L E Harner & T A Webb Altered States 2 Deadly Shades of Gold

Deadly Shades of Gold

Altered States, Book Two

L.E. Harner & T.A. Webb

Copyright

Deadly Shades of Gold is a work of fiction. Names,

characters, places, and incidents are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or

locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover photograph by DWS Photography

Cover Art by Laura E. Harner

Edited by Jae Ashley

ISBN: 978-‐‑1-‐‑937252-‐‑31-‐‑1

be reproduced in any many without written permission,
except for brief quotations embodied in critical articles and

reviews.

The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this

copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright

infringement, including infringement without monetary
gain is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to

five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. eBooks are
not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away

as it is an infringement on the copyright of this book.

Contact the publisher for further information:

Hotcornerpress@gmail.com

iii

Dedication

To Laura, who is simply the best friend/writing

partner/lady ever. Bar none. To Havan Fellows for her
wonderful ideas, and who loves these guys. To Talon, whose

voice still rings in my head and heart. To my dad—89, still a

force of nature and proud of his gay son. I love you.

Tom

For our readers…

I would also like to give a special thank you to Havan

Fellows, Lee Brazil, and Will Parkinson—this book is better
because of each of you. And to the twin of my heart, a big

bear hug for the laughter, the tears, and the crazy ideas.
Love you, Tom.

Laura

Trademark Acknowledgments

The authors acknowledge the trademarked status and

trademark owners of the following trademarks mentioned in
this work of fiction:

Corona: Cerveceria Modelo, S.A. De C.V.

Glock: Glock, Inc.
Husker: Board of Regents of the University of Nebraska

Easy-‐‑Bake Oven: Hasbro, Inc.
Jeep: Chrysler Group, LLC

iMac: Apple, Inc.
Elvis Presley (specifically, "ʺTeddy Bear"ʺ): Elvis Presley

Enterprises, Inc.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgment of Trademarks

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

About the Authors

Prologue

Sam should have been watching. Goddammit—he knew

better, but he’d been too busy trying to frame the perfect
opening sentence so Travis would listen to him. Something

eloquent and wise and so very un-‐‑Sam-‐‑like. He didn’t even

feel the first attack.

Slowing slightly, he’d stepped into the shadows three

doors down from Travis’s home. There was a whoosh of
wind, the feeling of something brushing him, then a cold,

wet feeling against his neck.

He wasn’t sure if the noise he made was out loud or just

in his head…and how the fuck did he land on his back on
the ground? When a beautiful woman’s face appeared over

him, he wondered, just for a moment, if she might be an
angel. Until he saw the teeth.

“Ah, mon cher, such a pretty boy. Nothing personal,

oui?” she crooned, then leaned down to lick at his neck. He
was already light-‐‑headed, and the coldness that was on his

neck suddenly became a razor sharp pain. He looked at his
hand, which had been at his neck a moment earlier and saw

it covered with blood.

Ah hell. I will never get to tell Trav I’m sorry.

He heard a howl, like the devil’s own hounds, and

thought maybe they were coming for him, too. A stark black

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

blur crossed his field of vision and suddenly the soft lovely

voice of the vamp was screaming and horrible tearing
sounds came from mere feet away.

He closed his eyes, just for a moment, and when he

opened them again, familiar faces were looking down at

him.

Danny. What a fine partner and a really good friend. He

trusted him like no one else and wished he could take back
the rough words they’d had this morning. He tried to smile

to let him know he was sorry.

Russ. Well, he wasn’t exactly a friend, but he could have

been. Missed hitting the sheets with that one…he must have

been a very bad boy in another life. Ah, the random thought
crossed his now-‐‑fuzzy mind that the blur of black who

pulled that bitch off his neck must have been Jet. He tried to
wink, but was really too tired.

And besides, he needed to try, one last time, to tell his

friend how he felt before he was gone. He was under no

illusions, he could feel the cold settling in his bones and the
slow draining of his life through the hole in his neck.

The hole that Travis was frantically trying to hold

together with his hands. He saw the struggle in his friend’s

eyes. The blood must be calling to him and yet he was

practically wrist deep in Sam’s essence, his concern winning
out over hunger. He tried to communicate the regret he felt

for the lost two years, laying his own hand on top of Trav’s
one last time. He hoped it was a smile on his face—he

needed Trav to understand. Please, forgive me.

As he closed his eyes for what he was sure would be the

last time, he heard Danny’s voice cut through the night.

“Wolf or vamp? Decide. It has to be now.”

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

All Sam knew was pain. And the dark…he knew the

dark. He never considered that darkness had a smell before,
but he could smell it, taste it, feel it on his skin now. He tried

to swallow, but his throat was so dry it hurt. He ran a
sandpaper tongue around his mouth and froze at an

unfamiliar sharpness, but before he could process the
physical change, there was the sound of loud voices from

somewhere nearby. An argument over…him?

“I don’t care what the fuck you think. We did what we

had to do!” That was Russ’s voice.

“I’m telling you, he’s not going to be happy. You need

to let me talk to him. I can—” A calm, relatively reasoned

response from Trav? What the fuck was he doing here? For
that matter, where was here? The argument heated up.

“Can what, Boudreaux? Tell him how to fucking hide?

How to give up on life because things didn’t turn out the

way he planned?” Jet’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.

Sam tried to sit up, but realized he was restrained, tied

to the fucking bed like some kind of…crazy person or
monster. What was going on? What was so wrong that they

put him in the dark and left him alone? He struggled to
remember while the argument raged in some other part of

wherever-‐‑the-‐‑hell he was.

“Not all of us can be so lucky as to have their maker

explain the bare necessities,” Trav said. His voice took on

that strident tone, the one that warned everyone to watch
out. “Try sitting up at your own damn wake and see how

well you function, you overgrown hairball. Now, instead of
giving me shit about my life choices, how about we focus on

the more important issue at hand, huh?”

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

“Excellent point. Jet, enough.” The command in Russ’s

voice made Sam stop struggling against the straps holding
him in place. “Travis, I think it might be best if you talk to

Sam first. He was obviously in front of your house; he must
have been coming to see you. The truth might not be as

much of a shock if it comes from you. But you should try to
wake him soon; we didn’t tie him with anything stronger

than rope. We don’t want to freak him out any more than
necessary.”

In front of Trav’s house? Why would he have been

there? He needed to stop and think. He let his mind settle,

and tried to remember. The last thing he could recall was

deciding to tell his friend how sorry he was for being such a
giant dick to him after Trav tried to attack him in a fit of

bloodlust. He’d gone there to apologize. Then…something.
He was on the ground, looking up and some woman was

hurting him and then Travis was there, then the pain, the
blood, and his friends arguing over how to save him.

Was that why he was tied and left alone in some back

room? What was he now? Vampire? Werewolf? His heart

began to pound, and he tried to reach out with his senses to
find out. The dark had texture and depth to his eyes, and he

knew he could hear more than he used to be able to. And

what was that smell? His head jerked to what he now
realized was an open window, and a warm and tangy scent

caught his nose. He could hear something thrashing around
not far away, and it must have caught its leg, because the

coppery, hot musk of blood began to fill the room, and his
mouth began to water.

Everything else faded away except the odor of blood

and the need to feed. Sam was barely aware of licking his

elongated canines and his body began to change. First, the

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

long muscles of his arms and legs began to strengthen and

twist, and his chest began to expand. The ropes holding him
in place began to strain and then broke, and his body

lengthened. He rolled off the bed onto the floor, hitting it on
what he thought were his hands and knees but were in fact

four huge paws.

He blinked at his reflection in the window. Well, now I

know I’m werewolf and not vamp.

He should be freaked out, or grateful for being alive,

and some part of him was, he supposed. But then

another

waft of bloody hare hit his senses and with a mighty leap, he

crashed through the partially opened window to give chase

to the injured animal. The noise of his escape alerted his
friends, he tracked with a part of his consciousness, and he

heard them throw open the door to his room and shout for
him. But he needed to feed. And his prey was trying to

escape.

God, it felt good to stretch his limbs and run. The night

was dark and almost moonless, but with his wolf’s vision,
his path was clear. For the first time he saw how the

undergrowth teemed with life. How the first hints of spring
were escaping from under the bark of the trees. How scents

had taste, and now, how intoxicating the aroma of blood

was to his wolf.

Sam spotted his prey, frantically trying to escape under

a fallen log. Throwing his head back and issuing a growl of
triumph, Sam leapt and grabbed the big hare and snapped

its neck before ripping out its throat. Reveling in the kill,
Sam tore the hare to pieces and swallowed every tasty

morsel. Hunger finally sated, Sam threw back his head and
howled his pleasure into the night. The answering calls of

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

his brother wolves prickled at his consciousness as he licked

his bloody maw and tasted…life. And death.

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

Chapter One

The leather soles of Sam’s shoes slapped against the

linoleum as he paced the hallway outside the hearing room.
He’d never been particularly good at waiting. In the three

months since his…accident, it felt as if he’d done nothing but

wait. One way or the other, it all ended today.

“Detective Sam Garrett?” The grandmotherly face of

Stella Walker peered through a small opening in the door.
As secretary to the chief of police, she’d seen Sam before and

knew who he was, but he nodded as if it had been a real
question.

“They’re ready for you now, honey. Good luck.” She

stepped back and held the door open. Unable to summon

enough spit to speak, Sam nodded once more and followed
Stella inside. With her back slightly hunched, Stella scooted

to the front of the room to take her seat at the table normally

used by the prosecutor during the daylight grand jury
hearings. The night sessions were reserved for Paranormal

Fitness Exams or other hearings involving non-‐‑humans.

Sam remained standing near the side of the room,

unsure of the protocol. Swallowing hard, he looked around
at the rows of dark oak benches, the empty jury box, and the

judge’s bench at the front of the room. Like he was some
goddamn criminal instead of a fucking cop.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

It was a damned shame he was fighting for his job, but

the New Orleans Police Department had a policy prohibiting
known vampires and wereanimals of any sort from serving

in law enforcement positions. They worried more about an
officer losing control in the presence of blood than they

worried about fairness, as far as Sam was concerned.
Officers attacked in the line of duty and changed as a result

of their injuries received a lifetime annuity and mandatory
retirement. Somehow the policy seemed fair to Sam when it

happened to his former partner, Detective Travis Boudreaux.
Of course, back then vampires and werewolves were a

novelty, something the world had just discovered were real.

Two years later—a lot had changed.

The room was more crowded than he’d expected; then

again, he’d really had no idea of what the proper protocol
was for these secret hearings. Of course, Russ Evans, the

local Alpha werewolf, and his Beta, Jet Gorman, sat on the
first bench behind the prosecution table—since he’d ridden

in the Jeep with them, their presence tonight wasn’t a
surprise. Trav was in the row behind them, probably called

as a witness, too.

Sitting at a table in the front of the room next to the chief

of police was Detective Danny Burkette, the lead

investigator on the Odd Squad. His team had a higher-‐‑than-‐‑
average number of officers placed on the Permanently

Disqualified list thanks to the risk of contamination from a
super during the course of an arrest or capture. Danny

wasn’t meeting Sam’s gaze despite their long history as
friends and occasional lovers. That didn’t bode well. As if

there was really any doubt as to the outcome of the hearing.

Sam.

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

The voice was little more than a whisper in his mind,

and Sam’s gaze immediately went back to the two
werewolves in the front row. It wasn’t them. In fact, neither

man was looking at him as they both examined something in
Russ’s big hands. What was it—his tablet computer? Sam’s

career was about to come to an ignominious end and they
were checking fucking email?

Sam.
He blinked as if somehow clearing his vision might

clear the voice in his head—the one that impossibly sounded
like Trav—but since werewolves and newbie vampires

couldn’t mind meld… He shook his head. Maybe he was

crazy and they were right to kick him off the force.

“Thank you for joining us, Detective Garrett. Please,

raise your right hand.” As he rose, the stern-‐‑faced judge
quickly administered the oath herself, then invited him

forward to sit.

“This is a small hearing, the panel made up of your

peers and myself, as the Paranormal Administrative Court
judge for Orleans Parish. I believe you know these three

members of the panel, the Chief of Police, Detective
Burkette, and Mrs. Stella Walker? They represent the three

career classifications of the New Orleans Police

Department.”

Sam nodded, and then with a glance at the stenographer

repeated his answer for the record. He fought the numbness
that was working its way up from his suddenly leaden feet.

He shuffled to the front row on the opposite side of the
center aisle from his friends and sat heavily. There would be

no comfort from the pack today.

“We have heard the sworn testimony of the witnesses to

your attack, and have a few questions for you.” She shuffled

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

a stack of papers. “Were you acting in the interest of the

public the night you were attacked by a vampire?”

“What?” Sam widened his eyes at the question. What

the fuck was this about? All police officers were considered
acting in the public interest. It was why they could remain

armed when not on duty. “I’m afraid I don’t understand the
question.”

“It’s a simple yes or no question, Detective. Were you

officially on duty when you were attacked?”

“Not on duty, no. I was armed, and since I live in the

Quarter, I always keep an eye on what’s happening.”

“Yet you failed to notice that both a vampire and a

werewolf were following you?”

“I—uh, excuse me. Are you suggesting that I was doing

something wrong?”

The judge shook her head once, more in dismissal of his

question than in answer. “Detective Garrett, I have your
medical report. I have the statements from the witnesses

present both during and directly following the attack. In the
time since the night of the attack, have you either shifted

shape or consumed blood?”

Something wasn’t right—this was not at all what he’d

been led to expect. Sure, there were officers deliberately

abusing the system, but he’d been following the rules and
he’d give his left nut to stay on the job instead of taking an

early out. He looked to Danny and for a long moment—their
gazes locked on each other—and he could swear regret

twisted his friend’s mouth just before Danny lowered his
eyes to examine the table.

Sam’s pulse raced erratically, and for a moment he

seriously wondered if he was going to be able to hold it all

together. His sharpened senses were flooded with the smell

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

of perspiration and fear, and it tasted enough like prey that

saliva pooled in his mouth as he ran his tongue over the
sharp points of his teeth. Russ growled, the rumble so quiet

Sam knew only the supers in the room heard the sound. Or
maybe the growl was only in his head. Whatever. It was

enough to pull him back from the edge of showing the old
bitch exactly what changes he’d experienced since the attack.

“Well, Detective?”
Sam cleared his throat. “I have been infected with the

lycanthropy virus. It was the only way to save my life after
an unprovoked vampire attack left me bleeding out on the

sidewalk.” His voice was flat, devoid of any hint of the

emotions swirling within him.

“And

you

are

now

living

with

the

very…werewolves…who infected you. I see.” She turned
slightly to focus on the other panel members. “It’s time to

render our decision. As the district judge, it is customary
that I review the instructions with you before you offer your

verdict.”

Verdict? What the fuck?

“The guidelines have been clearly laid out in the NOPD

Standards of Conduct, and the police union has accepted

these rules. Detective Garrett waived his right for

representation and signed a release agreeing to abide by our
decision.”

Harsh breaths filled the room, and Sam realized he

wasn’t the only one nervous about the outcome.

“Question one, as to whether Detective Garrett may

remain on duty. The rule states an infection with

lycanthropy or any variation of virus that causes shifting or
any form of vampirism is a disqualifying factor for service

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

with the New Orleans Police Department. How do you

find?”

There was no real choice for any member of the panel.

Without looking in his direction, they all mumbled their
responses, formally ending Sam’s career.

