“Yes, thank you! Come in.” Stepping aside, she let in her visitor. Though technically,
The brunette laid the clothes on the sofa and turned to Kira. “I hope these fit well enough to get you through a day or two. I’m taller and not nearly as slender as you, so you might have to roll up the jeans and wear a belt. Oh, I’m Mackenzie Grant,” she said, holding out her hand.
Kira shook, liking her already. “Jaxon told me about you. You’re one of the doctors, correct?”
“That’s right. I’m a psychologist, though I’m not called on much to use that training anymore. At least not like I was in the beginning, when the men had so much trouble adjusting. Now I’m a scientist and parapsychologist here at the Institute. I study paranormal phenomena, particularly how the changes have affected our Alpha Pack men or will affect them in the future.” She blushed. “I’m sorry. I get carried away by my subject, especially since I rarely have anyone new to discuss it with.”
Kira grinned. “No biggie. I can see why you’d be excited, Dr. Grant. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be on the leading edge of such a fantastic field of study and have to keep it a secret from the outside world.”
“It’s hell,” she agreed. “And please, call me Mac. Everyone else does.”
“Okay . . . Mac.” Kira paused, curious. “Please, if this is none of my business just say so, but . . . are you a shifter, too?”
The doc shook her head. “No, I’m fully human. I was brought in by my father to help launch the Alpha Project more than five years ago, after the SEAL team was attacked in Afghanistan and turned. He was the team’s CO and recommended me to come in and counsel them, and that led to what I’m doing now. When the compound was completed, I just stayed on and never left.”
“Sounds like a dream job, studying real-life paranormal stuff and getting paid.”
“It is, but it can be frightening, too. There’s so much out there that we believed to be fairy tales, and—Well, enough of that for the moment,” she said, a bit too brightly. “You must be starved.”
“Take your time. Breakfast is served at seven, but there will be plenty of food if you’re later than that. You don’t have to worry about a schedule, at least not until we figure out what you’ll be doing, so it’s all good.”
All good. Right. Kira almost laughed at the absurdity.
“I—Thanks.”
“See you soon. And try not to worry, okay? You’re safe here.”
“That’s what Jaxon said.”
Mac cocked her head. “Well, he’s right. None of our guys will let anything happen to you. You can trust any of them with your life.”
“I got the demonstration on that one in living color. Maybe I can return the favor someday.”
The other woman winked and headed for the door. “Good luck with that. They’re as ubermacho as men come.”
After Mac left, Kira availed herself of the shower, relishing the hot water on sore muscles that were making themselves known. Her back was especially tender, she supposed from the goon slamming her against the car last night.
Well, he’d paid for it. Both had. Remembering the huge wolf ripping out their throats, she shivered despite the steamy spray.
Out of the shower, she found a fluffy towel in the cabinet and dried off. Frowning, she realized she had no way to comb or dry her hair and cursed herself for not thinking of it when Mac was here. The friendly woman probably would’ve loaned her a brush, dryer, and even a little makeup if she’d thought to ask. Not that she normally wore much, but she wasn’t thrilled about going to sit and eat among a roomful of hotties, sporting wet hair and looking like an extra from
“Fantastic.”
After using the towel to dry her hair the best she could, she finger-combed to remove most of the tangles and then gave up. Next came the jeans, which were too big in the waist and about four inches too long. To keep from stepping on them, she rolled them up, making cuffs. Then came the red T-shirt, which was also too big, but at least helped hide the fact that she was about to lose the jeans.
Looking at herself in the dresser mirror, she slumped in dejection. For today, it would have to do. Mac wasn’t a big woman at all; Kira was just small. Always had been, which was why she’d never been able to swap clothes with her girlfriends in high school.
“I look like a refugee.” Which was pretty accurate.
After slipping on a clean pair of socks and her own tennis shoes, she grabbed her purse and made certain the containers were still inside. Reassured, she slung the straps over her shoulder and headed out. Once in the corridor, she also realized she hadn’t asked for directions to the dining room. Hadn’t Jax taken her through it last night? She’d been so wiped, she’d hardly noticed, and had no clue where it was located.
She did remember that Mac’s place was next to hers. She knocked and waited. No answer. Biting her lip, she stared across the hall to the door Jax had said belonged to him. Might as well give it a try.
But he wasn’t there, either. Resigned to finding her way alone, she started down the hallway. At the T- shaped intersection, she hesitated. Had they come from the right or left last night? Taking a chance, she went right.
It was the wrong direction, of course. She made that discovery when she ended up taking a couple of turns and going through a set of double doors to find herself in what appeared to be a waiting room. There were cushioned vinyl chairs and a desk with no receptionist. Probably at breakfast with everyone else, since it wasn’t like this was a public facility where they’d be expecting someone. Backtracking, she made the opposite turns that would lead back to the hallway where her room was located. Or so she thought.
“Crap, where the heck am I?”
A minute later, she found herself in another corridor, this one not as brightly lit as the others. Doors lined each side of the hall, each one made of dark, heavy metal with a single window held in place by heavy rivets. Moving close, she inspected the first one, noting the Plexiglas was two or three layers thick.
Beyond the window was a cell. There was nothing else the space could be, furnished with little but a bed, a sink, and a toilet.
“What is this place?” she wondered aloud. In answer, a low, menacing growl echoed down the tunnel, causing her to jump. Hand on her galloping chest, she inched forward, drawn to the source despite common sense shouting at her to run.
As she padded down the right-hand side, she discovered the culprit in the second cell. She drew in a breath to see a black wolf, one almost as big as Jax, pacing the width of the space—as much as the heavy chain on the end of the metal collar would allow. Back and forth, like an animal at the zoo, and she had the impression he was slowly going out of his mind.
Suddenly he stopped, whirled, and raised his head, staring straight at her through the little window. His eyes glittered, though what color they were she couldn’t tell. She saw only impotent rage a second before he launched himself at the door, lips pulled back in a feral snarl, fangs white as snow against his dark fur.
She jumped back in reflex but the chain held, and the wolf was jerked off his feet by his own speed and force. He fell, rolled to his stomach, and coughed. Then he leaped up and ran again, to the same result. Tears pricked her eyes and she moved on, out of sight. Poor thing. If he couldn’t see her, he’d eventually stop. She hoped.
The next cell, not surprisingly, was empty. Feral creatures probably shouldn’t be kept side by side, even though they were surrounded by some sort of thick metal for the walls, floor, and ceiling.
In the fourth cell, she saw something really massive curled on the bed, so heavy the mattress sagged under its weight. Squinting, she saw that it was coiled, its sleek head resting on a pillow, seemingly sound asleep. Now, why on earth would they have jailed a snake? Even if it was as big as a frigging Volkswagen. Perplexed, she moved on, thankful the growling from inmate number one had ceased.
Cell number six, however, provided the secondbiggest shock since her life had gone headfirst down the rabbit hole. She blinked to be sure of what she was seeing. A humanoid creature sat on his bed.
Jesus, he had wings. Beautiful, deep blue wings matching waist-length hair that was no doubt glorious when the tresses were clean. Though the wings were drawn up against his back, the longest feathers trailed like silk
