Wolf at the Door (Lorimar Pack) (Gemini Book 5)

  Wolf at the Door

  Lorimar Pack, Book 2

  Hailey Edwards

  Contents

  Wolf at the Door Blurb

  Lorimar Pack Reading Order

  Black Dog Universe Reading Order

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

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  About the Author

  Also by Hailey Edwards

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying without written permission of the publisher or author. The exception would be in the case of brief quotations embodied in the critical articles or reviews and pages where permission is specifically granted by the publisher or author.

  Wolf at the Door

  Copyright © 2017 by Hailey Edwards

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by Sasha Knight

  Copy Edited by Kimberly Cannon

  Cover by Damonza

  Wolf at the Door Blurb

  Lorimar Pack, Book 2

  Prison is no one's idea of a good time, and it's even worse for Dell. Confinement has her inner wolf snarling as she paces the cell, and there's no end in sight. Just as she reaches her breaking point, the pack liaison shows up with an offer she can’t refuse. Dell’s freedom in exchange for going to Faerie and recapturing the fae prince responsible for her current digs.

  But this fool's errand won't be a solo mission. Isaac Cahill has lost Dell twice, and he’ll be damned if she slips through his fingers again. This time, he’s not letting her out of his sight. Even if it means earning more than a few love bites from his pissed-off she-wolf.

  What they discover on their perilous quest is that war is closer than anyone imagined. As trusted allies fall and dangerous new threats emerge, Dell discovers one defining truth. Isaac is hers, and she'll fight to the death for him. And, at the rate this war is coming, she might not have long to wait.

  Lorimar Pack Reading Order

  #1 Promise the Moon

  #2 Wolf at the Door

  #3 Over the Moon

  Black Dog Universe Reading Order

  My hope is that readers can enjoy each series set in the Black Dog Universe as a standalone series, but there is overlap between characters and events because their worlds continue to evolve.

  This is the timeline for everyone who wants to go on the characters’ journeys in chronological order.

  Black Dog Series

  #1 Dog with a Bone

  #1.5 Dog Days of Summer

  #2 Heir of the Dog

  #3 Lie Down with Dogs

  #4 Old Dog, New Tricks

  Black Dog Series Novellas

  Stone-Cold Fox

  Gemini Series

  #1 Dead in the Water

  #2 Head Above Water

  #3 Hell or High Water

  Gemini Series Novellas

  Fish Out of Water

  Lorimar Pack

  #1 Promise the Moon

  #2 Wolf at the Door

  #3 Over the Moon

  Chapter 1

  Bare feet slapping against the polished concrete floor of my prison cell, I stalked the perimeter of the six-by-eight box, the wolf a feral presence beneath my skin. Magic pulsed around us, thick as molasses and just as hard to swallow. Each spike hammered my dominant other half into submission, caging me in human form. If the conclave thought this shape made me any less dangerous, any less wolf, I would educate them. The wolf bared gleaming teeth in my mind, and my lip quivered in agreement. A low but steady growl pumped through my chest to spike the air with our combined fury.

  A faint rasp perked my ears, and I went hunting-still.

  Hinges sighed in warning in the distance, and heavy footsteps peppered the long hallway leading away from gen pop to the reinforced cells in solitary confinement. Foot traffic in restricted areas was kept light. Most guards walked their rounds, peeped into each box to check that its occupant hadn’t checked out ahead of schedule, and then left. This one stopped right in front of my door, four inches of cool metal his only protection against my simmering temper. Tension rippled along my spine, fur brushing the underside of my skin, and my jaw ached where fangs speared through my gums.

  The magic of the prison might keep the wolf leashed, but she was nowhere near tamed.

  Metal squealed in protest as the observation window cranked open, revealing a large man with flat eyes that had seen too much to be impressed with little ol’ me. “Miss Preston, I’m about to open this door, and then me an’ you are gonna take us a walk. That sound all right to you?”

  “Sure.” The correctional officer must be a few bars short of a cell if he thought I had any real say in the matter. “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere that’s not here.” The cover thunked back into place, and the door wheezed open. The officer, T. Littlejohn according to his badge, pointed a crooked finger down the hall. “Ladies first.”

  Smart man, not turning his back on me. The wolf approved of his caution. Me, I wouldn’t have minded an excuse to misbehave. I hadn’t shifted in two weeks. Two. Weeks. I hadn’t seen the sun in that long, either. Not since I kicked a guard so hard in the junk he sprouted a second set of tonsils.

  “Can’t you give me a hint?” I fluttered my eyelashes at him. “Just one clue.”

  “No.” He shut down my flirting cold. Guess he wasn’t interested in having his voice boosted an octave. “I have my orders.”

  Giving him up as a lost cause, I started walking, enjoying the excuse to stretch my legs. I kept up a brisk pace that forced him to lumber faster or get left in my dust.