“Question two. The new guidelines state that an officer

may only receive compensation for an unwilling conversion

contracted while engaged in a law enforcement activity as
assigned by an authorized supervisor. How do you find?”

The chief sighed. Stella’s gaze darted toward her boss.

Danny leaned forward. “I want to state this again for the

record. Detective Garrett was actively involved in an

investigation with the Paranormal Criminal Investigations
Unit. I have every reason to believe the attack was in

retribution for discoveries made in the course of working
that case. My finding is the attack was precipitated as a direct

result of a lawfully ordered assignment.” Danny sat back,
breathing hard as the flush crawled up his neck. No doubt

about it, the man was pissed.

The chief nodded slowly. “I am inclined to agree.”

“Oh, me too,” Stella added quickly.
“Very well,” the judge said. Looking down at the stack

of papers in front of her, she read off the next question.

“Question three. Does the evidence clearly link the species or
nature of the attacker to the species or nature of the

conversion of the officer? If yes, is there any indication of a
personal relationship either before or after the incident

between the attacker and the victim?”

The judge held up her hand as Danny started to speak.

“Off the record,” she tossed at the stenographer. “Detective
Burkette, I understand where your sympathies lie. Chief? I

suggest the next time you are asked to supply an impartial

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

board that you consider your choices more carefully.” She

looked at Stella, then pressed her lips tightly together as if
holding in some scathing remark. “Back on record, please.”

She paused. “I am making a summary judgment on behalf of
the City of New Orleans and the NOPD.

“Detective Garrett, I am sorry for what has happened,

assuming it wasn’t your intention to become a werewolf.

However, the law is clear on the matter. You were attacked
by a vampire. Even allowing Detective Burkette’s generous

definition of ‘officially on duty’, you are not, in fact, a
vampire. That, in and of itself, is disqualifying in the matter

of compensation. Add to that your subsequent living

arrangements, I find you do not meet the disability criteria.
Your employment with the New Orleans Police Department

is officially terminated. I thank you all for your time.” The
judge stood, sweeping her robes around her legs and was

gone through the door to her chambers before anyone in the
room fully processed the situation.

The ride back to the compound was tense, to say the

least. Sam glared out the window of Russ’s SUV, barely

containing the anger that throbbed against his temples and
threatened to snap the tight grip he held on his self-‐‑control.

All the weeks he’d been working with Russ and Jet to

contain the beast that lurked right under his skin hadn’t
been in vain. He’d kept his cool, breathed deep and walked

out of the police station with his head held high. Pissed off
for sure, ready to spill some blood, but totally in command

of himself.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

“So it’s blood you’re wanting tonight?” Russ’s deep

voice shook him out of his dark thoughts, and he met the
man’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Jet’s answering chuckle,

amusingly evil, almost, almost brought him all the way back
to normal. He nodded slowly.

“I need to hunt tonight. Run, bring something down

and let the beast free. If I can’t fuck somebody to get it out of

my system, that’s the next best thing, right?” He leaned his
head back against the headrest and felt the heat in the

vehicle rise. Images of sex and blood played around in his
head, and he started to tell Jet to cool it with the mental

theater he was projecting. Sam was worked up enough, but

decided to let it go rather than start an argument.

Closing his eyes against the pressures of the day—the

fucked-‐‑up verdict, his career down the crapper, no disability
pay—Sam tried to block out the two overbearing wolves

pushing and bossing and…it was just all too much. Starting
his own internal movie, Sam envisioned the trees along the

west bank, the hanging Spanish moss creating shadows in
black and gray. The remembered smell of fresh water made

his mouth long for the coolness of the Mississippi that
would always taste like home to a part of him. The woods

would crackle with insects and smaller animals darting

through the underbrush, trying to escape the predators out
for the night. Trying to escape him.

After nearly an hour of focused concentration, his wolf

calmed, appeased with the promise of being let out to play,

Sam’s blood cooled a couple of degrees and he breathed
deeply and let his head drop back against the seatback.

Almost immediately, he felt the light touches of power, the
almost-‐‑imperceptible whisper of other minds alongside his

own.

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

Soon, pup. We’ll all run and hunt later, so be patient, little

wolf.

If Russ thought the light touch of his power was

calming him, he was fucking mistaken.

“Stay the fuck out of my head,” he growled and then

surrounded his thoughts with the mental shields both the
Alpha and his second-‐‑in-‐‑command had shown him how to

erect. The fragile peace he had managed to build in the past
hour was obliterated in the flame of the invasion of other

minds in his own. Had Sam known the price staying warm-‐‑
blooded would exact, he might wish to be like Travis. Cold,

but left the fuck alone.

Even with his eyes closed, he felt the glare from the big

red-‐‑haired man in the front. “I’m your Alpha, and don’t

forget it, little one. You are still in your training period and I
have the right to check in on the welfare of any member of

my pack—”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it, Alpha?” Sam barely held back

the contempt from his voice. It felt good to direct it at
someone, something. He felt claws straining to break free

against the leather of the armrest and ratcheted his anger
back. “I’m not pack yet, am I? And as you damn well know,

I don’t want to be. I just want to go back home and figure

out my life.”

The smack of the Beta’s power reached right through his

carefully erected shields. A little lower voltage than usual,
maybe, but it still sent streamers of red-‐‑hot fire through his

head. “You might not like it, but you damned well better
learn to keep a civil tongue in your head, boy.” Jet’s voice in

his head gave him something to focus on. He reinforced
those paper-‐‑thin walls again, but still felt—what the fuck—

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

not Russ, not Jet, in fact, not a wolf at all. If he didn’t know

better…Sam let the thought go before he forgot his point.

“Fuck you both, I’m not anybody’s boy. You might like

to play your big bad wolf games, but I’m not one of you and
I don’t think I ever will be. The time I’m willing to spend out

in West Bumfuck is about at an end. You can tell yourself all
the stories you want, but you fucking can’t stop me when I

decide it’s time to go. Now, shut up and get me back to the
Black Forest so this Big Bad Wolf can go hunt Little Red

Riding Hood.”

Russ reached across and put a hand on Jet’s shoulder to

keep him in his seat. Sam didn’t care. The past three months

had been one nightmare after another, humiliation heaped
on failure and anger and hurt. He just couldn’t care anymore.

Some days, he thought maybe it would have been better if
he’d just bled out there on that cool dark night in front of

Travis’s home. At least he wouldn’t have to put up with the
Grimm brothers.

He closed his eyes again and tried to focus on that

elusive wisp of something that wasn’t wolf in his head. Like

the voice he’d heard in the hearing room…but that was
impossible. He was tired and needed to hunt. And then he

needed to get the fuck away and back to where he could

think. Alone. Without some asshole wolf or another invading
his privacy.

****

Travis opened the door to his home and invited Danny

upstairs. Both men were somber, and Travis felt more than a

little guilty that he’d survived the Fitness Hearing, as it was
known then, with his pension intact, if not his shield. How

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

things had changed in the past two years, he thought sourly,

and damned well not for the better. Here he was, for all
accounts immortal and he’d been granted his retirement pay

in perpetuity even though he’d already been financially
secure. And a good cop like Sam who actually needed the

damned money got a royal screwing.

Bureaucracy at its best, he supposed.

“You know where the fridge is—grab yourself a beer. I

need to get out of this monkey suit and into some jeans. I’ll

fix my dinner in a minute.” Travis kept walking, shedding
his tie and shirt as he went. He heard Danny fumbling

around the kitchen, smelled the po’ boy he’d brought for his

dinner. Chuckling, he shook his head. The detective was
nothing if not predictable.

The room around him disappeared and he had a

sudden glimpse of fangs tearing into flesh, the rich coppery

blood flowing over his tongue. He licked his fangs and his
cock hardened as the dual images of blood and sex flitted

across his inner eye. It wasn’t his kind of feeding, but blood
was blood and its erotic allure made his whole body sing

with anticipation.

Then it was gone. He blinked and everything was

normal again. He could have sworn he was in the woods

there for a minute. Almost smelled the magnolias and
dogwoods blooming out in the early spring.

When he turned toward the door Danny stood watching

him.

“You okay, man? I called and you didn’t answer. Want

me to warm a bag of A-‐‑negative in your Normalizer? We

can sit and maybe watch the end of whatever bad movie’s
on TV?”

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

“Yeah, let me finish changing. Be right there,” he said,

waving Danny off. “I’ll throw something in the Easy-‐‑Bake
Oven—you just go ahead and eat.”

Danny turned and went back to the den, his laugh

trailing behind him. “Easy-‐‑Bake Oven. Whodathunk a vamp

could make a joke?”

“Fuck you too, Detective.” He couldn’t quite shake the

feeling he was missing something. Something important.

The night felt good. Cool. The wolf sped through the woods,

his four strong legs eating up the trails surrounding the pack
house. He could sense the boundaries, the smell of the pack that

marked the acres that belonged to the pack’s Alpha of the moment.

It had been in Russ’s family for three generations. Wolves were
born, not just made.

But the pack and the land were the furthest thoughts from his

mind tonight. The wolf wanted to run and let the animal take over.

He wanted to chase down something big and strong, to take it
down with his teeth and jaws. He wanted freedom to feel and let

his paws take him someplace new. He wanted…blood.

He automatically tracked the two wolves behind him, knew

they were deliberately keeping him in sight but allowing him what
they considered his freedom. Bah. Fuck them. He’d go where he

damned well wanted. He let that thought flow through the ever-‐‑

present bond that tied him to the pack, but still he felt that alien
presence in his mind. Shifted, it tasted familiar and comforting.

Before he had much more time to follow that tantalizing

thread, his nose caught the spore of a deer on the light breeze

moving through the trees budding out with new spring growth. He
salivated, and turned his wolf loose to give chase. The ground flew

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

beneath him and he neared his target, a twelve-‐‑point buck that

slowly turned to face him. His leap almost took him too far, his
adrenaline pumping and filling him with power. At the last

second, he turned his head and sank his teeth into the massive
deer'ʹs neck, tearing out its jugular.

He hit the ground and dug in his front legs, pirouetting

gracefully and spun to grab his prey by the neck and take it down.

The taste of hot blood in his mouth excited him, and he let the beast
in him take over, gorging on blood and meat until the lousy day

faded from his consciousness.

Travis jerked, snapping out of whatever world he'ʹd

been daydreaming in, and saw he was standing behind the

sofa eyeing Danny'ʹs neck. He was hard, excited, close to
coming. Fighting back the memory of hot fresh blood filling

his mouth, he reminded himself that the very idea of taking
blood from another living human disgusted him. Didn'ʹt it?

He wouldn'ʹt go there again, especially with Danny.

He turned and made his way slowly to the kitchen,

feeling as if he was waking from a long and vivid dream.
After opening the fridge, he took a plastic bag of blood out

to warm in the Normalizer. He shifted his cock in his pants
and remembered the hot new bartender he'ʹd seen at Fangs

the last time he was there. Maybe he would make the time to

visit.

“You coming anytime soon?” Danny asked.

If you only knew, he thought wryly. “In a minute. Keep

your pants on.”

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

Chapter Two

Danny had been feeling exceedingly foolish since Sam’s

hearing, and a whole lot useless. He should’ve foreseen the
problem with the change in the administrative rules, but

anyone with a modicum of common sense would realize his

attack was work related. Something about that judge tickled
at the back of his mind… He dismissed the idea for now and

turned to something more productive. The only chance he
had to make this right for Sam was to prove a causal

relationship existed between the vampire attack, the
lycanthropy infection, and his subsequent association with

the werewolves. It was a connection that had been niggling
in his brain all week.

Alone in the empty squad room, Danny unlocked his

bottom desk drawer and removed a stack of folders along

with his notes from the last case he and Sam worked

together. Their only case together. The killings had been
particularly gruesome, with each victim staked and left in a

cemetery, left to either bleed out or burn in the sun,
whichever came first. Two of the victims had been human

teenagers, the other two were recently converted vampires.
The last victim, Vincent Jourdain, was a vampire and the

former enforcer for the Fontaine family from Shreveport.
Since all the evidence pointed to Jourdain for the first three

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

killings and the murders stopped with his death, the brass

was willing to let Danny classify the crimes as attributed—
the legal term applied to paranormal crimes considered

solved but not punishable. In that case, unpunishable
because the murderer was dead.

Jourdain’s murder technically remained unsolved,

although it was generally agreed among the PCIU that

Vincent was killed under the auspices of the Vampire
Council. They tended to frown upon rogue vamps that drew

negative attention to the vampire community. Of course
there were unanswered questions, but with the subsequent

attack on Sam and the death of his attacker, the governor

and mayor decreed the killers dead and the danger to the
public gone. New Orleans was once again a safe place for

tourists to come spend their money.

Now, with the judge finding Sam ineligible for a

pension, the lingering details of the case seemed more
important than ever. So despite orders to leave it alone,

Danny was in his office hours before the next shift started,
pulling out the evidence he’d pieced together over the last

few days.

Dragging a hand through his unruly black hair, Danny

pushed the stack of folders to the center of the battered table,

ready to start on the first file. He flipped over to a fresh sheet
on the yellow legal pad and clicked the eraser on his

mechanical pencil, extending more lead.

When they’d been investigating Vincent’s death, the

local Alpha hinted that there were a few werewolves that
had gone missing over the past year—disturbing news since

the Odd Squad hadn’t been called in to investigate the
disappearance of any supernaturals. Russ had described the

missing weres as men who were not exactly the type anyone

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

would report. Although he’d made several attempts during

the past week to get Russ to tell him the names, the Alpha
insisted it was pack business. That was fine. Danny had

other resources. He scanned the small stack of folders; it had
taken some digging, but these three provided a place to

start.

Percy Montgomery. Werewolf. Age and date of

infection: unknown. Felony convictions for bank robbery,
aggravated assault. Paroled in December. Made first two

assigned meetings with the PO, then nothing. He studied the
file a minute longer, then tossed it onto the desk and reached

for another.

Arnold Barbonne. Werewolf. Age forty-‐‑two, age at time

of infection unknown. Felony conviction for illegal

possession of stolen firearms and possession of a controlled
substance. Released from Angola in February, not seen since

middle of March when he failed to show up for a court
mandated drug test.

Jasper Rollins. Werebear. Age twenty-‐‑nine, age at time

of infection, twenty. Danny set his pencil down and flipped

the first page back, scanning to verify what he already knew.
Jasper was the first wereanimal other than a wolf, and also

the first with a known infection date. Interesting. He went

back to cataloging Jasper’s criminal history. A sealed
juvenile record accessed for this investigation revealed a

conviction for assault with a deadly—a knife fight in which
two others died. There was some question as to who started

the fight, but Jasper was the only one standing at the end
and earned a three year stay in juvie.

Huh…he’d just turned sixteen at the time of the fight,

and the other two men were in their early twenties. He must

have been a big guy even before he was infected. Jasper

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

appeared to have stayed in and out of trouble since his

release. Nothing that landed him in jail for more than an
overnight, but still…several brushes with the law. Curfew

violations, drunk and disorderly, public intoxication. Hell,
that was practically a rite of passage in New Orleans. Danny

chuckled. Oh, and would you look at his place of
employment…the bear was listed as a former part-‐‑time

bouncer at Fangs. Curiouser and curiouser.

