The Chase Is On (Pack Everhart Book 1) Read online

I point to the chair near him.

  “Sorry. You know I hate doing this meeting shit. My father should’ve sent the Betas, not us.”

  I can’t argue with that. We don’t have the wherewithal to handle this type of meeting. The Betas normally act on behalf of the Alpha, but for some reason, Blave and I were picked to represent the pack. I’d be less pissed if this place wasn't in the middle of nowhere—Wyoming. Do people actually live here by choice?

  “I agree, but your father specifically requested us. Hell, my father even got excited, though I think it was because he got off the hook, not because we were given this opportunity.”

  “Psh, ‘opportunity’ my ass. This is just his way of being a dick. Now I have to meet with the Betas of Pack Beckett when I don’t know the first thing about forming alliances. He’s setting me up. This is all part of the sick, twisted enjoyment he gets from watching me fail.”

  Blave saunters over to the chair and sits down.

  Thank fuck.

  Being a future Beta entails a lot of pressure, but I’ll be the first to admit that Blave has it worse. I wouldn’t wish any part of his ordeal on another person. However, if his father treated him better, I’m sure Blave’s attitude would improve. None of the pack is blind to how the Alpha tears down his son any chance he gets. I’m surprised Blave hasn’t lost it yet.

  “After we’re done, do you want to leave, or stay and hang out in the casino? I’m cool either way.”

  Blave doesn’t answer; his eyes glaze over.

  “Blave,” I say louder, snapping my fingers in his face. “Earth to Blave. What do you want to do after the meeting, man?”

  He blinks a few times, coming back from wherever he was in his head. Stress creases the skin around his eyes.

  “I don’t want to go back tonight. Let’s stay here and gamble away some of my father’s money. Why not at least enjoy ourselves at his expense? Plus, a few bottles of scotch and maybe a female can make me forget how shitty my life is for one night.”

  I resist the urge to roll my eyes at his melodrama. He’s not the only one whose home life has been fucked up for years. Memories of my sister flood my mind. Instantly my body flashes from freezing cold to burning hot as a tidal wave of emotions threatens to drown me. I push them down, locking them into a corner of my mind.

  “Fine by me,” I reply, glancing down at my watch again. “Time to go.”

  I stand up and walk to the door, Blave on my heels. We take the elevator down to the 10th floor and find the right room where we’re to meet with Pack Beckett. I raise my hand to knock when the door opens. I move to the side as a small, dark-haired woman, dressed in a housekeeper’s uniform and pulling a cart, backs out of the room.

  Nice ass. Wonder what her face looks like?

  On reflex, I inhale. When her scent hits my nose, I almost drop to my knees. It’s the most intoxicating fragrance I’ve ever come across—warm honey and coconut. My cock springs to life, tightening against my pants to the point of discomfort. Everything jumbles in my head like I’m a young pup who's just discovered a love for females for the first time.

  What the hell should I do?

  Do I ignore how my body is reacting to her?

  Should I say something?

  What if she responds?

  This has never happened before.

  My wolf paces around in my head, making noises I’ve never heard from him before.

  Mine. He isn’t truly speaking to me, more like communicating a strong urge to stake his claim. He rubs against my barriers.

  What the actual f . . .

  She pauses in the doorway, sensing us. Her head whips in our direction, and as much as I want to see her face, I’m not prepared for the sight. Forgetting how to breathe, I’m stunned stupid. Big, beautiful violet eyes bounce back and forth between Blave and me. I suppress a groan, imagining what they’d look like if I were to pull her into my arms. Her raven-black and silver hair hangs in loose waves, begging me to sink my fingers into the locks while I claim her pink lips.

  Something hard rams into me. I blink a few times, the trance I’m under slowly fading. When I feel the shove again, I realize it's coming from my wolf. He’s pleading with me to be let out but not because of a threat—because of her and how badly he wants her. He’s never acted like this before. Neither have I.

