Dark Fates (A Paranormal Anthology)(48)

He took the stairs two at a time. She hadn’t budged since she’d passed out, and that concerned him. The lady was on something or had something done to her. She’d fainted, and he had no idea how serious that was to the little human. His pack had to shift. He couldn’t be in the hospital with her.

Hayden felt her pulse. It was strong and steady, not too fast or too slow. That was good. She didn’t feel warm. He couldn’t help, however, noticing how soft she was beneath his fingertips.

His little honeyed human. How on earth was he supposed to take care of a human mate with the world falling apart?





Chapter Two


Chelsea Steefle came around slowly. She’d woken up in a dazed, uncomfortable state enough to know she’d been drugged up. No light pooled through windows, and the room was only lit by one small nightstand lamp that someone had left on its dimmest setting. She knew the room, recognized it even though she knew she shouldn’t. Her memories were from one of her dreams or visions or whatever someone wanted to call them. She’d been in this room many times, except she knew she’d never been here.

Only she’d never really met its owner, other than earlier when she’d collapsed, and the many relationships she’d shared with him—decades’ worth of time she’d not really lived—would fade to nothingness now that the fugue had passed. Soon, she wouldn’t remember any of it any more than she would some fleeting images her brain let fade away. Which meant she had very little time to make sure the stranger she’d come to warn actually took heed of her advice.

Chelsea darted to her feet, and then wished she hadn’t, as her head pounded like someone had driven a jackhammer into it. No, she couldn’t have that. She had to get control of the pain before the pain took everything away from her like it always did. The migraines were a symptom of the problem, and solving them did nothing to take away her bigger issues. But if putting a Band-Aid on a gut wound could at least get her moving, then she’d take that in the meantime.

Hayden wouldn’t have any painkillers sitting around. Werewolves wouldn’t need them, but he’d always have an abundance of alcohol. If she couldn’t knock the edge off, she’d see if she could drown it. The thunder clapping in her head almost took her to her knees. Something had to be done immediately.

Only where and what? She bit her lip trying to remember. In her “not real” existence, she’d known this place like the back of her hand. Much as she would love to pop open one of his vintage reds and have at it, chugging the good stuff like she some kind of box wine seemed out of place. Hayden didn’t keep booze in his room—he didn’t like to mix business with bedroom, but Sal did.

She limped out into the hall, every move she made jarring her brain a little bit more.

Chelsea had no sooner rounded the corner than she stopped short. There, standing before her fully shifted into his werewolf form, was Hayden. If the pain of doing so wouldn’t have completely knocked her out, she would have thrown something at him. He always thought he was so tough in his black wolf form, as if someone couldn’t easily get a shotgun, aim, and put a bullet in his thick head.

“I know I told you they were coming for you. I know I got that much out. Were you crazy shifting? You have to be ready to fight back.”

The wolf growled back at her, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m dying with this migraine, and I have more sense than you. Get out of my way. I’m going to Sal’s room to drink so much vodka I can’t feel this throb anymore, and then I’m going to go figure out a way to kill the people coming for you, even though I’m just a puny human and you’re mister tough guy.”

A flash of light appeared before her, and Hayden stepped forward in his human form. She drew her breath in sharply. “How did you do that?”

“I’m an Alpha. I shift when I want to, even during the Full Moon.” His voice sounded like music. He was sixty years old and didn’t look a day over thirty. It was so unfair that he got to be so beautiful and still seem so manly. Brown hair and huge green eyes that seemed to look right through her threatened to drown her in their depths.

“Did I know you that you could shift at will?” She bit down on her lip. Her memory was starting to fade much faster than it should have. What had they given her this time?

“I don’t know. You tell me. I don’t know your name or what’s going on here. I do know that I need to do something about your headache. Your pain is unbearable, and I won’t allow it continue another minute.”

She shook her head. “My head is your least concern. They are coming to kill you.” She could see it so clearly. When he didn’t listen to her, the times that her dreams had shown other outcomes, he’d always ended up dead. It had destroyed her.

“I know you think that. Don’t argue with me. I’m not budging until I make you more comfortable. If you want me to do something else, you’re going to have to comply. It’s up to you exactly how difficult you feel like being.”

He moved toward her like the predator she knew him to be. Hayden tugged her against him, and she let herself, for one second, be absorbed in how right it felt and how his scent—pine needles and soap—made her feel as if she’d finally gotten home. “Chelsea.”

Hayden laughed, and she heard the small rumble in his chest. “That’s your name, then?”