Once he’d found the pattern, it had been easy to identify

these three wereanimals as missing, if not necessarily
potential victims of a crime or kidnapping. Or maybe he’d

just uncovered an underground conspiracy. Pattern or not, it

was only a starting place. He still had to figure out why and
where they’d gone. Closing the last file, Danny stacked all

the folders and put them into his brief case along with his
legal pad and spare mechanical pencils. He looked at the

wall clock, surprised to see it was only a little past seven. He
had at least another twenty minutes until sunset and another

thirty after that until it was fully dark.

No time like the present, and a man needed to eat—he

might as well head to Fangs. Maybe he could use the names
he’d discovered so far to get the big redheaded werewolf to

tell him what had been going on in their community. Just

because he was the fucking Alpha didn’t mean he was
supposed to take care of everything. There were still laws,

and Danny was responsible for the safety of all of the
paranormals in his jurisdiction. Even if the missing men

were a bunch of convicted felons who happen to be
wereanimals.

Locking his briefcase, Danny updated the whiteboard to

let the rest of the team know he’d be in the field. With only

the five of them assigned to the PCIU at the moment, his

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

supervisory duties were minimal. The Odd Squad, as most

people called their unit, officially came under auspices of the
governor’s office. In the perpetual and increasingly high

stakes game of chicken he played with the legislature—
otherwise known as the budget process—Governor Locke

had pulled most of the senior staff to the Baton Rouge office,
leaving New Orleans woefully under-‐‑staffed. In a state as

poor as Louisiana, the politics were often dirty and always
creative. Leaving a paranormal paradise like New Orleans

unprotected was like bringing your own ants to the picnic.
The tourists were bound to get…bugged.

Danny turned out the lights and stepped into a bank of

ground fog so thick he couldn’t see two feet in front of his
own face. He stood outside the station house where their

office was located and looked north, imagined walking those
few blocks to where Trav would just be waking for the night.

It would be so easy to justify…just two cops talking shop
over a case. Except Travis wasn’t a cop anymore—he was a

used bookseller. And a vampire. Still, with all those boxes of
books Travis had stacked in his townhouse now on shelves

in the first floor of his place, and a back office full of
computers, if anyone could give him a deep background on

the wereanimal community…

With a deep sigh, Danny shook off the tempting self-‐‑

justification and turned south toward Fangs. He needed to

talk with the Alpha and anyone else who might have
actually known Jasper when he worked at the bar.

The transition from gray afternoon to full dark

happened quickly and Danny walked down the eerily quiet

street, straining to identify every noise in the muffled silence
of the fog. Ever since the attack on Sam, he’d been

hyperaware of his surroundings—the new laws protecting

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

the human police obviously weren’t any guarantee of safety.

He was mostly immune to vampire mesmerizing, but the
older ones could meld themselves to shadows and move

silently. It wouldn’t do much for human-‐‑vampire relations if
the head of the New Orleans Odd Squad turned into a

midnight snack.

As he neared the club, the driving beat of Steven Tyler

imploring him to walk this way penetrated the thick fog and
drew a smile. After a quick word with the werewolf bouncer

on duty, Danny stepped inside the cave-‐‑like interior of the
hottest paranormal club in the Crescent City.

There was no telling whether the clubs would continue

to be open to humans in the future. Currently the
fundamentalists were mounting a campaign against all

paranormals as tools of the devil. They were making some
small progress with the ultra conservatives and the

survivalist militia. On the other hand, the liberals were
shouting for all restrictions to be removed and full

citizenship rights be applied equally across all races,
genders, humans and non-‐‑humans. It was a race to the

Supreme Court, and all law enforcement could do was try to
keep up.

Two hours later, Danny was walking back toward the

station house, full from a mighty fine shrimp po’ boy and as
in the dark as ever. Damn, that catlike bartender Talon was a

tight-‐‑lipped motherfucker.

****

Henri du Champ walked out the back door of his home,

taking in the quietness of the night. To the human eye, he
knew all that could be seen were the live oaks hung with

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

Spanish moss and what appeared to be a dilapidated work

shed or barn off to the side. This close to the bayou,
everything had to be stored above ground, and it wasn’t

unusual for even the smallest houses to have a storage
building of some sort on the property.

Sparing a small smile, he lifted his head and smelled the

musky scent of sweat and the coppery, sweet smell of fresh

blood. He was pleased that Connor had the wolves gathered
and training. From the grunts and pained thuds he heard,

the matches had begun. He enjoyed the unbridled violence,
and it fit into his plans so very well. Those who survived

would be the best, the strongest, and ultimately the most

loyal. Just what Henri needed for his army.

And he’d take care of one of his little problems very

soon. His smile widened as the thought of what he planned
for his enemy. How very pedestrian to try to send a spy into the

den of a Master vampire. Well, it would be settled soon
enough.

He crossed the yard and opened the door to the barn,

the blast of hot air, blood, and fear a visceral delight to his

heightened senses. He’d feed soon, he promised himself.
Both his need for blood and sex. Pushing the throbbing in

his loins away, he caught the gaze of his lead wolf who

swiftly made his way to Henri’s side. “Report,” he
demanded.

The tall, scarred wolf stood at military at-‐‑ease, his hands

firmly clasped behind his back and his legs spread wide. His

hair was buzzed, with only the occasional wiry silver thread
breaking the thick darkness on his head. He was tall, nude,

and tightly muscled. Henri glanced over, admiring his form
for moment. While not the normal meal he enjoyed—Connor

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

was too old, too Alpha, and too…big—he certainly didn’t

mind watching the man in action. Or at rest.

Coming to attention, Connor spoke quietly, although

everyone in this room would hear his words. “I put the men
through their exercises, paired them off to train, and started

the matches. You are just in time, sir. I’m having César work
with that new bear you brought in. Should be…interesting.”

Connor’s expression never wavered, but Henri picked

up a note of excitement at the mention of Jasper, one of the

newest members of his merry little band. The bear shifter
had caught Henri’s eye as a bouncer at Fangs, and the

ruthlessness with which he performed his job had prompted

Henri to offer the man employment.

“This is his first time in the circle, correct?” At a silent

nod from Connor, Henri turned his attention to the two men
waiting in the loose ring formed by the other members of the

group. Both were huge, easily over six-‐‑and-‐‑a-‐‑half feet tall.
Their skin glistened with sweat, and Henri admired the way

both held themselves. César, one of the more seasoned and
vicious wolves, practically vibrated with violence. His large

frame was stacked with muscle upon muscle and an
unfinished tattoo of two wolves locked in combat covered

large patches of his thighs and torso.

But it was Jasper who drew his attention. The bear

shifter was loose and relaxed, apparently oblivious to

everything and everyone in the building. Henri had to
admire the stockier build of the man. What some would

think of as fat, he saw was solid muscle. The man was
indeed a bear, hairy even in his human form. Intense blue

eyes stared at Henri from the heavily bearded face, the only
acknowledgement of his existence a slow nod. Then Jasper

returned his attention somewhere over all of their heads.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

“Gentlemen,” Henri said in his usually quiet drawl.

“First blood wins. The victor will take on a special
assignment as a reward from me. Begin.”

At his words, César sprang for the large man. His hands

made a grab for Jasper, his nails already changing to claws

as the wolf began to burst forth, obviously expecting to catch
the bear flat-‐‑footed. Henri watched with interest, as Jasper

turned, neatly side-‐‑stepping the swipe meant to rake across
his chest. His expression never changed as caught the wolf

mid-‐‑leap with both hands under the ribs. Using César’s own
momentum, the bear of a man grunted softly, as his arms

went over his head and the wolf sailed through the air and

careened into four men on the other side of the ring. They
laughed and threw the snarling beast back into the arena,

and Henri snorted as he heard the slightest noise of approval
from Connor.

The wolf prowled around the perimeter of the circle,

watching Jasper for an opening. The big man remained in

human form, his shoulders forward, arms loose and long
hanging by his sides. There was no doubt from his posture

that he considered himself the ringmaster and César was
little more than a performing dog. Impressive, as attitudes

went when you considered the number of wolves

surrounding the makeshift arena. Without giving his circling
opponent the satisfaction of following his movements with

his body, Jasper’s flared nostrils and the slight tilt of his
head were the only indications he knew exactly where the

wolf paced.

The tension built as some of the men shifted, their

wolves snarling and snapping, their need to join the fight
almost palpable. César darted in low, charging at Jasper’s

ankle, probably to rip out the Achilles’ tendon in hopes of

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

disabling the big man. Jasper growled as César darted in,

back, then bared his teeth and lunged forward again.

The outcome was inevitable. Henri saw it immediately,

and his estimation of the bear grew. As the wolf opened his
jaws for the attack, a huge paw slapped down on César’s

back, pinning him to the dirt.

Whether from the fresh scent of César’s blood or the

promise of a fight, several of the shifted wolves leaped into
the ring. Jasper whirled, knocking a large gray wolf to the

ground with a mighty swipe. Another gray wolf lunged at
his throat, snapping and snarling, teeth grazing the thick

neck, drawing a thin line of blood. With a deep growl that

reverberated around the room, Jasper used his paw to catch
the wolf by the jaw. The crack of bone was sharp, the howl

of pain cut off in an instant as the wolf was tossed aside,
neck broken, dead before he hit the ground.

Connor let out a barked order to halt just as Henri

battered his way into every mind present with a single

word. Enough!

Bellies low to the ground, the wolves in the ring

quivered against the force of his command. His gaze stayed
on Jasper, curious to see how his mental order affected the

bear. The man once again stood relaxed, heart rate slightly

elevated, breath even, the façade of a lumbering giant back
in place. If Henri hadn’t been watching, he’d have missed

how quickly the bear paw reverted to his human hand.

Henri was impressed. He knew the control and power it

took to shift body parts, and despite his young age, the bear
appeared to have already mastered that feat. Henri reached

out with his mind as the man’s gaze caught his again, and
once again he was able to read…nothing. It was as if Jasper’s

mind was a lake, and any effort he made to penetrate it filled

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

him with silence and an odd quiet. Henri frowned. The man

could be a huge asset, or he could be another spy for that
infernal Fontaine family. His instincts told him that there

was more to the bear than met the eye, but every single
aspect of his past checked out. Like all Henri’s recruits,

Jasper had no family or friends. Henri could easily have him
killed at any time should he prove to be a spy.

With his gaze still fixed on the big man, Henri gave his

orders to Connor. “Impressive. Have him clean up and come

to my office in, say, an hour.”

Connor bowed slightly. “As you wish, sir.” He strode

across the enclosure, ignoring Roland’s body for now. He

glanced at César, who was shifting to heal the lengthy gash
along his spine, then headed for Jasper.

Henri turned to leave the building, his step steady

despite his painful erection. The smell of death and sweat

filled his nostrils and his appetite for blood and death rose to
a fevered pitch. His long-‐‑coveted political career would be

over before it started if the governor or his cronies could see
him now. With a small snort, he bit back the laugh that

threated and then sent a mental command to his latest
playmate. A smile curved his lips and he ran his tongue over

the razor sharp points of his fangs. He was anxious to eat,

but it would be even more enjoyable if the boy wasn’t ready
for him as ordered.

“Come,” Henri du Champ ordered his latest pup. The

naked young werewolf slouched into the room, stopping

midway waiting for further instructions. Chas? Chuck? The
name wasn’t important, particularly in light of what he’d

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

discovered. All that mattered was the boy had no pack, was

of legal age, and eager to meet Henri’s needs. Completely
ravenous, Henri focused his gaze on the young man, and

spoke quietly in the boy’s mind, repeating his earlier
command. Come. Did you prepare for me?

Chuck—at least he thought it was Chuck—nodded and,

without being asked, climbed onto the massive four-‐‑poster

black walnut bed that was nearly large enough to land a
plane. Both the custom size and steel reinforced frame were

an acknowledgement of the lifestyle Henri chose to lead.
After over three hundred years, he was not constrained by

the night in the way of a younger vampire. He did sleep, but

only for a few hours each day. He preferred to feed live, but
from his own private stock of carefully selected young

werewolves. Chuck was only one in a long line.

The boy climbed onto the high mattress, and with a

quick, mischievous look over his shoulder, he licked his lips
and wiggled his ass in the air. Groaning loudly, Henri

followed him onto the bed, leaving a trail of clothes behind
him on the floor. Kneeling behind the wolf, he used his

thumbs to test the boy’s readiness then plunged his hard
cock into Chuck’s ass. Ah, he was prepared. No matter. The

pace was fast, punishing, and all too soon, Henri leaned over

to cover Chuck’s back.

He snaked an arm around the pup’s waist to fist his

cock. Chuck arched his neck, stretching long for his Master,
submitting, giving his all. With the first pulse of his orgasm,

Henri sank his fangs deep, letting the rich, hot coppery
liquid flow over his tongue and down his throat. The little

wolf responded with howls of pleasure, his cum spilling
over Henri’s hand. Henri withdrew his fangs and his cock,

closing the wounds with a velvety lick of his tongue.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

As soon as Henri released his hold, Chuck collapsed

face first on the mattress, already in a deep, regenerative
sleep. Despite the rapid healing of most wolves, Henri’s

recent increase in appetite was taking a toll. It was just as
well; it was time to find another…snack or two. Perhaps one

of the blood addicts in the French Quarter would suffice in
the short term.

With the new plans under way, he’d been holding off

bringing a new werewolf pup home with him, instead

hoping for the chance to acquire the recently infected Sam
Garrett into his fold. His vision turned red at the thought of

the rogue vampire, Sofia, trying to kill Sam. Not because

killing was abhorrent, but goddammit, he’d had plans for
the man. He’d wanted to turn him and use him to bring

Travis home. And just who the fuck had paid Sofia? The
woman had been an assassin. Probably the fucking Fontaine

family. Again. His glance strayed to the youth sprawled
bonelessly on the bed and a smile curved his lips.

As the oldest vampire around the bayou territories, he

knew it wouldn’t be long until the police showed up to

question him again about vampire activity in New Orleans.
He was a logical contact, if not an outright suspect, and he

could ill-‐‑afford to appear uncooperative. The elections were

next fall, and he had set his sights on becoming the first non-‐‑
human to hold office at the national level. Congressman du

Champ had a lovely ring. For a start. As long as the
Fontaines or someone else didn’t try to fuck up his latest

career by framing him for murder. And if the whole elected
official path to power didn’t work out, there was always

Plan B. Maybe Plan B even if things did work out. You never
knew when you might need an army.

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

As if cued by his thoughts, the sound of an approaching

heartbeat stirred him from his reverie. Henri slipped into his
satin dressing gown and waited.

“Henri? You wanted to see me?”
The voice carried a low growl and Henri turned to find

the most recent of his new recruits filling the doorframe to
his bedroom. Aware of the man’s heartbeat and footfalls

since he’d turned down the hall, it still irked Henri that the
bear thought to enter his bedroom without invitation.

Although he’d been thinking about the need for more

food from an onsite source, Henri was too old and too

powerful to resort to settling for this…brute. Even though

he’d showered in the brief time since his challenge in the
ring, the musky scent of bear lingered. With his shaggy

brown head of hair and his face an implacable mask, the
man had an unmistakable aura of dominance. No wonder he

riled the wolves.

Power recognized power though. With his unusual

control and unreadable mind, Jasper could prove to be a
very useful tool. Or a dangerous enemy. For now, their

purposes were aligned and he would keep Jasper busy with
the necessary jobs Jourdain would have done. Eventually,

the web would close and Jasper would be in too deep to

extricate himself.

“Yes. I have a job for you. Pack a bag, you will be

traveling to Shreveport. You’d better be as good at
surveillance as you have led me to believe.”