  The gunmetal-gray interior of the Macon Correctional Facility located in not-so-scenic Wink, Texas, inspired depression. All its surfaces were polished concrete or corroded steel. This end of the facility was dedicated to diurnal fae, not that it made much difference thanks to the absence of exterior windows. I counted the cells we passed on the right-hand side to get an idea of how deep the hole was where they had thrown me. The wolf was not to be distracted with silly concepts like numbers. She was otherwise occupied with cataloguing scents and determining the best strategy to take Littlejohn down if he presented us with an opportunity. She might approve of his caution, but he had jailed us. She wanted out, and she would go over, under or through him to get free.

  We hit a set of bars anchored into the ceiling and the floor, and Littlejohn used a key to pop open a clear plastic case mounted on the wall. He mashed the grimy red button it protected then locked it back. A section of the grid slid aside on an automated track, and we entered a cramped holding pen. A clang announced we were now locked in the six-by-six space. Littlejohn pressed another button, and a second door opened. I rushed forward to find myself trapped in another cube. We rinse-repeated two more times until the next shuffle spat us out into a hallway lined with doors and upholstered in industrial carpet the same dull gray as the rest of the place.

  The wolf in me sat up and twitched her ears. This section was too clean for inmates to have regular access. This must be the admin area or maybe the portion visible to the public. Visitation maybe? That would explain my summons. T
hough so far I hadn’t been allowed any visitors. Why was today any different?

  “This is our stop.” A keypad mounted on the wall flashed at us, and he inputted a code. A buzzer sounded overhead, and a nearby door popped open a few inches. “In you go.”

  Three things happened at once. The scent of my old pack, the Chandler pack, hit my nose. Adrenaline dumped in my veins, revving my inner wolf’s fight-or-flight reflex. And I punched Littlejohn in the face.

  Guess she had chosen fight over flight. Why was I not surprised?

  He cupped his bloody nose. “What the hell did you do that for?”

  “I’m not going in there.” My former alpha, Bessemer, had tossed me out on my ear months ago and made it clear if our paths crossed again, it would be for the last time. Whoever was in that room stank of him, of my old pack, of my old life, and the wolf foamed at the mouth in desperation to break out of my skin. “Take me back to my cell.”

  I was Lorimar now. Not Chandler. Though I bet my old alpha would just love to scoop me up and punish me for daring to survive, for having the gall to thrive, without him. How had he gotten in here? Where were Cord and Cam? The conclave couldn’t render judgment against me without my alphas present.

  The guard lowered his hand and snarled at me. “Woman, don’t be so damn hardheaded.”

  Littlejohn caught me by the upper arm when I spun away from him, and yanked my back to his front. I proved his assessment was correct by throwing my head back and cracking my skull against his already tender nose. His bellow of rage caused even my wilder half to pause and consider whether that had been a smart move on my part.

  The weeks of confinement must have warped my brain. Rather than tuck my tail like a smart wolf, I took a defensive stance and bared my teeth. Hey, I wasn’t beta of the Lorimar Pack for nothing. Part of my charm was not knowing when to quit, and I had a feeling Littlejohn was about to educate me.

  With a roar, he flung out his arms, and a massive stone beast split out of his skin. Thick granite wings sprang from his back to clog the hallway and block my escape, and I bet a dollar I could bounce quarters off his rocklike skin. The last time I’d seen something this hideous…

  Nix that. I had never seen anything so grotesque.

  “Fall off your perch, gargoyle?” I gave him a critical once-over. “You must have hit every branch of the ugly tree on the way down.”

  A vicious rattle shook his chest, and he lunged. I whirled aside at the last minute, in a fair impression of a bullfighter if I do say so myself. Except he wasn’t half as slow as a creature made of rock ought to be. He caught himself on the wall, claws sinking in and crumbling the painted cement blocks. He lashed his tail—where had he hidden that?—and knocked my legs from under me. I hit the carpet flat on my back, and he landed in a crouch over me with one massive palm encircling my throat.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” I choked out. “I know a monolith who could kick your mossy ass.”

  “What in the world is all the ruckus?” a stern voice creaked. “Adele Merriweather Preston. What are you doing under there?”

  I tipped my head back as far as Littlejohn allowed. “Meemaw?”

  All four feet and no inches of her towered over me. With her silvery hair secured in a braid that hung over her shoulder, and her flowy dress three decades out of style, she resembled a saintly grandmother more than the villainous wolf from the fairy tale. But I knew better.

  Meemaw anchored one tiny fist on her narrow hip and swung her cane with the other. Lips pursed, she whacked Littlejohn between the shoulders. Before he got the chance to get mad about it or I got an opportunity to laugh in his face, she clocked me upside the head.

  “Both of you get up.” Disgust curled her upper lip, and she waggled the old hickory stick at us. “Dell, I raised you better than this. Go for the eyes. The soft meat. Your head is as hard as a rock, but it’s not actually stone like his. He could have hurt you faster than you could heal.” Aborting her lesson, she turned her sour mood on Littlejohn. “Officer, your job is to keep inmates in line, not roll around on the floor with them.”

