Chapter 1
It was done. Brock Townsend’s job was complete. Shifting back into his human form, he looked down at the dead body and shook his head.
What have I done?
The human’s neck was broken—Brock’s teeth marks evident on the soft flesh—proving that he’d killed a living being. He wasn’t fond of violence, but he didn’t have any other choice. He’d warned Paul Darren to stay far away from Sloan and Tucker, but his warnings fell on deaf ears. Not only had Paul stalked and tormented Sloan, the man had managed to catch Tucker unaware and shoot him in the back. It was a good thing Tucker was a shifter, otherwise he’d be dead.
Brock came to the house to talk, but things escalated and now he would be labeled a killer forever. When the human threatened his whole pack with death, Brock shifted. His intent was to scare, not to cause harm. But his intentions didn’t matter, not compared to the reality of seeing the human bloody and broken. He tried to console himself with the fact that Paul wouldn’t ever stop, but the guilt and horror at his own actions weighed heavily on his heart.
The human’s words still rang loudly in his ears. I love him. Sloan is supposed to be mine. If I can’t have him, nobody will.
It didn’t make any sense to him and it never would—some humans had twisted ways of thinking when it came to spouting off words of love. Getting dressed, Brock considered his options. Now that the man was dead, he needed to dispose of the body. He knew that leaving Paul on the floor in his house would create too many questions. He didn’t want to bring the Federal Paranormal Agency to their door. Should he take Paul to the bayou?
Shit.
Brock let out a snort as reality sunk in. He really hadn’t thought Paul’s death through to the end. He’d rushed out of The Castle half-cocked, wanting to make the human pay for hurting Tucker. Brock pulled out his cell phone, staring down at Paul body, watching the man’s blood slowly seep out of the wound on his neck and pool on the floor beneath him.
The phone rang twice before a familiar voice answered, “Hey, Brock.”
“Scout, I need your help, man.”
“When and where?” Scout asked without question.
“Now,” Brock said before rattling off the address.
“I’m on my way.”
“Do me a favor…give Maddox a kiss and leave him at home, will ya?” Brock didn’t want anyone else involved.
Scout chuckled. “I’ll see you soon.”
Brock shoved his cell phone back into his pocket before pacing around the place. He couldn’t remember if he touched anything. Should he wipe the place down, just in case?
As the minutes ticked by, Brock’s stress level grew. He was starting to become a little paranoid, hearing nonexistent noises and seeing shadows. After being inside the house with a dead body for almost a full hour, he was itching to get the hell out of the place.
There was a quiet tap on the window before the door slowly opened. He scented the air and calmed immediately. Scout. Breathing a sigh of relief, Brock was glad he wouldn’t be stuck with the stench of Paul’s blood for much longer. When Scout came into view, he didn’t say a word. He looked from Brock to Paul, then back again, raising a brow. Pulling the large black duffle bag off his shoulder, he set it at his feet and knelt down.
Scout opened the bag and pulled out a tarp, a roll of duct tape, and industrial-strength cleaning supplies.
“I’m going to lay out the tarp, let’s roll him up and tape the body tight. I’m sure I can fit him into the duffle without too much trouble.”
Scout didn’t seem too concerned that Brock was inside a strange house with a dead body. He didn’t ask any of the obvious questions, which made Brock respect the man even more. He watched as Scout laid out the blue tarp, careful of the blood. He situated himself at the man’s feet and raised a brow, waiting for Brock to move. Leaning over, Brock grabbed Paul’s shirt at his shoulders and lifted him, placing the body on the tarp.
They worked together, rolling the plastic material up, covering Paul’s form. Once that task was done, Scout grabbed the duct tape to hold the tarp in place. They easily manipulated Paul’s body, shoving him into the black bag.
“It’s time to clean this place up. Any rags or towels need to be put in one of the trash bags and taken with us. Leave no trace, not a single drop of blood,” Scout ordered, and Brock nodded.
He followed Scout’s lead, meticulously cleaning every square inch of Paul’s place. By the time they were finished, the small house smelled like bleach and heavy duty cleaning products. The scent burned Brock’s nose, but he didn’t mind. It meant that if any shifters came to Paul’s to investigate, they wouldn’t scent wolf, which meant that their pack was protected.