  Someone brushes up against my back. I cut my eyes to the side as the corner of my lip turns up into a snarl. Inside, I feel a swelling need to protect her, to protect what’s mine. An insistent urge to rip out the throat of whoever dares to come close to her. A hum vibrates through me; I’m ready to attack, but when I see who it is, I freeze.

  Blave.

  How did I forget he was here?

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Whatever’s happening can’t be normal.

  “Evening,” Blave says.

  I’ve never been at a loss for words before. The words I’m grasping for are nowhere to be found. Having Blave pick up my slack is screwing with my head even more.

  “I’m sorry. Excuse me,” she mutters.

  The melodic sound of her voice is soothing to my ears. I could sit and listen to her talk all day long. She grabs her cart and hurries down the hall. My eyes refuse to look away until she disappears into the elevator—but not before she glances one last time in our direction.

  A weight bears down on my shoulder again, and when I look, I see Blave’s hand. I frown at it and then at him.

  “Don’t look at me like that. We have somewhere to be.”

  My brow raises, missing his meaning. I shrug him off. “I know what we have to do.”

  “Uh-huh. Let’s go.”

  Go?

  What the hell is he talking about? We're already where we need to be.

  He turns and takes a few steps down the hall, then stops. He stands there, with his hands in his pockets, like he’s waiting on me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m waiting for you to get your ass back down here so we can get this over with,” he sighs.

  A low growl fills my ears, followed by the snapping of jaws. My wolf is mad, but I can’t decide if he’s furious with me, Blave, or both. I look around and notice that I’m further away from the room than when I started.

  What the hell?

  How did I get here?

  Did I really try to go after her?

  I bite my lip, trying to make sense of the confusion twisting my senses. Blave must think I’m nuts. Hell, I think I’ve lost it. Deciding to stay quiet, I make my way back down the hall. Halfway to Blave, I freeze in place.

  Oh no.

  Did I . . . was I actually going to attack my best friend?

  He cocks his head. “Seriously? What now?”

  “Uh . . . nothing. I think I left my cash upstairs,” I lie, closing the distance between us. I keep my eyes on him, looking for any sign he’s pissed at my behavior. All he does though is roll his eyes.

  “Blave Everhart?” I turn and stand beside Blave as four men approach us. “I’m Beta Barrett with Pack Beckett. Sorry to keep you waiting.” Once in range, the man extends his hand and Blave takes it.

  “Nice to meet you. This is Granger, my beta.”

  I take Barrett’s hand and give a quick nod. “We haven’t been here long,” I say, trying to downplay the humming still coursing through my veins like what happened really didn’t happen.

  “This is Beta Logan, Beta Merric and Beta Johnson.” He points to each of the other men standing behind him. I tip my head at them. “Let’s move this inside where it’s more comfortable. Shall we?”

  I step further to the side allowing Beta Barrett access to the door. He pulls out a key card and unlocks the door. Blave and I both wait for them to enter first, seeing as how this is their room. Blave flicks his gaze to me and I know it’s his way of checking on me. I ignore his concern and motion for him to head in. Now’s not the time for me to keep thinking about that female when I can’t even wrap my head around her. . .it. . .whate
ver the fuck that was.

  Blave walks past me and I follow behind, glancing down the hallway once more before I let the door close behind me.

  Claudia

  I lean against the elevator wall and stare at the ceiling.

  “What was that?”

  There are so many things that could’ve gone wrong.

  Seriously, what happened back there?

  Tingles continue to spread across every inch of my body. I fan my face, trying to cool the heat radiating off my skin, but it’s not helping. All it’s doing is swirling the lingering scents of balsam and earthy musk around me. I suppress a moan just as the elevator dings.

  It also doesn’t help that my wolf seems to have taken a turn into crazy-ville.

  Mine.

  It’s the only thought she keeps pushing at me—as she shoves herself into my barriers, rattling my brain—since I laid eyes on those men. I felt someone behind me as I was walking out the door; my mistake was trying to figure out who it was. As soon as I inhaled, nothing made sense. Not my wolf, not my reaction to them—nothing.