“I am. Who’s the target?”
“Richard Fontaine. There are complete files from your

predecessor on the desk in the study. Confirm his routine.”

“Want me to do more than watch?”

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

Henri studied Jasper for a long moment, trying once

more to read any emotions behind the calm exterior. But he
could sense nothing. It was disturbing. He’d never

encountered a creature he couldn’t read to some degree—
even if it was only emotions. The very blankness of the other

man’s mind was a good reminder to keep his own intentions
close.

“The man is human, but has a few preternaturals on his

personal staff. He rarely leaves his compound. I want an

array of electronics in his office and whichever room he is
most likely to hold a personal interview he doesn’t want to

be overheard. That means use the best. See Storm if you

have any questions.” He referred to the one-‐‑legged werewolf
who monitored their weapons cache.

“I’ll have to stay up there to monitor the equipment.

How long are we talking? Should I take someone else?”

“No. I want you in place by tonight. Whatever you have

to do to make that happen, do it. Fontaine will be getting a

package in the next day or so and I want to see how he
reacts.”

“Got it. And then?”
“If he sends a team this way, I expect you to eliminate

them. Any problem with that, bear?”

Jasper’s smile was as cold as a blade of steel. “I was

hoping you’d say that.” There was no trace of curiosity

about the order, no hesitancy whatsoever. He nodded once
then turned and left the room.

When the door closed, Henri returned to the young pup

in his bed, admiring the nearly hairless perfection of the

boy’s human form. Although he preferred to dine from
werewolf blood, he had no fondness for fur. Of any type. He

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

tangled his fingers through the long silky strands of hair and

contemplated his choices.

“It is a shame you are asleep, little one. There is still so

much more we could do in the short time we have together.
I enjoy it ever-‐‑so-‐‑much more when I get to see the look in an

enemy’s eye when I take my revenge.”

Henri’s fingers tightened and he gripped Chuck’s head

with one hand. He dragged a finger down the familiar velvet
column of the young man’s neck, felt the steady heartbeat

pumping heated blood just below the skin. Desire rose, but
there was much to do this night. He gripped the wolf’s

shoulder and with a swift jerk, pulled the boy’s head from

his body. Leaning into the carnage, Henri sealed his mouth
over the spouting carotid artery and drank deeply. Ironic in

death that the boy finally sated Henri’s hunger.

Letting the body drop to the bed, Henri mentally

summoned Connor. The man appeared in less than a
minute, and Henri tossed him Chuck’s head.

“Send this little token of love and respect to Richard

Fontaine. Have it overnighted. It will be…amusing to hear

his reaction when his little spy heads home.”

A slight smile graced Connor’s lips as he caught the

bundle and turned to make the preparations.

“Oh, and Connor.” Henri waited as the wolf turned an

inquisitive gaze to him. “Jasper will be gone for a few days

on a personal errand for me. Impressive beast, isn’t he?
Perhaps we should shake things up a little? From what I’ve

seen, he could be running some of these trainings himself in
no time at all.” Think on that, you wanna-‐‑be Alpha wolf.

Connor’s face never broke its impassive expression, and

he bowed again to Henri, slightly deeper this time. Try as he

might though, Henri mused, his de facto commander

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

couldn’t hide the sour tang of anger and fear. When Connor

had come to Henri, he’d still been licking his wounds from
the loss of his position as the local pack’s Beta under Russ

Evans. Since that time, the man had proved himself the
dominant wolf in every challenge—inside the ring and out.

Now, Henri sensed a tiny crack in that confidence. If nothing
else, Connor would work the wolves even harder now. Then

they would all win…especially me. The next few months
would prove entertaining.

Dropping his robe, Henri turned his back on the wolf

and sauntered to the bathroom to wash the now-‐‑sticky blood

from his body. He heard the sharp intake of breath, felt the

wolf’s desire surge a moment before the door snicked closed,
and the footfalls retreated back down the hall.

After a quick shower, Henri stood before the mirror and

admired the new rosy glow to his complexion. He gave

himself a cheeky grin, grateful as always that the lack of
reflection was another thing Hollywood got wrong. He

brushed his long blond hair, then moved to his closet. After
considering and dismissing his club wear, Henri selected a

pair of well-‐‑worn jeans and a long-‐‑sleeved denim shirt. Not
exactly glamorous, but then he was headed deep into the

bowels of Saint Bernard Parish for this particular hunting

expedition. Even all these years after Hurricane Katrina,
only half the population had returned to rebuild. That left

acres of abandoned properties and plenty of space for
runaways and rogues to run. Especially pups who were

desperate to escape the regimented hierarchy of pack.
Whether wolf or human, teenagers the world over were

attracted to the glamor of a vampire’s lifestyle. That made it
prime hunting ground for anyone trying capture a rebellious

young werewolf to tame.

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

Stepping back to the mirror, Henri smoothed his hair

into a ponytail and secured it with a piece of leather. After
adding just enough mascara and eyeliner to make his eyes

pop, he stood back and admired the look. Oh yeah. Some
young rebel was going to get more than he was looking for

tonight.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

Chapter Three

The sun was just starting to set, and the smell of steaks

and ribs grilling made Russ’s stomach growl. The fact that
Sam was wearing an apron with “Kiss the Cook, I’ve Got

Your Meat,” a pair of denim cut-‐‑offs, and a smile made it all

the better. Reaching into the cooler, he pulled out beers for
the two of them, leaned back against the railing, and

breathed in the crisp evening air.

“I really like the view out here,” Sam said as he flipped

the porterhouses. “Have you owned this property long?” He
took a deep swallow of the beer then turned to face Russ.

Russ glanced out onto the woods and a slight smile

played around his lips. “Actually, the property’s been in my

family for four generations. Technically, it belongs to the
pack, but it’s grown over the years as the needs have

changed. We need a place isolated enough for new wolves to

be trained, but also somewhere where challenges can be met,
disputes settled, and ceremonies held, or where we can hunt

and not become the hunted.”

The fact that Sam was asking questions was a good sign.

In the five days since the farce of a hearing—it had taken
Russ two hours to keep Jet from hunting down the judge in

order to rip her throat out for messing with Sam—Sam had
gone from quiet to angry to defiant. Now, he’d settled down

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

and seemed…thoughtful. Given how Sam was struggling

with his change, Russ decided to cut him some slack.

Sam looked down at the grill, nudging the meats

around. “This place is pretty big. How often does it get
used? Seems like it would be a pain in the ass to drop

everything and run out here once a year.” He glanced
toward one of the cabins, set off at a discreet distance from

the main house.

“Well, that really depends on how many youth are

ready to turn at any given point, and how many humans
have been infected.”

Sam looked shocked. “Wait, youth? I may be slow here,

but I haven’t seen any baby werewolves. If you and Jet are
fucking around calling me ‘pup’ when there really are

werewolf-‐‑lettes out here, I swear to God I will kick both
your oversized asses.”

Russ almost choked on his beer, and had to sputter for a

moment to catch his breath. “No, Sam, I thought you already

knew most of this. Hang on and let me grab another beer
and I’ll explain. And you can take my steak off now. Mine

and Jet’s—you know we both like it extra rare.”

He took a couple of deep breaths and organized his

thoughts as he unscrewed the top off the bottle of Corona.

Sam took the thick cuts off the grill and threw two more

on to go with the baby back ribs he was barbecuing. Russ’s

mouth was watering, but he didn’t want to lose Sam while
he had him interested. “So, there are two kinds of wolves.

Those turned, like you, and those who are born, like me. We
turn at puberty, and the change is a little easier in some

ways, since we’ve been preparing for it our whole lives and
know what to expect. Plus, our bodies start changing a little

at a time beforehand. Now, when a human is bitten, the

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

shock to the body is huge. You get all the changes in one fell

swoop.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, it certainly isn’t a picnic. Bones

weren’t meant to shift and pop and crack like that. It just
isn’t natural.”

Russ let that go, because as far as he was concerned, it

was totally natural. It was in his DNA. Not changing was

unnatural to him—it would become natural over time to
Sam, too. “So, my great-‐‑grandfather—the Alpha a hundred

years ago—bought all this land out here and built the main
building. When the pack started growing under his rule, he

built the cabins—there are eight, spaced all around the

property—so new pack members wouldn’t be all over each
other while their wolves settled. It’s hard enough when you

know all this shit is going to happen, much less when it’s
forced on you.” He looked at Sam with what he hoped was

compassion, not pity.

Sam seemed to think about that for a moment, then

nodded slightly to himself. Russ readied himself for
anything.

“So why wolf?” Sam blew out a breath and ran a hand

over his shaved head. “I get you guys didn’t have much time

to choose. That bitch tore a hole in my throat and—I mean,

you could have let Travis turn me. Or let me…”

Russ pushed himself off the railing and grabbed Sam’s

arm. “That was never an option, Sam. Letting you bleed out,
it would have destroyed Danny and Travis. It was my

choice, and I did what I thought best. “

Sam searched Russ’s face and seemed satisfied with

what he saw there. “But it really seemed to put a bug up that
judge’s ass. She was upset that a vamp attacked me but that I

was living with wolves.”

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

“What she didn’t get was there wasn’t time to sit in a

courtroom and ponder the finer points of a life or death
decision. Plus, the only vampire present was Travis, and he’s

young. I’m not sure he could have turned you. I’m the
Alpha. I trust my instincts and I act accordingly. I don’t

regret it for one moment, Sam.

“Hell, we all know you wouldn’t have chosen this life

over being a normal human, but I didn’t think you’d want to
be a vampire. You’re one of the most vital men I know—

being undead—I think it would have broken you.”

Russ paused, taking a sip of his beer. “I’m not sorry we

made you a wolf, but I am sorry if it’s caused you any

unnecessary pain.”

Sam turned back to the grill, but nodded. “I don’t

remember much of it, to be honest. One minute I was on the
street bleeding out, and then I was in the room here and

hearing you and Travis arguing. I don’t even remember the
trip to the hospital in between.”

“Be glad you don’t, little one. You were almost dead,

and Jet and I both had to bite you in several places to ensure

enough of the virus got into you to make the change. And
then it was a close call. If the paramedics hadn’t gotten the

IV’s in you when they did, we might not be having this little

chat. And then when you started healing so quickly at the
hospital…well, they know the drill. They released you to my

care and we brought you here to complete the change and
continue healing.”

When Sam turned his attention back to the grill, Russ

took the plate of steaks to the kitchen to keep warm until the

ribs were finished, then wandered back inside the main
room and flopped on the sofa. Sam would need some time to

digest all he’d heard. Russ had a lot to think about too. This

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

was the first real interest Sam had expressed in learning

about the pack, yet there was still a sense of…ambivalence.
As if he didn’t mind being a wolf nearly as much as he was

struggling with the idea of belonging to the pack.

The problem was, Sam had no innate desire to be pack,

and Russ just didn’t understand. To him, his brothers and
sisters offered comfort and strength when it was needed.

Joy. Love. It was instinctive, in the DNA of every wolf he
knew to want to belong. Sure, there were rogues who existed

on the fringe, but those were men and women forced out of
the pack for some reason, who had committed a crime and

were exiled. But Sam, his powers tasted and smelled…more.

If Russ could just rein the man in and make him accept his
place in the pack, they would all benefit from the added

strength.

“I can hear you, you know. If you have something to

say, get your ass back out here and come say it. I might be
making dinner for us, but I’ll be damned if I’m your slave.”

Sam stood at the doorway to the patio.

As Russ’s thoughts were lost to a sudden throb of lust,

he doubled his effort at shielding, even as he looked the man
up and down. He was fuckable, that was for sure. Sam’s skin

practically glowed with health and vitality now that he had

wolf blood flowing in him. They healed quickly, never got
sick, and with the addition of the virus came a ramped-‐‑up

sex drive. Which had been a problem. It had been hands off
Sam for nine damn long weeks, and both he and his Beta

were practically vibrating with need.

The old ways were the best here. Wait. Establish

hierarchy, build trust, don’t fuck up. Only Russ really, really
wanted to fuck up with Sam. Contrary to popular fiction and

Hollywood myth, the last thing any new wolf needed was to

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

add the pressure of a sexual relationship—maintaining your

shape under stress was hard. Which was why the final test
before a new wolf was ready to move out on their own was

to handle sexual excitement and maintain their shape. It was
also the last link in creating pack, and Russ hoped it would

still all the niggling disquiet Sam felt over his change.

With a grin, Russ slowly rose up from the sofa.

Stretching his arms over his head, he twisted to loosen his
back and to show off acres of pure white skin, unmarked

except for the wolf tattoo on his right pec. Russ only wore
the minimum clothing necessary to maintain decorum, so

his tight work-‐‑out shorts barely contained his half-‐‑erect cock

that threatened to poke out the waistband.

Sam looked, Russ noticed. He could see the flare of his

nostrils as his wolf reached out to scent him. Russ knew the
natural male smell of another powerful wolf was

intoxicating, and licked his lips at the way the apron began
to tent outward from Sam’s groin. He’d made his point; Sam

was aware of him now. And now that he had his attention,
he could introduce the subject of pack. Again.

“You’re not my slave, but you’re a mighty sexy cook.”

Russ moved slowly across the room to stand in front of Sam,

watching the tension in Sam’s body build. The way his arms

flexed, his calves tightened, and he began to slowly bounce
on the balls of his feet. Like he was going to pounce, but was

unconsciously holding his body in place, waiting for
permission.

Sam’s gaze raked up the length of Russ’s body until he

looked all the way up, and Russ saw desire in the huge

pupils and heavy lids. He smelled the musk of Sam’s cock
and balls, and his cock throbbed with want. He growled

under his breath, and sent a mental picture of Sam on his

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

knees, his mouth open and waiting for Russ to thrust inside.

Sam’s answering groan let him know he was ready. Russ
danced his fingers across Sam’s bare chest, lingering around

a tight nipple before tugging the small gold ring. Sam closed
his eyes and leaned his head back slightly, baring his throat.

The subtle submission almost made Russ lose control of his
wolf, something that hadn’t happened in years. Not since

Jet—

Russ startled as the door to the cabin slammed against

the wall and Jet strode into the room. Sam jerked, gave Russ
a quick, angry look, then turned and went back outside to

the grill. An unusual wave of something like regret washed

across Russ, but he quickly shoved it down and turned to
face his Beta.

Jet stopped, sniffed the air and looked questioningly at

Russ. He sighed and stepped forward, pulling the big man

into his arms. He nuzzled his nose against Jet’s neck,
breathing in the clean, spicy scent of his lover. Kissing down

his jawline, Russ sought out Jet’s pulse point and grazed his
teeth across the sensitive skin above the jugular. He felt Jet

tighten, then grow hard before pressing forward in his arms
and grinding slowly against him.

Biting down slightly, Russ teased the blood up

underneath the skin, marking the man as his. Again. He ran
his hands down Jet’s back until he reached his ass and jerked

him closer. Soon, he whispered directly into Jet’s mind. Then
he pulled back and moved to the sofa, flinging his body

down and sprawling across two cushions. Jet took his lead,
but reached inside his jeans to adjust himself before taking a

seat.

“We may have trouble,” Jet said, looking around for

Sam. Where’s the pup?

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

Russ continued the half-‐‑silent, half-‐‑aloud conversation

he and Jet often used to keep others from knowing their
business. He’s making dinner. “What’s going on?”

“Not much.” Are you sure you want to talk about this now?

It involves his friends. Jet’s eyes were troubled.