  Thanks to his unexpected shift, Littlejohn was forced to clamber off me and stand naked before her. His cheeks burned, but he wasted embarrassment on her. Meemaw had seen enough sausage in her life to give Jimmy Dean a run for his money. That part, and it was massive, she ignored.

  Wargs who live in glass houses couldn’t throw gargoyles. Or something.

  “Sorry about that,” I apologized to Littlejohn as I got to my feet. “I got confused by Meemaw’s scent, and my wolf overreacted.” The wolf huffed at shouldering the blame, but I kept that part to myself. “Wargs get weird when we’re separated from our packs. It screws with our heads, brings us closer to our feral side. Makes us more aggressive.”

  The gargoyle rumbled at me, hustled us into the room Meemaw had exited, and then slammed the door on our heels with a gusted sigh of relief that carried through the wood.

  Alone at last, Meemaw opened her frail arms. I rushed into them, bending nearly double over her to bury my face in her neck. The herb-and-earth scent of her skin carried another fragrance reminiscent of one I ought to remember but couldn’t put my finger on. Perhaps that peculiarity was what had set the wolf on edge. Whatever had tweaked her tail, all was forgiven now as she savored the presence of family, her hackles lowering for the first time in days. Even if Meemaw was no longer pack, she was still ours.

  She had been born into the Chandler pack, and her stubborn intentions were to die a Chandler wolf. Bessemer no longer commanded her loyalty, if he ever had, but the wolves of Villanow, Georgia, were her people, and she wouldn’t abandon them. Not even for me.

  “I swanny, girl.” Meemaw chuckled at my enthusiastic greeting. “You sure know how to keep an old wolf on her toes.”

  More than once Pawpaw had called her a spitfire. Guess it ran in the family. “Sorry, Meemaw.”

  “Well, let me get a look at you.” Head tilted back, she drifted her rheumy gaze over me. “My granddaughter, a beta.”

  The wolf puffed out my chest. I was the Lorimar pack beta, second to Cord Graeson, who had been the Chandler pack beta until Bessemer took issue with Cord’s choice of mate. Wargs and fae mix about as well as oil and water, but Cord had taken one look at Camille Ellis, a Gemini who worked as a special agent for the Earthen Conclave, and lost his battered heart to her on the spot. She was slower to come around to his way of thinking. Fae tend to let their heads cloud their hearts, a fact I had learned all too well was a family trait. But the thing about wargs is, we’re patient hunters. We don’t give up, even when we ought to.

  “I’ve missed you so much.” The words tumbled free without a filter.

  “About that.” She reached over and pinched the ever-loving crap out of my upper arm. “Whose fault is that?”

  “Yowch.” I leapt out of her range and massaged the tender skin, thankful for super healing. “What’d you do that for?”

  “You think I don’t talk to your alphas? That I don’t keep tabs on my own flesh and blood granddaughter? You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing up there in Butler, Tennessee, all these months?” Her gaze narrowed. “And who you’ve been doing it with?”

  Whining low in her throat, the wolf slinked off before Meemaw could pin her down for details. The human half of me was a much better liar. “Of course you know what I’m up to. I call you every week.”

  Somehow, despite the difference in our heights, she managed to look down her nose at me. “You leave the best parts out.”

  Guilty as charged. For her peace of mind, I heavily edited my life. “Who is tattling to you?”

  “Never you mind.” She shuffled over to claim one of the seats in front of a battered desk. “Sit.” She patted the chair next to hers. “We’re about to have company.”

  Like a struck match, the skin on my nape ignited. The delicate hairs lifted in a prickling wave, and the wolf paced tense circles through my gut. Before the door opened, I knew who would walk
through it.

  A tall woman with long black hair pulled into a ponytail strolled in with a folder tucked under her arm. The arm in question glowed a muted green shade from the multitude of runes stamped into her skin. It might be my imagination, but there seemed to be more of them now than there had been the last time I saw her.

  That would be the day she arrested me for kidnapping a fae prince, extradited me to Texas and tossed me in a cell.

  “Thierry.” I growled her name in acknowledgment, a concession to Meemaw’s nodded greeting.

  Thierry Thackeray acted as liaison between our pack and the Earthen Conclave. They must have figured with her being a half-blood fae, she was the perfect intermediary between the warg alphas and fae magistrates. She had a foot in both worlds and a lot to lose no matter how the pendulum swung. It made for a good incentive to keep that sucker level.

  “You won’t believe me, but it’s nice to see you, Dell.” She rounded the desk, sat behind it and dug through a drawer for a pen like she owned the place. For all I knew maybe she did. Her natural scent reminded me of fresh meat and death, and the wolf recoiled from the potent combination of foreign magic. Something about her made both my skins crawl. “I’ve been worried about you.”

  I choked out a laugh. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

  Cut off from my pack, from caffeine, from nature, from new-release DVDs. The type of confinement I had endured would have broken a lesser wolf. Not mine. It just pissed her off.

  “You did maul the guard sent to escort you to the yard.” She flipped through the file, which I realized must have been mine. “Officer Fitz claims you broke his nose when he attempted to handcuff you.”