  I shake my head, trying to rid my brain and body of their memory, of how badly I wanted their hands and mouths all over me. Instead of daydreaming, I should be more concerned about our encounter. They were wolves, after all. Hopefully, my masking spray did its job in concealing my true identity.

  Keeping my head down, I push the cart out of the elevator and hurry down the hall to the supply closet I staked out on my floor earlier. I shove the supplies inside and make my way back to my room, knocking before entering in case anyone is watching the camera feeds. Once inside, I type out a quick message:

  It’s done

  There won’t be a response, but I know to wait for at least ten minutes before leaving my room again. Someone will hack into the casino’s computer system and alter the feed, removing the last thirty minutes of my movements. I don’t know who does it or how, and I prefer not to know. All I care about is completing the job without leaving a trail.

  I grab my phone to see how much time I have left until dinner. Crap. I’m late.

  Pulling my evening outfit out of my bag, I crinkle my nose and sigh. I’m not in the mood to dress up or celebrate a birthday. Maybe I should call Kimberly and tell her I don’t feel well? Or maybe I should stop being a jerk, just suck it up and go?

  “Fine,” I grumble, slipping on my dark blue skinny jeans. I complete the look with a white top covered in black skulls and black heels with spikes on them. I apply a little mascara and eyeliner, then grab my room key and head downstairs to the restaurant.

  “Hey, girl!” Kimberly yells as soon as she sees me.

  Since I’m the last to arrive, I grab a seat at the end of the table. From the pile of empty glasses and the surrounding women’s animated chatter, everyone has been enjoying themselves for a while already. This is going to be a long night. I’m not a big drinker, and being the sober one in a group of happy drunks is tedious.

  “Hey, waiter person. My friend here needs a drink!” Kimberly calls out to no one in particular. Buzzed Kimberly is tolerable company; drunk Kimberly, not so much. Lucky for me, she has plenty of other people to hold her hair back tonight. “I love you,” she giggles, throwing her arms around me.

  Within minutes, a waiter appears. His sullen look tells me he, too, is less than thrilled to be handling a table full of tipsy women.

  “We need Washington Apple shots. Please.” Kimberly bats her lashes at the young waiter as if that’ll make him bring the drinks faster.

  He nods and scurries away. I was going to order food, but it looks like that will have to wait. The raucous laughter continues all around the table. Seeing as I’m the last to show, I try engaging in the conversations around me as much as I can. Before I know it, someone places a shot in front of me.

  Everyone picks up their drinks and clinks their glasses together before tossing the liquid back—even me. I immediately grimace when the flavors mix across my taste buds. I don’t even get the chance to wash the sickly-sweet taste out of my mouth before the waiter comes back with another round.

  According to him, some guys at the bar wanted to buy us drinks. Wonderful. I look at the little glass and push it away. One was enough—more than enough.

  “Claudia, you drink that this instant. No one is holding back tonight, that includes you. I mean it.”

  Kimberly’s face contorts into a half-scowl, half-cringe. Is she trying to glare at me? I suppress a laugh, looking down at the glass.

  Should I?

  Should I not?

  I war with myself for a minute. What’s one more going to hurt—besides my tongue from the taste and my throat burning as it goes down?

  Fuck it.

  I empty the shot glass into my mouth in one gulp as cheers erupt around the table, Kimberly’s the loudest. Soon those two shots turn into six, coupled with several mixed cocktails I suck down with gusto.

  Guess I’m throwing all my preparation out the window tonight. Too bad my fast metabolism is working against me. Shifters can get drunk; it just takes a lot more alcohol to get the job done. As much as I’ve had, if I were human, I’d be drunk off my ass. Instead, I feel warm and fuzzy inside.

  We wrap up dinner and head into the nightclub, where we’re escorted to a reserved private booth in the VIP section.

  “This place is amazing,” someone says. I look around, taking in the space. The décor is very upscale with leather couches and sheer black fabric hanging from the ceiling, forming a partition between our table and the one next to us. Some of the women dart out to the dance floor while the rest of us sink into the sofas, talking and watching the crowd below us move to the beat of the music.