I can hear you, you know. So either shield a little better, or tell

me what you’re talking about.

Russ blinked and a look at Jet’s wide eyes told him his

Beta heard Sam, too. He thought they were shielding. No

other wolf he knew was able to pick up on their private
conversations. This just gave further evidence that Sam was

far more powerful than any newly changed wereanimal he’d

ever heard of. When Jet nudged him with a foot, giving him
a questioning look, he nodded for his Beta to continue. But

he would have to talk this over with Jet later, when they
wouldn’t be overheard. He bit back a grin when he realized

how parental that sounded.

“Danny Burkette was at Fangs asking questions about

you again.” Jet held Russ’s gaze, his expression deadly
serious. “He’s still asking around about the wolves that have

gone missing. No one is talking to him. Yet. But it won’t be
long.”

“Fuck!” Russ jumped up and paced around the room. “I

told him to leave it alone, that this was a pack affair. The last
damn thing I need is for New Orleans PD or the Odd Squad

to be poking their noses into my business and jeopardizing
things. If that asshole gets close…”

“He won’t. I can make sure of it, if you want me to.”

Jet’s cool, confident voice soothed Russ’s nerves, and he shot

him a look of gratitude.

Before he could answer, Sam burst into the room from

outside. “The fuck you will. Danny is a police officer, and if

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

you think you can just go playing loose with that, you are

dumber than you look. And he’s my friend. That might not
mean anything to you, but I’d be dead if it wasn’t for him. So

back the fuck off, you understand?”

Jet leaned forward and growled low in his chest, his

wolf right there at the surface. The anger that flashed
between the other two men was so palpable Russ’s own wolf

threatened to respond and he snarled. As much as he craved
to slap Sam down, bare his belly, and force him to submit,

Russ had a different duty as Alpha. Above all, he had to
protect the pack and, damn it, Sam made valid points.

Swallowing his anger, Russ turned his will on the two

men, forcing their wolves to calm before either man shifted.
While it might prove…interesting to see who would win, he

couldn’t afford to let that happen. At least not yet. But the
pheromones in the room, the musky smell of testosterone? It

was making his hold on his own beast tenuous at best. The
time had come to bring this foolishness to a halt.

“Danny Burkette is no danger to the pack if all he’s

doing is asking questions. When and if there needs to be any

action taken to ensure our safety”—he turned the full force
of his will on Jet, who bowed his head—”I will be the only

one to make the call. No harm will come to a friend of the

pack if we can help it, and Sam, whatever you might think of
me, I consider Danny a friend to us.”

Sam stared, as if testing the weight of the promise.

“Danny is a good man. If you ever change your mind—

Alpha or not—you’ll have to go through me to get to him.”

God, Russ loved a challenge. With his hold on his wolf

close to breaking, it was either fight or fuck. Sometimes you
just had to listen to your dick.

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

He took a couple of steps forward right into Sam’s

personal space and loosened the tight hold he’d been
keeping on his arousal. Jet moved behind Sam, sandwiching

him between the pair of them. He could see, smell…taste
Sam’s desire. The temperature between the three of them

rose, and it was all Russ could do to keep from grabbing the
man and bending him over right then and there. But as

much as he wanted it, he had to go through the rituals.

Putting his hands on Sam’s shoulders, Russ caught his

gaze and began the formal request. “As Alpha of this pack,
it’s been my job to usher you through your first change, to

school you in controlling your nature, and teach you respect

in the ways of the wolf. You’ve passed every test. This is the
final one. Do you choose this final examination of your

control?”

****

Sam fought to control his breathing and pulled back his

excitement. When he had himself under control, he nodded.
“Yes.”

“Your job,” Russ growled, so close, and Sam wanted

this so much, “is to stay in your human form.” Russ took the

last step and pulled him into his arms, lowering his mouth
to catch Sam’s in a brutal kiss. Jet pressed into Sam from

behind reaching his long arms around to pull them both

close. Russ swallowed Sam’s moan into his mouth then
grabbed the strings of his apron, snapping them in his grip.

Jet shoved Sam’s shorts down and off, then reached

around and did the same for Russ. “Ah fuck,” Jet groaned,

and Sam almost lost control at going skin to skin between
the two men for the first time. He’d been needing this, his

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

body starved for contact, and with his arms circling Russ’s

waist, Sam leaned back against Jet’s broad chest. Looking
over his shoulder, Jet caught Sam’s mouth in a mind-‐‑

numbing kiss that stole his breath while Russ licked and
sucked down his neck, leaving a trail of bites down to Sam’s

shoulder.

Sam’s hips began to pump against Russ, his cock

searching out some friction and leaving wet trails across
Russ’s belly and thighs. Sam felt his control slipping, the lust

rising as his blood felt as if it were boiling. It had been so
long, and he missed the touch of another man. Russ reached

down, cupping Sam’s balls and squeezing lightly.

At his groan, Russ chuckled and tugged. “Let’s take this

to the bedroom.”

Sam reluctantly pulled back, and as he turned, Jet

pushed him forward onto Russ’s shoulder and into a

fireman’s carry. Russ carried him, sputtering all the way,
into Russ’s bedroom and tossed him on the bed.

Sam pretended to be pissed for all of ten seconds before

he gave Russ an evil grin and scooted up to the head of the

bed. He sprawled loose-‐‑limbed, his hard cock pointed to the
big man at the foot of the bed. “Somebody’s gotta turn the

grill off or the steaks and ribs will burn. There’s more than

this meat”—he reached down and stroked his shaft—“that
needs some attention. Come on, guys, it ain’t gonna suck

itself.”

Jet snorted, but turned and dashed out to the patio. Sam

watched Russ, who was looking down at Sam like he a
starving man at an all-‐‑you-‐‑can-‐‑eat bayou buffet. His balls

tightened at the hunger in the Alpha’s eyes.

“Where to start, little one?” Russ climbed on his knees

onto the foot of the bed and grabbed Sam’s left leg, pulling it

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

to his mouth and licking a long, wet line across the arch and

ankle. Sam’s hissed intake of breath earned him a chuckle.
The bed dipped beside him when Jet joined them.

Jet’s hands traced the length of Sam’s other leg, before

spreading him wide open and exposing Sam’s ass to the

both of them. Russ stroked up and down his calf and thigh,
making him tremble with fine jerks, but stopping

frustratingly short of his groin. Jet mirrored his movements,
making Sam groan and curse, hot bolts of fire going straight

to his cock.

Sam caught Jet’s gaze. “God…I need more—”

Apparently taking pity, Jet moved to catch his mouth in

a wet, hungry kiss. Russ positioned himself between Sam’s
legs, running a lazy tongue up his inner thigh and scraping

his teeth along the delicate flesh where leg met groin. He
sucked up a mark, and Sam felt the tension roll through his

body like electricity.

Sam’s hips began to pump, trying to capture some

friction. With a growl, Russ bit his hip hard enough to show
there would be no topping from the bottom. With both

hands on Sam’s thighs to hold him in place, Russ directed Jet
to straddle Sam’s chest.

“Come on, black beauty,” Sam teased. “Show me what

you’ve got.”

Russ barked a laugh. “He’s gonna do more than show

you, pup. He’s gonna choke you with it.” It was Jet’s turn to
laugh as he put his knees on Sam’s forearms and used his

long, thick hard cock to slap lightly against Sam’s face.

“Suck him,” Russ ordered, then bent to engulf Sam’s

cock in his own mouth.

Sam shouted, “Holy fuck—” only to have his words cut

off as Jet grabbed his head and fed him his length. The only

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

sounds in the room for long moments were the wet noises

and groans of the three big men.

Son of a bitch. Sam mentally cursed at Russ while trying

to keep his focus tight. This was, after all, a test of how well
he could keep his wolf subdued while being driven slowly

crazy with pleasure. Sam swore he felt his Alpha grin
around his cock. The evil bastard.

Russ came off Sam’s cock with a pop, and he got a

sudden mental picture of Russ moving his mouth to Jet’s

tight, muscular ass. His long tongue slid up from under Jet’s
balls to dart into the musky hole, and Sam chuckled as Jet

cursed the man and bucked forward, choking Sam by

thrusting deep into his mouth. Sam rolled Jet’s balls between
his fingers, aware Russ had reached up and spread Jet’s ass

with both thumbs and licked his way around the tight
pucker, spearing it with his tongue. Russ added a finger,

loosening the big man, sending the mental image to both of
them of what he had planned.

“Fucker,” Jet tried to grumble, but the word came more

like a groan. Sam laughed around Jet’s cock, and his sudden

gasp of pleasure and the tightening balls let Sam know he
was getting close.

Sam moaned when Russ reached for the bottle of lube

on the nightstand before quickly repositioning himself
between Sam’s legs. Then his vision was filled as Russ

shared again. It was almost as if Sam were watching some
weird sort of 3-‐‑D live action movie—Russ was warming lube

between his fingers, prepping Jet, then he was suddenly a
very real part of the action as the lube dribbled onto his own

cock, making him groan in anticipation. Then Russ pulled
Sam’s hips, spread his thighs and canted him up as Jet

lowered onto Sam’s cock. Sam was bent almost into a “C”

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

shape as he felt two lubed fingers move inside him,

prepping him. The wet sound of slick on cock made his
breath hitch in anticipation.

Sam’s thighs were pressed up and further apart, then

Russ positioned himself right up against Jet’s back and slid

his cock deep into Sam’s ass. Sam gasped as his ass was
breached, and he thrust up into Jet’s tightness, and was

gratified to hear an answering intake of breath from the big
man. The sensations threatened to overwhelm him, but

while he fought his orgasm, his wolf rumbled with the
pleasure, soaking it in like a pup sunning itself on a

riverbank. Russ pressed forward, filling Sam with more and

more of his length while Jet pressed down, Sam forced
himself to find a rhythm between the cock filling him and

the ass he was plowing. Sam was aware Jet and Russ could
feel the sensual bleed-‐‑over from the pleasure, and grinned as

he sensed their wolves suddenly at the surface, fighting to
come out to play.

That helped Sam settle his wolf, and he tried to separate

the pleasures that fought to force him to shoot like a kid. He

moved his hips slowly around, discovering if he adjusted his
hips, he could make Russ’s cock hit his gland while he slid

against Jet’s on the upstroke. Thank God he hadn'ʹt lost his

flexibility when he was bitten; if anything, it was enhanced.
He felt Russ adjusting his own angle minutely until he

brushed his cockhead against Sam’s prostate on every hard
stroke, and Sam began a frenzied back and forth, chasing the

dual sensation of filling and being filled. The slow build of
pleasure began in his loins, and Sam’s rhythm began to

break.

Through the bond of pack, Sam knew Russ kept one

small part of his brain focused on watching him to ensure he

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

kept his wolf under control, but this was one test he was

going to pass with flying colors. They were all safe from
sudden shifting, and hanging on the edge of their orgasms

by the thinnest of margins. Finally losing the battle to stave
off coming, Sam felt the familiar fire building in his body,

the tingling in his spine spreading to his balls and ass. He
lost the battle, and began to shoot.

Jet must have felt it also, because he grunted and pulled

out of Sam’s mouth and began to furiously jack off. Russ

began a punishing pace and just as Sam thought he couldn’t
take it anymore, he felt the walls of his ass grab Russ’s cock

and tighten. Russ pounded into Sam two or three more

times before throwing his head back and howling his
completion to the night. Sam’s own shout joined Jet’s and

Russ’s, and when the big man tumbled forward, he took his
weight gladly, the feeling of skin on his a welcome touch

Russ slowly withdrew, his low contented groan nearly a

growl as he slid completely from Sam. Sam felt Jet lifted

from his cock and pushed to one side, Russ bracketing him
on the other. All three sucked in huge lungfuls of air, and as

his vision cleared, Sam grouched, “Fuck it, Jet, did you have
to blow your load all over my face?” Russ’s chuckle pissed

him off even more.

“Marking my territory, pup. Got an issue with that?” Jet

was laughing, even as Sam clambered up and quickly leaned

over to kiss Jet, rubbing his face all over the darker man’s,
sharing the joy.

Russ rolled over and joined the two in a three-‐‑way kiss,

licking slowly across Sam’s face to catch his own share of his

lover’s spend. “Congratulations,” he whispered into Sam’s
ear. “You passed the last test. I never even felt your wolf

threaten to overtake your control.”

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

“Well done, little brother, I am very proud of you,” Jet

mumbled.

“Wait. Did I hear that right? A little louder, please?”

Sam joked, pushing his way up and rolling on top of Jet. He
straddled him, fingers digging into ribs and making the big

man laugh unexpectedly. Sam felt, more than heard, Russ
through the mental connection.

This, this is pack. The easy camaraderie, the joking, the love.

The sense of home.

Russ’s sudden gaze on him brought him out of his

reverie. “Yes, Alpha, I feel it. I do understand.”

Sam lowered himself off Jet and crouched between the

two men, carefully not touching either. The laughter died
away and was replaced with something that felt like…peace.

“I owe you two an apology. No, let me finish,” Sam said as
both Russ and Jet tried to interrupt. “I would be dead, or at

best a vampire, if it weren’t for you two. I know I haven’t
made things easy, yet you’ve done everything you can to

take care of me.” He reached a hand out to each man.
“Thank you—for my life—for everything. Thank you.”

“We just want for you to be happy, Sam. There’s a place

here in the pack for you. You could be a very big asset, and

your brothers and sisters need you here.” Jet’s tone was soft

as velvet, and Sam felt the clench of pride and love that
grabbed Russ'ʹs chest when his mate allowed his softer side

to show.

“Jet’s right, you know, Sam. Now that you can’t work

with NOPD, there’s no reason you can’t work with me—”

“No. I’m sorry, but no.” Sam still held each man’s hand,

and opened the mental link to Russ and Jet a little wider and
let them see into his mind and soul, how the pain of losing

his whole way of life weighed on him. But he also let them

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

see the appreciation, care and…love he was beginning to feel

for the werewolves.

Russ cleared his throat. “It’s okay, Sam, I understand.

This is all so new still. We all have to find our place in the
world. The pack—Jet, Celeste, Harry, Blue, all of us—we’re

family now, and you’re one of us. At least think about this, if
you would. Are you really planning on moving back to the

Quarter?”

At Sam’s nod, Russ continued. “Whatever you decide to

do, keep your senses, your ears and nose, open for anything
that might be a danger to the pack. Not because you owe

us—you don’t. But because you’re so much stronger than

you know right now. I think…well, you could be one of the
most powerful wolves of our generation with some training,

but there’s something more to you than wolf. We’ve all
touched it in you, and when you figure out what it is, we can

help you understand and control and use it. Think about it,
okay?"ʺ

Sam nodded again, and opened his mouth to say

something when his stomach growled so loudly Jet jumped

back. “Damn, little one, is your stomach trying to eat its way
out your spine?”

Rolling off the bed, Sam stood with his hands on his

hips. “Before I was so rudely interrupted”—he ducked the
pillow Russ threw at him—“I was grilling steaks and ribs.

Did you turn the grill off or down?”

Jet crossed his arms across his chest and glowered.

“Down. But I took the steaks off first and put them in the
oven to hold on low. The ribs should be about done now. I

may have been in a hurry, but I don’t ruin meat when I can
help it.”

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

Laughing, Sam turned to walk around the bed to the

bathroom, a little hitch to his giddy-‐‑up and slapped Jet’s ass
as he went by. “Good boy. Me and Russ will throw you

some of the bones later, Fido. Now, excuse me while I go
shower off, and then I’ll get things on the table. Dinner in

twenty.” He dodged the big hand aimed at his ass, and took
off at a run across the room.

