earnest—make that the hard-driving Florida rain. Shit. With her head down, she shielded her eyes and half jogged toward the parking lot. Her mind raced as she replayed her failed attempt to kill Harvey Couch. Screeching brakes and honking horns behind her forced her to turn around. A white van careened across oncoming traffic and headed straight toward her. Her muscles locked up.

  Holy fuck.

  She froze for a second until fear pumped enough oxygen to her brain. Adrenaline enabled her to sprint five feet into the alley and rush down the gravel drive. She didn’t want to stop until she reached the other side, but her high heels kept sinking into the loose stones. That, along with a stitch in her side and her lungs threatening to burst, forced her to slow down. Panting, she plastered her back against the wall and listened for the inevitable crash.

  Only it didn’t come. In fact, nothing sounded for two seconds. Then more tires squealed and smoke billowed out from behin
d the vehicle as the rear of the white van backed up across the alley entrance. Despite the rain pummeling her face, she couldn’t drag her attention off what was happening.

  She exhaled, believing the man was trying to return to the street, but the driver aimed his gaze straight at her, turned the wheel, and gunned the engine.

  What the fuck? The vehicle raced toward her, and her mind blanked.

  Things suddenly slowed down like she was underwater, and as each heavy raindrop splattered her face, her brain fought to catalogue the events.

  This can’t be happening. He can’t mean to harm me. Her thoughts jumbled. Should she stay still and hope he’d pass her, or try to outrun the car? The latter choice might not be the soundest one, but the fight or flight instinct took over.

  Run!

  She lifted her hand to propel herself forward, but the first step seemed to take forever. Her damn heels and tight skirt made moving fast hard as shit.

  Less than twenty feet away sat a green commercial dumpster. Her only hope was to hide next to it. At the loud crunch of tires on gravel, she dove to the ground before she reached her destination.

  Fuck. Glass cut her palms and scrapped her knees. Pain screamed across her body. She waited for the impact and certain death but nothing happened. The car sped past.

  Curled up in a fetal position, she allowed the sob to escape. What was she thinking—that her boss sent a hit team to kill her for trying to incapacitate him? What a ridiculous notion—because he couldn’t have been aware of the GHB she’d slipped into his coffee. If the date rape drug had worked, he’d already be dead. The irony of using that drug on the man who raped her mother didn’t escape her.

  Her legs throbbed and her heart beat faster than the wings of a hummingbird. She decided to wait until the offending vehicle exited the alley before trying to get up. The rain intensified and she shivered. Whoever said Florida was always warm and sunny was so freaking wrong.

  The van stopped in the middle of alley. Wait a minute. Something wasn’t right. The doors to the van opened. Crap. She needed to get the hell out of there and question things later. Two snarling dogs jumped out. It was too dark in the alley to see them clearly, especially with the rain, but they were big and ugly and scary as shit. They took one look at her, bared their teeth, and charged.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. She scrambled to her feet and tried to force the pain from her brain. She ran and ran expecting to be mauled at any moment. Call off your dogs!

  Their nails scraping on the gravel and their low growls burned through her. Thoughts of reasoning with the beasts flashed in her brain, but given the angry snarls, she discounted that idea immediately.

  When she glanced behind her to judge their distance, she tripped over something and fell, slamming her head to the ground. Tears brimmed at the pain and a second later as she tried to get up, her throbbing knees buckled. Oh, dear God. I’m going to die.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. Instead of the expected pain of teeth tearing her flesh, a soft pop—like that of a gun with a silencer—sounded, and the attack never came.

  Her breath caught. She opened her eyes and stared at the dogs’ raised muzzles as they looked past her and over her head. Their howls nearly pierced her eardrums, and she clamped her hands over her ears, too afraid to move. The larger of the two backed up, but they both kept their focus behind her. Then suddenly, the dogs did an about face and sprinted back to the car. Hope filled her.

  As they raced away her vision blurred and she blinked a few times. Long legs emerged from the hurrying mass, then arms popped through the swirling balls of fur, and finally heads. By the time the creatures climbed back into the van, they were human.

  Okay, that was so not right. She was clearly hallucinating. As soon as the van fled the scene she twisted around, curious to discover who or what scared the vicious animals away. A tall man with a handgun by his side stood silhouetted against the alley entrance.

  When she tried to get up, he raced toward her and knelt beside her. “Are you okay?”

  In spite of the streetlight, she couldn’t see his face but his tone sounded reassuring. In fact, it had an official air to it.

  “Are you a cop?” Maybe Mr. Couch had turned her in to the authorities. Her head ached and her mind fuzzed.

  “I’m not a cop, but I am a former marine if that counts. Where are you hurt?”

  She hadn’t taken the time to fully assess her injuries. Her adrenaline from minutes ago waned.