  I suck on my straw, but nothing happens. Glancing down, I realize my drink is empty, including the ice. I set the glass down just as the bass drops. Every beat vibrates my chest in slow rhythmic patterns. Yeah, time for water.

  I nudge my friend. “Hey, I’m going to grab some water. Need anything?”

  “I’ll take a bottle of water too. Oh, and find some dick while you’re gone.” She flashes me a devilish grin.

  “Sure,” I snort.

  She’s always trying to set me up or encourage me to meet someone. She’s convinced my vagina has shriveled up from lack of use. It’s not that I don’t think about sex or don’t want it—I’ve just been focused on surviving. When you’re constantly moving around, relationships of any kind become a low priority.

  “Be right back.”

  I weave through the crush of bodies to the bar and raise my hand to grab the attention of one of the bartenders. As I stand there waiting, the perfect song comes on: Bartender by T-Pain. I’m jamming out, singing along with everyone else, when a delicious scent invades my nose.

  “Hello, Little One.”

  A deep, velvet voice close to my ear sends a rush of heat—not alcohol-related—from the top of my head to my toes. My wolf perks up and trots around excitedly. I have two options: I can pretend not to hear him and hope he gets the hint and leaves, or turn around just to prove to myself there’s no way this guy’s face can match his voice. Either way, the odds aren’t in favor of the man standing behind me.

  “I know you can hear me,” he says.

  Between his voice and his scent, my toes curl again. Why does he smell familiar?

  Deciding on option two, I turn around and am met with a pair of moss-green eyes that take my breath away. The same ones that entranced me earlier.

  Damn.

  He is . . . gorgeous.

  Mine, my wolf starts pushing again. She rubs her whole body up and down the barriers, begging me to let her out.

  Get yourself together, I tell her. He is not ours. You can’t just go around claiming whoever you want. She barks a few times, letting me know she doesn’t care what I think, before returning to her rubbing routine. I internally roll my eyes and do my best to block out her antics.

  The man is still staring, wearing a cheeky grin like he can see what’s going on
in my head. My cheeks flush from his gaze, and when his grin widens, I can feel myself melting at his feet.

  I should be worried that he’s standing here in front of me. He saw me earlier—not that he knows what I did, but still, his presence is a problem. Yet, I can’t find an ounce of concern.

  Why?

  Instead of stepping away from him, I stand there and openly stare. He looks like he fell straight off the cover of a fashion magazine and landed in one of my fantasies. He has a defined cupid’s bow and a plump bottom lip that’s teasing me like it knows how bad I want to taste him.

  Does he taste as good as he smells?

  His sculpted jawline, lightly dusted with stubble, and defined nose makes him look older, dignified—someone important who knows how to work a room effortlessly. His dirty blond hair, however, is pulled into a bun, giving him his youthfulness back. The contrast is deadly for all females in his vicinity.

  My eyes continue their perusal across the broad shoulders, stretching his grey shirt to arms well-defined with muscle. I bet a female would feel safe wrapped in those arms—something I haven’t felt in so long.

  I let my eyes drift all the way down his incredible body. By the time I make it back up to his face, something begins to awaken internally, as if rising from a deep sleep. My entire body lights up, my skin sensitive, and I can feel the wetness in my panties. I’ve never reacted to a man like this. Not even to Kylan.

  “Did you get your fill? I can turn around if you like,” he says, moving to the bar and leaning against it.

  Is he for real?

  Narrowing my eyes at him, I peel my tongue off the floor and find my words.

  “I don’t know whether to be appalled or laugh.” He chuckles, and I ignore it. “Seeing how you approached me and interrupted what I was doing, is there something you need? Or did you purposely come over here to block all the bartenders from seeing me, just so you could get another drink?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because of how big you are compared to me. It’d be easy for you to muscle your way past me. If you wanted a drink that bad, you could’ve just said something.”