Sam heard Russ say, “You know, if we share the shower

when he’s done, we have time for another round.”

“Your ass this time, Alpha.”
Sam turned back and leaned against the doorway, and

caught Jet’s predatory grin as he crawled slowly across the

bed, tracking his red-‐‑haired lover.

Russ spread his legs and lay back on the pillows. He

huffed and rolled his eyes. “If I must,” he aimed for bored,
and Sam couldn’t help but laugh.

You must, Jett whispered into Russ’s mind.
Shut up and fuck me, he laughed back.

Sam stepped back and quietly closed the door. And

erected his mental shields. He was sure Russ hadn’t meant

for him to overhear that last part. Damn his traitorous cock
for wanting him to go back in and at least watch.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

Chapter Four

Henri glanced at the wall clock anxious to hear if

Jasper’s day had been successful. The package should have
arrived at Fontaine’s by mid-‐‑afternoon—the werebear

needed to learn some manners. Henri sat curled up on the

sofa, watching the newest installment of the vampire and
werewolf extravaganza that seemed to be the rage these

days. It was amusing, he supposed, but the best part was
those luscious boys playing the wolves. He’d enjoy having a

couple of them tied to his bed while they begged…

Those dreary vampires in that stodgy old castle trying

to run everyone’s life from behind the safety of stone walls
was way too close to the truth for his comfort. The ruling

council had been in place centuries before Henri had been
made and thought they would always have power. The best

thing to ever happen to their race was that silly young man

bursting into flames on camera and exposing the existence of
the darker side of life on this planet to men everywhere. The

real power now was in melding human politics with those
smart enough to grab the opportunity and run with it. Like

me.

The sound of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts.

Thank goodness. He hit pause on the DVD player and
answered. “du Champ.”

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

“Sir, it’s Jasper. The listening devices and cameras are

all in place at Richard Fontaine’s compound. Although I
think compound is perhaps a little overkill, considering how

easy it was to get in and out.”

Henri sat up a little straighter, a grin splitting his face.

“Excellent, Jasper. Now tell me, what have you observed?
Please tell me you have more to report.”

A dark chuckle let Henri know he wouldn’t be

disappointed. “A brown truck delivered a most interesting

package today, and shall we say, Mr. Fontaine was not
amused. A bunch of people rushed into the room when he

opened the box and started squealing like a fucking pig. I

about pissed myself laughing. Suffice it to say, the head got
his attention and the message was received.”

Biting back the laugh that threatened, Henri

nevertheless enjoyed hearing that Richard had panicked. For

a human crime boss, Fontaine had never really been an up
close fan of blood and gore. He’d rather pay someone like

Vinnie—or Chuck—to do his dirty work. Some men needed
a slap across the head to gain their attention. “Anything else

to report?”

“Yes, sir. As soon as it was dark, Fontaine called

someone named Eric. After chewing his ass for quite a while

he said…hang on.” There was the sound of paper rustling.
“Quoting here…No more fucking around. Forget Garrett, I

want Boudreaux. And unlike your dead partner, get it right
this time. Make sure it ties back to goddamn du Champ. I’ve

had enough of the little prick. Then he ended the call and left
for dinner.”

Mon Dieu. This is too much. First Fontaine thought to take

Sam Garrett right here in my territory, and now he threatens my

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

own Travis Boudreaux. It is time for Richard Fontaine to pay for

his foolish arrogance.

Suddenly Henri was quite pleased with the turn of

events.

“Excellent. Job well done, Jasper. You can count on a

very nice bonus when you are back home. For now, continue
your surveillance, and report back the moment you have

anything new.” Henri disconnected the call, and stretched
back on the sofa, very satisfied with the turn of events.

Grabbing the remote, he re-‐‑started the movie and slid a
hand inside his jeans. Those cute young pups got him every

time.

****

“Tell me again why you aren’t going through the

NOPD?” Trav asked. He was trying to keep his focus. He

was in the back of a rented SUV, staring at the stiff necks of a
couple of federal agents from Homeland Security. The man

and woman in black had shown up at Moonshadows shortly
after dark and strongly insisted he join them as a matter of

national security. He’d rolled his eyes at the drama but
turned the sign hanging in the window from ‘Open’ to

‘Closed.’ It wasn’t as if he needed the income from the store,
he just needed to get rid of all the vampire and paranormal

books he’d spent two years pouring over. Once he’d read

everything he could find on his new lifestyle, he’d created a
massive paranormal database and discovered the Odd

Squad, and Danny in particular, had a need for the type of
information he’d gathered.

The man and woman in the front seat exchanged a

quick glance and although neither answered him, he listened

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

to fragments of their thoughts as they each continued to

mentally practice their prepared speeches. Roberts was easy
to read, his thoughts flowing over Travis like water. Flores

was more like trying to listen to one of those old-‐‑timey
phonographs—scratching and skipping until the whole

things was virtually indecipherable. The woman was
obviously a null—one of those with little or no sensitivity to

paranormal powers and influence. He caught enough to
realize they’d been sent to recruit some paranormals for a

special assignment before tuning out to think about what—
or rather who— might be waiting at the compound. Tonight

should prove interesting.

The headlights swept over the rutted dirt road that led

to the compound, and Travis bit back a smile as Agent Carla

Flores tried to swallow her nerves at the flash of furry leg
that disappeared into the tree line. Although it might appear

that the werewolf guarding the boundaries was running
ahead to warn the Alpha, Travis knew they were already

aware of the vehicle’s approach. He couldn’t exactly read
their thoughts from this distance, but the thundering of

amped-‐‑up heartbeats was like the promise of crack to an
addict.

Travis adjusted his crotch and swallowed the saliva that

pooled in his mouth. One of the downfalls of spending his
first two years as a vampire in near total isolation was his

lack of experience with his body’s response to humans. It
was like going through puberty all over again. Only this

time, the draw was the blood running through their veins,
not filling out their cocks.

Russ was waiting on the porch of his massive log home,

hands propped on his hips, eyes hooded, revealing nothing

to the man and woman who pulled their badges in a

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

choreographed movement. With his hair still dripping wet,

and dressed only in a pair of jeans, Russ looked as if he’d
just stepped from the shower.

Travis slowly turned his head left, then right, nailing Jet,

then Sam with a look that let the other two men know he

was aware of their presence. Not to mention the roughly five
or six other weres he sensed in the woods. Then something

else seemed to float on the air, not werewolf, not human.
Fuck…there couldn’t be another vampire in the woods,

could there? He almost laughed. Certainly not without the
Alpha’s knowledge—obviously not something he needed to

worry over.

“It’s polite to call before just showing up, Travis. What

are you doing here?” Russ said, ignoring the feds for the

moment.

“Evening, sunshine. Good to see you, too. Thought I’d

tag along and see what all the fun was about.” Travis moved
onto the porch and shook Russ’s hand, despite the cool

greeting. As one, they turned to face the strangers and
waited for an explanation.

“I’m Agent Roberts,” said black suit number one. “This

is agent Flores,” he nodded toward his partner. “We’re here

to ask a couple of questions about recent activity in the New

Orleans region. May we come in?”

Russ nodded sharply, then stood back to let Travis lead

the way inside. The pounding pulse rates of the only two
there who were purely human increased dramatically as

they followed him into the main room of the Alpha’s house.
Once inside, the scents nearly overwhelmed him and again

he fought to keep his outward appearance calm. It was close
enough to dinnertime that the chicken cooked on the grill

layered over everything in the air, the scent so strong, Travis

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

could almost taste the spicy barbeque sauce. More subtle

and definitely more enticing was the musky aroma of
werewolf and the tangy bite of sweaty sex. A tantalizing hint

of hot man sex. Russ and Jet sex—but there was also the
faintest tang of sex that smelled like a memory. Like Sam.

Fuck—fuck—fuck.

Russ led them to the seating area and pointed the agents

to the couch. Travis moved to a chair slightly out of the easy
viewing range of Flores and Roberts, making it easier to

watch their expressions while they tried to question the
wolves.

“We’d actually like to speak to all of you…” Roberts

began.

“No,” Russ interrupted. “Tell me what this is about and

I’ll assemble the appropriate people.”

“It’s about the attack on Detective Garrett,” Flores said,

her voice a pleasant contralto.

There was a momentary pause, then Jet and Sam

stepped into the room. Russ directed a dark look Travis’s
way.

“Don’t glower at me, Wolfman. They would have found

their way here without my help.” Travis kept the frown

from his voice, but he turned to study the agents. He could

feel an unexpected animosity pouring from Roberts—
nothing at all like his practiced speech in the car. What

happened to the agents’ earlier intention to sweet talk the
werewolves?

“We could have come without the vampire. We just

thought it would be easier to ask our questions with

everyone in the same location. If you give us trouble, we’ll
haul you all down to the station,” Roberts said.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

Travis was amused to hear the man think of himself as

the bad cop of the duo. He was the wrong fucking species to
try to be bad in this crowd.

Sam stepped forward. “Bull-‐‑fucking-‐‑shit. No one from

the station knows you’re here or Lieutenant Burkette would

be here, too. You have no authority here, and my attorney
would take a really close interest to your trying to get any of

us down there. Besides, I bet half the force would want to be
questioning your ass. Now, want to tell us how you managed

to show up months after the attack, yet only days after my
official dismissal from the NOPD?” Travis’s amusement at

Roberts vanished and he could practically see the waves of

irritation vibrating over Sam’s head. The idiot agent was
treading on thin ice.

“Exactly…you’re not a cop any more, Garrett. I don’t

think you’re in any—” His words cut off in a strangled gasp

as Travis crossed the room and closed his fingers around
Roberts’s throat in less time than it took to blink an eye.

He’d moved so fast, he wasn’t even sure the werewolves
followed the movement, but from the sudden eruption of

growls at the agent’s words, they’d not been far behind him.

Russ moved in close to Travis and laid a hand on his

arm. “You seem to be in a bit of a bind, Agent Roberts. You

said you wanted to ask questions, yet you come into my
home and were just about to insult Mr. Garrett. Maybe

you’re stupid, or maybe you just forgot the vampire can read
your mind. We can all sense your animosity and smell your

fear.”

Saliva pooled in Travis’s mouth, and he dropped the

agent to the couch and stepped back. The tangy aroma of
fear mingled with the lingering scent of sex was nearly more

than he could take. He needed to get these questions over

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

with and return home. Maybe another bag of synth-‐‑blood

would help. Or a cold shower. Jesus.

The Alpha’s voice was a deep rumble as he continued.

“Travis is hungry, Agent Roberts. You get three questions,
then it’s time for you to leave.”

Roberts sputtered, the rage and fear mottling his skin.

Flores rolled her eyes and put a hand on her partner’s arm.

His mouth was an ugly slash across his face as he shook
himself free. With a great show of brushing off his jacket,

Roberts finally cleared his throat.

“We understand the vampire who attacked you, Sofia

Bastian, was French, Mister Garrett.” He sneered Sam’s title.

“The senior vampire in this area is named Henri du Champ.
Is there any indication this Sofia was acquainted with or

working under the orders of the senior vampire?”

“Henri is a Master vampire, not senior. And the

investigation turned up no connection between the two.”

Roberts leaned forward, hands curling into tight fists.

“But his name is French…”

“My name is French, as well. So is yours, Roberts,”

Travis answered, dropping the ‘ts’ and using the French
pronunciation of the agent’s name. “The attack took place in

the French Quarter; Louisiana was purchased from the

French. Our capitol city is Baton Rouge. Please do not tell me
this is what passes for an intelligent interview with

Homeland Security. By the way, that was your second
question,” Travis snapped. He was beyond tired of this fool.

“You do not get to dictate to me, Boudreaux. It just so

happens, I only have one final question.” Flores rolled her

eyes again, then winked at Travis, surprising a smile from
him.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

“I would like to hear from Mister Garrett, if you don’t

mind.” He flashed a glance at Travis, then at Russ and Jet,
before focusing his attention on Sam. “The night of the

attack…the reports state that you were armed—even though
you were off duty—and walking through the French

Quarter. You were attacked just outside of Mr. Boudreaux’s
home. Why were you there?”

Sam blinked at Roberts, then turned to look directly at

Travis. Their gazes met for the longest of moments and Trav

was certain he heard the answer in his head. To ask
forgiveness. The moment passed, and Sam turned to the

agents once more.

“Why the fuck are you questioning my motives? I didn’t

do anything wrong. I was walking through the Quarter to

meet with Detective Burkette and Travis about the case. I
was attacked. I nearly died. I’m done here,” Sam said. After

a quick look around, Sam turned and stalked from the room.
The silence he left behind was deafening.

Travis heard the question in Roberts’s mind a moment

before he asked it.

“Why were you and Burkette at your place? Are you

sure you didn’t have a premonition or previous warning

about an attack? And why would Garrett be on his way to

see you, since it’s common knowledge you tried to eat his
face off—”

Everyone moved this time. Jet went for Travis, while

Flores and Russ each grabbed one of Roberts’s arms. Despite

their difference in height, the mismatched pair effectively
duckwalked the idiot agent out the front door, with Russ

carrying most of the weight.

Travis dimly heard Flores apologizing as they moved to

the car. “I don’t know what’s got into him. This isn’t what

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

we were here for. Please, tell Boudreaux and Garrett I’m

sorry. I’ll come back another time. Alone.” Then the car
doors slammed and the feds drove off into the night.

Heat rose in Travis, the need to fight, to feed, nearly

overwhelming. He twisted roughly to face Jet. The man was

a wet dream the size of Texas, towering over Travis, no
small man himself. The broad shoulders were tense with the

anticipation of fight, his big muscles bunched underneath
black velvet skin, rich blood pumping through the thick beat

of a strong heart. The rhythm was a siren’s song—
irresistible. And I can have him. No one here can stop me, no one

is as strong or as fast. He shook off the temptation.

“Let me go, Jet. I don’t want to hurt you.” His tongue

brushed against his own sharp teeth, his hunger and the

need to take what he wanted at an all-‐‑time high.

The banging of the screen door bought Trav a moment,

and he sucked in a deep breath. Jet never let go, just looked
over Trav’s shoulder toward his Alpha.

“Your choice, Jet. I won’t order it.” Russ’s calm voice

grated against Trav’s frayed nerves. “But he can’t hold on.

You need to decide, now.”

Travis snarled and bared his fangs at the wolves. They

didn’t understand. He didn’t feed from—

Jet’s intentions hit Travis a moment before the press of a

hot wrist against his lips. No longer capable of thought, his

fangs pierced the dark, tender flesh, found the radial artery,
and oh-‐‑my-‐‑fucking-‐‑God. Nothing had prepared him for the

rich, gamey taste of werewolf as the blood pumped into his
mouth, splashing against the back of his throat. He closed

his eyes, drinking deeply.

Images brushed against his mind as hands soothed over

his skin. Standing in Henri’s living room, looking at the pale,

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

thin werewolf, his sire’s smile smug, knowing. Henri

fucking the young werewolf, drinking deeply until the boy
collapsed. Henri, watching him…

“Travis…” Russ’s solid voice pushed back the darkness

of the Master. “Let go, now, Trav. It’s okay. We’ve got you.

Let go now…” Hands, holding him, pulling at him until he
released Jet. It took him a long moment to regain his sense of

time and place. Travis pushed to his feet, no memory of how
he and Jet had landed on the floor, no memory of Russ

kneeling to join them.