  “My knees.” She tried to touch them then noticed her bloodied hands. “My hands, too.” The cuts throbbed more than her head, and she was drenched to the skin. Hell, she was cold and achy, and apparently hallucinating. Here she thought she’d seen dogs turn into men. Perhaps she was losing her mind.

  The Good Samaritan looked both ways down the alley. “They might be back. We need to get you to safety. Otherwise, I’d take the time to check you out here.”

  She loved the sound of the safety word but hated the thought that the men might return.

  “They couldn’t have been after me. It must have been a case of mistaken identity, or maybe the dogs just got loose.”

  “I wish that was true, but it’s not.”

  What did he know that she didn’t? Maybe now wasn’t the best time for twenty questions. The rain hadn’t let up and she shivered. The last thing she needed was to get within striking distance of those horrible beasts, again. He was right about one thing. She had to get the hell out of here. “Okay, then. Sure.”

  He helped her stand, and when she brushed off the gravel bits from her knees blood trickled down her legs.

  “Let me see your palm.”

  This man was as much a stranger as the men in the van, but he’d saved her while those other men had tried to maim or possibly kill her. Right now she was in no position to argue, so she held it out.

  The splattering rain made the red liquid pool. If the stranger hadn’t been holding her palm, she would have tilted it to get rid of the blood. “It hurts.”

  “We need to get you to a doctor.”

  “What I need is to go home and take a hot shower.” And get as far away from here as possible. A shudder raced down her body when she remembered the vision of the animals turning into men.

  “No.”

  No? “Excuse me, but I don’t even know you.” She jerked her hand back.

  “Ma’am. I’m trained as a first responder. From the blood on your forehead, it looks like you banged your head, too. You might have a concussion. As much as I’d like to get another shot at those bastards, can we go?”

  Perhaps her concussed brain was messed up. “Fine.”

  He replaced the gun in his holster. On her first step, her knee sent out a twinge and she was forced to grab his proffered hand. When it was clear she had to limp, he wrapped a secure arm around her waist. She leaned against his side and couldn’t help notice how well their bodies meshed. Considering her lips came to his neck, she’d say he was a couple inches over six feet to her five-foot nine inches in her three-inch heels.

  What was she doing thinking about this man? She should be focusing on the fact she’d almost been killed. An invisible draw seemed to exist between them, almost as if destiny had stepped in. Ridiculous. You’re just scared.

  She tried to replay what happened in her mind, but it became more horrific each time. When they reached the sidewalk he turned left instead of heading toward her car. She wasn’t getting into his vehicle, no matter if he was some military dude or even the Chief of Police.

  “My car’s the other way,” she said.

  “My car is half a block from here, and you’re in no condition to drive.”

  She checked out the four vehicles. One was angled away from the curb. “Is the black SUV yours?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He sucked at parking. She faced him. “Look. I really appreciate the way you saved me from those dogs, but you don’t know me, and I don’t know you. I can take a cab.”

  His grin filled h
is face then disappeared just as fast. For a moment, the smile transformed his entire being into something that sent desire rampaging through her. She stepped back, surprised at her own carnal reaction—especially since she’d almost been killed.

  He held up his hands. “How about this? We’ll take a cab to the clinic. When we’re done, we take a cab back to your car and you can be on your way. My treat.”

  Her hair was matted to her face from the rain, so she didn’t think that was a pick up line. She was cold, in pain, and needed help. Then, there was the fact he had a gun. Well she did, too, but she’d never have the guts to actually shoot anyone other than Harvey Couch.

  “All right.”

  While she couldn’t see his chest cave, she thought she heard him exhale. He probably thought she was some ditzy blonde in a now see-through blouse and a too short skirt who had no idea what had just happened to her. If she hadn’t needed Harvey Couch to hire her on the spot, she never would have dressed this way.

  “I’m Trax Field, by the way.”

  She liked the name. “I’m Liz Wharton.” Too late, she realized she probably should have used her fake name, but he wouldn’t have known who she was anyway.

  He stepped into the street and waved down a cab. There weren’t that many in this city, so she was happy when one drove by and stopped.

  Trax held open the door, and she hesitated. Was this the dumbest move or the most prudent? Time to decide.

  Chapter Two

  In the end, Liz crawled in the cab. She was too uncomfortable to refuse his help. Besides, the man seemed to know something about the owners of the white van. Maybe he could help her find out why those dogs had attacked her. And, there had to be a reason why her savior happened to be in that alley with a gun.

  Trax didn’t try to sit close to her in the cab for which she was thankful. His posture was rather rigid, and he kept his gaze forward. Most men would have stretched out their legs, but not him. She believed he was a military man. It wasn’t just the neatly trimmed hair, his straight Roman nose, or the way his shirt plastered to his no-fat body. His eyes were intense and his jaw too tight, except for the moment when he’d smiled. Boy, when he’d flashed that grin, her every fantasy had come to life.