Shame washed through him, his mind a dark fury of

bloodlust and need. He was nothing but a fucking blood-‐‑

sucker, no better than the bastard who had stolen his life.
Brushing roughly at the hands of the other two men who

were offering undeserved comfort, Travis turned and bolted
for the door, running into the night. Trying to outrun the

truth of his existence, desperate to find release from the
never-‐‑ending thirst.

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

Chapter Five

Eric Saint Pierre was a very happy man. Earlier this

evening he’d perched on top of a building in a narrow
French Quarter street, watching the townhouse that Travis

Boudreaux called home. He’d long grown weary of playing

Fontaine’s human games but it seemed Master du Champ
had upped the ante in the battle for control over the bayou

region of Louisiana. In truth, Eric assumed his boss, would
lose in the long run, but Eric would take the man’s money

for a while longer. At least until he was able to destroy the
fledgling vampire and work his revenge on all those who'ʹd

had a hand in his Mistress’s destruction.

He’d already had a plan in mind, something beautiful in

its simplicity, and was prepared to execute it when the two
humans—a male and female, looking suspiciously official—

knocked on the door to Boudreaux’s townhome. Pulling the

shadows tighter around himself, he’d stayed and listened as
the agents persuaded Travis to accompany them to the

werewolf compound so they could interview Sam Garrett.
Just the mention of the former detective left him stiff with

pain at memories of his loss. While Sofia was a harsh
mistress, she was also a wistful romantic, and their love

affair began months prior to his decision to ask her to turn
him.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

Quickly abandoning his earlier plan, he followed the

trio out to the werewolf grounds. His maker taught him
well, and while the woods stank of fur and sweat and

animal musk, he avoided detection from the wolves below.
Perched high in a tree, he overheard almost the entire

exchange and was able to lightly glamour Agent Roberts,
enhancing the more unpleasant aspects of his personality

and creating enough dissention that his own presence was
undetected.

Ah, perfect, he thought when Travis fed deeply from the

big Beta wolf, then bolted and disappeared. Boudreaux’s

remorse and self-‐‑disgust were too good to ignore. What

drama. The foolish young vamp didn’t drink fresh blood?
Perhaps Eric would feed him the blood of Sam Garrett just

before he staked the fledgling and left him for the sun.

Putting aside the amusing thoughts, Eric knew he

couldn’t pass up the chance to cause more trouble for du
Champ. Despite Roberts’s performance with the

werewolves, they still planned to play a surprise visit to
Master Henri; he couldn’t have written this better had he

planned it himself. Attaching himself to the top of the
vehicle on cat’s feet, he patiently waited until the car was on

the final isolated stretch of road that marked the entrance to

the vampire’s land.

Eric had been tracking Boudreaux and the Odd Squad

Lieutenant enough to know they’d once been trapped in a
crypt in the cemetery and had sex…it would be a perfect

place to play out the little scene he had in mind. With a
mental nudge so slight it was child’s play, he guided Roberts

to stop at the cemetery and leave the safety of their car. The
man must not watch enough horror movies—Eric flew to

crypt and waited to collect his prize.

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

Eric almost laughed out loud at what he pictured du

Champ would look like when the police arrived to question
him once the bodies were discovered. In fact, he might place

a call, just to speed things along.

****

“Come on, Roberts, get back in the car. We need to go

see du Champ before daylight.” Agent Carla Flores was sure
they were in big trouble, but as a null, she couldn’t sense the

forces driving her partner to act in such an uncharacteristic
manner. Of the two of them, he was usually the more

soothing influence at a crime scene. It wasn’t hard to figure
out what was going on…someone was manipulating his

thoughts and actions.

Roberts was a sensitive, a normal human who was

hypersensitive to the emotions of others. His empathic levels

were off the chart, which had been an advantage in their last
case. Roberts had easily cracked the defenses of the new

werewolf who’d forgotten to muzzle his urge to bite during
sex with his human wife—not much of an investigative

stretch, but every little bit helped. Of course this wasn’t
actually a case. They were here to research and possibly

recruit new members for their team. After her partner’s
performance at the compound, she doubted anyone would

want to join forces with them.

Dead leaves combined with the perennially damp

ground of lower Louisiana made the path treacherous in the

dappled moonlight. Carla walked between the massive
branches of the dark trees. Something brushed against her

cheek and she stifled the shriek that tried to escape as she
brushed frantically at her face. A spider web. Jesus.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

“Come on, Roberts. We gotta go now…” Pretending her

voice didn’t quiver, she forced herself to look around at the
elaborate aboveground crypts and mausoleums that lurked

in the shadows, the iron work and statuary weathered
testament to by-‐‑gone eras.

The silence got to her, and she fought the urge to call to

her partner again. She strained to hear anything other than

her own heartbeat as her pulse raced uncomfortably fast.

Creepy she could do just fine, but the lack of sound just

wasn’t right. She’d grown up in the city—the big city of
Omaha, Nebraska. People met her and thought New York or

DC tough, for sure, and it amused her to no end the number

of dropped jaws when she came out as a Huskers fan. She’d
grown up with flat fields and nights filled with fireflies and

crickets and noise. Not this damned unnatural quiet that
sent shivers up her spine.

And now her partner was wandering around the side of

some spooky-‐‑ass mausoleum for God-‐‑knows what reason.

She just bet it was the super who was screwing with his
mind, though. Carla sighed; she hoped it was just some pixie

or fey wanting a little fun, or a young vamp with nothing
better to do. Good thing she was immune to the mind

games—she could corral Roberts and—please dear God—they

could just get back in the car and out of this fucking
cemetery in one piece. Then they could compare notes and

put this clusterfuck of a day behind them.

“Come on, James. It’s late, I’m tired, and I want to take

these damn shoes off sometime soon. We still have to talk
with du Champ and you promised me beer. Keep this crap

up and I want tequila. The top shelf stuff too.” She drifted
closer to the entrance of the crypt and paused. The door was

open? Why would it be open? With a hard swallow, she

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

fought down the brush of panic threatening to turn her

around. God, she did not want to go in there.

Edging closer to the white marble that framed the

doorway, she slapped her hand around the butt of her Glock
and pulled it from the holster. The feel of hard metal calmed

her frayed and frazzled nerves, and as she eased into the
darkness of the tomb, she thumbed on the flashlight app on

her cell and whispered, “James?”

Carla almost, almost wasn’t surprised by what she saw.

Her partner was standing against the cool stone, his hand
loosely on the waist of the taller man holding him in place

with one hand on his neck. It was as if Roberts’s jaw was

held in the caress of a lover. Her first impression was that
she’d interrupted a private and intimate moment, and she

would have backed out had it not been for two things. James
was straight, married with two kids, and the man who at

first blush appeared to be kissing him had a dark smear she
knew was blood across his face.

Quicker than she thought possible, the man’s other

hand snaked backward sending her gun and cell phone

clattering to the floor, and Carla found herself next to her
partner against the wall. That strong hand was wrapped

around her neck, and no matter how hard she clawed and

pulled, the painful grip that tightened ever-‐‑so-‐‑slowly didn’t
budge.

“Hello, Carla,” the surprisingly firm and pleasant voice

purred. “James has all sorts of nice things to say about you.

Of course, your being a null, I won’t be able to take away
any of your pain or…discomfort.” He gave a little chuckle.

“But to be honest, I’ve found a little adrenaline adds such a
nice zest to blood. Rather like chili oil with chocolate. So

you’ll forgive me if I take my time, won’t you?”

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

He leaned back to Roberts, who turned his head toward

her and opened his eyes, a far-‐‑away smile on his face. Carla
could only imagine where he was in the moment, and didn’t

begrudge him the lack of pain and fear. It was unnerving to
hear the wet sucking noises, to see James getting weaker and

weaker with that goddamned loving smile on his face. She
closed her eyes, trying to find anything to take her mind

away from the picture of him actually enjoying being
violated like that. The thought of him thinking about Lily

and the babies, or maybe their second honeymoon in Hawaii
while his life was sucked out of him made her want to

vomit.

The vamp’s grip tightened a little more around her

throat, and she was able to suck in just enough air to keep

from passing out. She calmed her own mind, fighting back
her body’s panic at suffocating, and grasping at straws, she

pictured Charlie. How they’d snuck off after homecoming
her senior year and discovered how much she really loved

those calloused hands he was so ashamed of, and what
wonderful things they could do to her. When the man’s

mouth moved to her neck and the pain began, her eyes flew
open and she lost the memory that had brought her such

peace. Roberts limp figure was splayed out in the shadows,

his limbs akimbo like a rag doll tossed aside by a petulant
child.

Everything started to go dark, and she closed her eyes

against the pain of that demanding mouth against her throat,

so very different from the tender kisses Charlie laid on her
neck all those years ago. These bites hurt and tore, and she

felt the creature’s laughter, cruel and evil, against her flesh.
The blood loss was making her weak, but the pain went on

and on. In the moment before her mind shut down and took

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

her blessedly away from this hell on earth, her last thought

was, Ah, Charlie, I should have tried harder.

****

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Danny paced the small porch, waiting

for someone to answer the bell. Yeah, he should have waited
until another investigator from the squad could come along,

or maybe even tried harder to track down Travis, but there
was only an hour until sunrise. With two dead feds

practically on du Champ'ʹs doorstep, there was no time for
niceties. What the fuck was Homeland Security, of all things,

doing in these parts, anyway? And why hadn’t anyone
thought to tell him?

The door slowly opened but the young werewolf who’d

been here the last time had been replaced. This young man
looked a whole lot paler and held tightly to the door.

“What the fuck do you want?” He spat the words, his

voice strong and deep, despite appearances.

“Lieutenant Burkette to see Mister du Champ.” Danny

stepped forward and delivered the required legal warning—

a Miranda-‐‑type warning delivered to all parties whenever a
crime or investigation might have links to the paranormal

community. “This is an official Paranormal Criminal
Investigation Unit murder investigation. I am acting within

my capacity as an authorized law enforcement official. You

are hereby notified that any interference by a paranormal
may result in punishment under the Police Protection Act.”

Legalities out of the way, Danny said what was on his mind.
“Now, I suggest you get the fuck out of my way.”

Leaning forward, the new wolf-‐‑boy whispered, “I hope

he eats you for breakfast.” Then he stepped back and in a

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

conversational tone they both knew would carry to the

vampire’s sensitive ears, said, “Henri, the Odd Squad is
here.”

Danny stepped inside and headed for the same room

where he and Travis had met with du Champ the last time

they’d visited.

The deceptively young looking du Champ lounged on a

maroon chaise, reading a book if the scene were to be
believed. It wasn’t, but there was nothing immediately

visible to indicate what he’d been doing prior to Danny’s
arrival. What exactly did this three hundred year-‐‑old

vampire do every night? Most of the other vampires he

knew had jobs, hobbies, friends. Henri du Champ was the
oldest vampire in the city and a Master. And a complete

mystery.

There was no point in trying to be creative and make up

a cover story; the vampire would be reading his thoughts.
He didn’t care, he had nothing to hide and it saved time in

interrogation. Danny walked to the sideboard and poured
himself a drink while letting what he knew of du Champ run

through his mind.

There was no doubt Henri sired other vampires, but

other than Travis the only recorded fledglings were turned

by request. Like Jourdain. Talk about your sociopath. Jesus.
This Master vampire had bizarre tastes. Or was there a

method to his madness? At any rate, the powerful vampire
kept a relatively low profile in the blood clubs, preferring to

use regular donors from the rogue wolf community…and
apparently, the younger, the better.

Rather than waste what was left of the night for either of

them, Danny repeated the required legal warning, then

started with the real question he’d come to ask.

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

“What do you know about the two dead federal agents

we found just outside your estate, Henry?”

The vampire’s face was a perfect mask, full of blond-‐‑

haired, blue-‐‑eyed innocence as he stared back, but
something told Danny this was news—and definitely not

news he welcomed. After a pause somewhat longer than
was polite, he drawled, “Do tell?” Another pause.

“Lieutenant.”

“Good question. Since we both know you’ll have the

information sooner or later, I’ll give you the official version.
Two agents from Homeland Security were found in a

cemetery just outside your property line. Their bodies were

propped outside the same crypt where Travis and I waited
out the daylight when someone tampered with our vehicle

after the last time we visited you. Both agents had wounds
on their necks consistent with vampire bites and their bodies

were drained of blood. Was that your work, Henri?”

“I know nothing about these federal agents.” Henri

flicked a glance at his wolf, and the young man hurried to
join Danny at the sideboard. He poured his Master

something deep burgundy in color, and for a moment
Danny fancied the vamp was going to have a glass of blood.

Then he saw the label of the bottle was a pinot noir from

France, and hid the smile that threatened. If the vamp
thought a little glass of blood would throw him off his

stride, he needed to try harder.

“I am not trying to throw you, Lieutenant. I have

nothing to hide. I am quite distressed to hear there were
murders, particularly if law enforcement officials were

involved. I take this very personally and will do all I can to
bring justice to whoever is responsible for these murders.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

“We appreciate that, Henry. I still need to ask. Where

were you between eight and midnight tonight?”

“I was right here.”

“Can anyone verify that?”
“Well, I’m certain that any number of the staff will

confirm it, however, Chuck and I were quite…involved from
eight until nine—

“Howard—” The young man’s lower lip stuck out

slightly. “My name is Howard.”

Danny laughed and du Champ rolled his eyes.
“Yes, of course it is. As I was saying, Howard and I were

busy until nine. Then I gave some orders to the staff.” He

frowned, as if deep in thought. “I was on the phone with
Governor Locke for close to an hour, although I’m not

exactly certain of the time we ended the call.”

Danny resisted the urge to sigh. They both knew the

governor would put the kibosh on any further questioning
of the vampire without a great deal of solid proof of his

involvement. Money and politics talked loud in Louisiana.

“Give me the names of all vampires in residence with

you, Henry.”

“Henri,” the wolf-‐‑boy hissed.

Danny looked up, blinked innocently. “There is a

second vampire named Henri, Howard? Did you sire him
like you did Travis?”

A growl rumbled through the room, and Danny

realized it was actually the vampire, not the wolf who was

reacting to the questions. Score: Danny one, Vampire Twink
zero.

“There are no other vampires in residence here. And my

name is pronounced Henri.”

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

“Oh. My bad. How many werewolves did you say lived

here?”

“I thought you were investigating a vampire murder,

Lieutenant?”

“Never know what might be relevant in a murder

investigation. How many of your staff are werewolves? Do
they fall under the control of the local pack leadership?”

They both knew he was fishing, but Danny figured it was
worth a shot.

“My staff members are not involved in this crime. We

have nothing to do with the local Alpha. Now, if that will be

all?”

“Why did you attack Travis Boudreaux and turn him

into a vampire? And did you have anything to do with the

attack on Detective Garrett?”

Henri’s lips disappeared into a thin, straight line. “It

would be a shame if your boorish behavior interfered with
your career, Lieutenant, now wouldn’t it?”

Danny dug in his heels and tried once more—knowing

it was probably the only shot he’d get. “So, is there some

kind of vampy shame for a Master when a fledgling shuns
you, the way Trav has? Cause I got to tell you, the man is

mighty fine in the sack… and damn, I heard that you missed

the boat with Sam, too. Makes this poor little old human
almost feel sorry for you. All you have is little wolf-‐‑pups to

keep you warm at night.” Score: Danny two, Angry Henry
zero.

“I could wipe the memories of them from your mind.”
Danny grinned and he knew it wasn’t a nice look.

“Maybe. But you still couldn’t remove their memories of me,
could you Hank?” Turning his back on the old one, Danny

had a hard time gathering enough spit to whistle, but he was

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

determined to show no fear. As he walked away, he kept his

limbs loose, his stride even, and maybe his shoulder
bumped a little hard against the werewolf on his way out

the door. Danny wished he could be certain he had won that
round.

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

Chapter Six

The little bell jingled as Sam pushed open the door to

Moonshadows. His eyebrows rose at the changes that had
taken place over the last two months. The last time he’d been

in Travis’s place, the downstairs floor of the French Quarter

townhouse had been nothing more than a room filled nearly
floor-‐‑to-‐‑ceiling with moving boxes. Stacks and stacks of

books, the evidence of all the reading Travis had done over
the past two years. Now the place was filled with heavy

antique bookshelves and a few well-‐‑placed reading nooks
tucked in at the end of some of the aisles.

Scenting the air, Sam confirmed that other than about a

million dust mites, he and Travis were alone. No time like

the present…he took a steadying breath, then called out,
“Trav?”

“Back here,” Travis answered from somewhere in the

back of the first floor. The building had been converted
several times in its hundred-‐‑year history, and Sam admired

the exposed brick interior and polished hardwood floors that
added to the deep Creole charm of the three-‐‑story structure.

Passing through the large front room, Sam entered a smaller
space that might once have been servant’s quarters. Trav

had turned the space into a strangely high-‐‑tech office for a
bookseller.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

One wall was covered in pastel-‐‑colored maps—the

United States, North and South America, Europe, Asia, and
Africa—with a large smattering of red pins and fewer other-‐‑

colored pins marking locations. Another wall contained a
built-‐‑in bookshelf, and a drafting table took up most of the

floor space. The computer desk looked like something from
NASA, with two giant iMac computers humming softly

while Travis’s fingers flew over the keyboard.

“Hang on, Sam…” Trav said without looking around.

Completely distracted from his purpose in coming here,

Sam stepped closer, looked over Travis’s shoulder, and

realized that he was entering information into a form that

was similar to the input screen used on the national criminal
database. In addition to the physical description,

supernatural abilities were listed—each in their own field—
making the entire database searchable.

“Hey, Danny told me about this. You’ve been adding

information about all the supers in here, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve got it down to a pretty simple entry form

now, but the volume gets overwhelming if I don’t add the

new info daily. I modeled it on the NCIC database, added a
touch of Interpol, plus the freak factor and voila.”

Sam laughed. “The freak factor?”

Travis turned, his hazel eyes warm, smile easy. “Yeah,

you know. Vampire, werewolf, basilisk, wood nymph…the

usual.”

“You’re shitting me! Right?” Sam turned to study the

pattern of pins on the maps. “It’s mostly just werewolves
and vampires, right?” He’d heard reports of other types of

wereanimals—the big cats, bears, even rumors of a deer
shifter or two—but that was it.

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

Laughing hard, Travis shook his head. “Ahh…Sam.

Always the optimist. You won’t believe the supernatural
creatures I’m discovering. Lions and tigers and bears, oh

my!” The smile lingered as the moment spun out. His eyes
warmed, and he turned his full attention to Sam, his voice

softening. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” Sam raised his arms and stepped

forward just as Travis put out a hand to shake. Feeling
awkward as hell, Sam dropped his arms and reached to

shake Travis’s hand just as the other man stepped forward,
arms open to give a hug. They laughed again, and then Sam

was in Travis’s arms and they were hugging. Hard.

So fucking sorry…
God, I didn’t mean…

The thoughts and emotions flowed seamlessly between

them, comforting, warm, healing. Sam closed his eyes, laid

his head on Travis’s chest for a brief moment and breathed
him in, letting the past wash away and finding all that had

been good between them.

I wonder if a werewolf and a…

Could a vampire and a…
As suddenly as the embrace began, they dropped their

arms and stumbled back, as if stung. Sam rubbed his arms,

feeling unaccountably bereft at the loss of contact.

“What the hell was that?” Sam whispered. “Are vamps

and wolves supposed to be able to do the whole woo-‐‑woo
mental talking thing? I thought it was limited to pack

members or blood servants?”

Travis’s brows drew together as he studied Sam for a

minute. “I don’t—”

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

The jingling front door bell cut through the silence of

the shop, and Sam’s anxiety lessened as he felt the
unmistakable warmth and comfort of pack.

“Trav? Sam? You’re here, too? How come neither one of

you answered your cell phones?” Russ’s deep voice rumbled

toward them. Sam’s spidey-‐‑senses—make that wolfie-‐‑senses—
registered the unmistakable presence of the big man and his

Beta in the next room. And…someone else he didn’t know.
Not pack—he didn’t sense the wolf bond—but since

whoever was there with Russ and Jet, he didn’t go DefCon
Three. Yet.

“We’re in the back office.” Travis maintained steady eye

contact for a moment longer, even as he answered for the
both of them He finally released Sam from the strength of

his gaze and moved toward the door.

Confused, Sam carefully shielded his troubled thoughts

about what had just happened with Travis. Russ and Jet
might be able to feel his turmoil, but he’d be damned if he

really wanted to share the details with any of the wolfpack
before he had time to talk more with Travis about it and

think about what it might mean. He looked through the
open doorway toward his Alpha, his eyes confirming what

his nose and ears had already told him.

Russ was not alone. He leaned against one of the large

bookcases, while Jet stood next to another man…a human.

And no one man appeared to be particularly happy about
the situation. The difference in their sizes was almost

comical, Jet practically dwarfing the other man. Sam snorted
and mentally shot a Mutt and Jeff image to Jet, who frowned

and sent an image of Sam across Jet’s lap being paddled. In
your dreams, Fido.

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

Focusing his attention back on the newcomer, Sam

immediately recognized that everything about him, from his
close-‐‑cropped hair all the way down to his poorly polished

clunky black shoes, telegraphed that the man was a fed.
Maybe Agent Flores had convinced the powers-‐‑that-‐‑be that

her dickweed partner, Agent Roberts, had royally fucked up
his questioning and was no longer welcomed back. He

stepped further away from Travis, sighing with resignation
at the idea of another interview.

“What’s up, Russ?” Sam asked. He pointedly let his

gaze linger on the stranger. He wore a cheap charcoal gray

suit, cut big around the chest, but not quite big enough to

hide the holster bulge. The starched white collar of his shirt
pinched his neck, and the long maroon tie was a clip-‐‑on.

From a distance, his silver hair gave the impression the man
might be close to retirement, but as he moved closer, bright

green eyes and smooth skin told a different story. The gray-‐‑
on-‐‑gray palate was camouflage for a man in his early to mid-‐‑

forties who didn’t mind leaving his audience with a fucked-‐‑
up impression.

Without waiting for introductions, the man flipped

open a leather wallet to reveal a Homeland Security badge

with one hand and, moving to Travis first, stuck the other

hand out to shake. “Special Agent-‐‑in-‐‑Charge Clinton Wayne.

“Travis Boudreaux and Sam Garrett,” Travis completed

the introductions as they shook hands.

Sam put out his hand to shake, but couldn’t resist a little

dig. “So do Roberts and Flores work for you? Because,
honestly, Roberts is less than impressive when it comes to

building any kind of a rapport with witnesses.”

If possible, the man went simultaneously red and a little

more gray, anger rolling off him in waves strong enough to

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

taste. “Not any more they don’t. Special Agents Flores and

Roberts were killed last night shortly after leaving the
Alpha’s—Mr. Evans’s—place.”

Other than Jet’s soft growl, the room remained silent as

the men waited for the rest of what was coming. Sam

exchanged a carefully bland look with Travis, his shields
firmly in place to block the fury flowing like water over his

psyche from the Beta.

“We received an anonymous tip shortly before dawn.

They were found slumped together against the door to a
crypt in a cemetery near Henri du Champ’s home.

Preliminary forensics show both agents have what appear to

be marks consistent with vampire bites, and both were
drained—”

“And you’re here because I’m a vampire,” Travis

interrupted, his words a statement rather than a question.

Despite the lazy drawl, Sam sensed the tension in his former
partner’s words.

Special Agent Wayne blinked at him and Sam saw his

throat move, the dry swallow audible to everyone in the

room. “Yes…and no. I’m here because I fucked up and sent
good people into a situation they weren’t prepared to

handle. And I’m here because you’re a vampire and a cop.”

His gaze shifted past Sam and Travis, over their shoulders
into Travis’s office to the wall of maps that ran the length of

the room, then settled around the small group of men. He
sighed. “It’s a bit of a story—do you want to talk here?”

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

Chapter Seven

Travis stood in the kitchen, contemplating his mostly

empty cabinets while the three werewolves and one human
spaced themselves around his third floor apartment.

Although the townhouse was technically classified as a

single-‐‑family residence, he’d only ever renovated the top
floor as living space. The second floor was still empty except

for storage boxes, and the first floor was now his used
bookstore—or would be if he ever stuck around enough at

night to keep it open for more than an hour or two at a time.
Maybe he should hire someone…

Bringing his mind back to the problem at hand, he

realized he had guests and only a few bottles of water and

Danny’s beer to offer. It was a bit early in the evening for
beer if they were going to be working. He scrounged around

in the cabinets for his old coffeemaker, and found a bag of

unopened coffee hiding in the back of his fridge. Maybe
there was enough chicory in the blend to mask any hint of

staleness in the two-‐‑year old bag. When he opened the
vacuum seal, the heady aroma filled his senses. Why had he

given up coffee? Hadn’t he learned that despite all the
Hollywood myths, vampires could still enjoy the flavors of

their favorite beverages?

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

His gaze settled for a moment on Jet, then slid over to

where Sam sat in one of the big, leather club chairs. Thinking
about favorite drinks could get him in a lot of trouble. He

swallowed hard and shivered at his recent craving for warm
blood straight from the tap and pulled a fresh bag of Synth-‐‑B

from the fridge. Tuning his mind back to the conversation in
his living room, Travis popped the blood into the

Normalizer and got out fresh mugs.

“I take it from your reactions downstairs that the

murders are news to all of you?” Special Agent Wayne
asked.

Heads around the room bobbed in agreement, but no

one spoke.

“Okay, here’s the deal. I sent Flores and Roberts to New

Orleans under the guise of interviewing Detective Garrett—
”

“Former detective,” Sam interrupted, barely hiding his

bitterness at the turn of events.

The silver headed man nodded. “Agreed. Former

detective. I’ve read the file, seen the photos. NOPD was

wrong, but that’s neither here nor there. Or maybe that’s
exactly the point…” Clinton Wayne blinked rapidly and

turned his head away.

Travis met Sam’s look and shrugged. Giving the man

time to recover, Trav put the mugs on a tray and carried

everything to the coffee table. Russ sat on one end of the
couch, the fed on the other. Jet sat across from his Alpha,

keeping his back to the wall and providing a clear view of
everyone—watchful, as always.

After depositing the tray, Trav took the recliner. “So

why don’t you tell us what this is all about, Special Agent

Wayne.”

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

“Call me Clint. Thanks for the coffee. It’s been a long

damn day, so I’m going to cut through the bullshit here.”

“We appreciate that. You can call me Trav, and that’s

Sam, since neither one of us have much use for official titles
anymore.” He looked to Sam in a show of solidarity, and

Sam nodded in agreement.

Blowing out a breath, Clint began. “Homeland Security

has been mandated to establish a federal level special unit to
monitor crimes involving supers. Certain crimes—some

committed by supers, others committed against them—are
beyond the capabilities of most current law enforcement

units to investigate, solve, and most importantly, bring the

perpetrators to justice.”

“Oh boy…is this where the feds come in and take over

for the locals? Pull our bacon out of the fire?” Sam’s accent
was thick as molasses, a sure sign he was getting pissed.

Trav looked down to hide his smile.

Apparently sensing the anger just below the surface,

Clint held up his hand in a universal stop sign. “Hear me
out. You aren’t law enforcement officers anymore.”

“Ouch,” Jet observed drily. “Kicked out of the LEO

dogfight. What will you do?”

Russ growled.

“Homeland is just getting its shit together on this—

frankly, we expected it to go to the FBI. So while there'ʹs a

nice safe office in the main Interior building full of
employees monitoring computers and analyzing crime data,

my job is to set up a special field unit. I sent the only two
agents I had into a situation they weren’t equipped to handle

and now they’re dead. That’s on my head. I won’t make that
same mistake again. So if you don’t like my attitude, tough

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

shit. I’m not here to play politics or hold hands and sing

kum-‐‑ba-‐‑yah to make the locals feel better.”

“Is that why Lieutenant Burkette wasn’t invited to this

little confab?” Sam asked.

“Partly. I’m already working with the locals and the

lieutenant on the murders. At the moment, there’s no
indication that their murders were directly related to their

reason for coming to New Orleans.”

“Which was?” Travis sipped from his mug of blood and

listened to the confused turmoil of the agent’s mind while he
waited for an answer to his question. It was like listening to

a radio not quite tuned to the correct frequency—lots of

static and white noise. Not exactly like a null—very unusual.

“Flores and Roberts were here to try to recruit you.”

Sam leaned forward in the chair, looking prepared to

pounce. “Excuse me? Recruit who? For what? They showed

up, grabbed Travis and had him bring them to the werewolf
compound. Agent Roberts then proceeded to insult

everybody there and make a complete ass of himself. If he
was the best recruiter you have…”

“Had.” Agent Wayne glared at Sam for a moment. “If

he was the best I had. And yeah, I got that. I went to the

compound first and spoke with the Alpha.” He nodded at

Russ. “I gave him a brief outline of the plan and asked to
speak to all of you.”

“My silence is not an endorsement, Wayne,” Russ

ground out.

“Yeah, I got that, too,” Wayne snapped. “In addition to

speaking with you, my agents were here to gather

information about the above average population of
preternaturals in and around the New Orleans area. Since

their deaths…well, everything has changed. Jesus fucking

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

Christ.” Wayne wiped a hand over his face, and the four

men looked at each other, waiting for him to continue.

The agent sighed. “Travis…if there were no legal

restrictions, what would you do to the vampire who turned
you?”

“Kill him.” His answer was certain. He’d wasted two

years on that fantasy.

Clint nodded. “Sam? From what I understand, Jet killed

the vampire who attacked you within seconds of the assault.

If he hadn’t…what would you have done?”

The growl that spilled from Sam’s lips tightened things

low in Trav’s belly, but that didn’t make the implied threat

any less real.

Wayne’s smile was cold. “The world has changed.

While the rest of the US waits for the justice system to catch
up, criminals are lining up to become vampires and

wereanimals. They’re working as freelance assassins or, like
Vincent Jourdain, they become vamps and give free rein to

their natural sociopathic tendencies.”

Needing to move, Travis stood and started to walk

toward the kitchen, then turned back to face the room. His
throat felt tight, his face hot, and he clenched his hands into

tight fists. “What the fuck are you suggesting? You think

we’re going to be your hired guns? Some kind of
government sanctioned vigilantes?” He strode across the

room and leaned over the coffee table, his face only inches
from the agent. “I spent my whole career putting ass-‐‑wipes

in prison. I was a damned good cop. I’d still be a cop if the
PD had any sense. You can’t possibly think that just because

I’m a vampire that I’ve lost my respect for the law.” Travis
paused then whispered what he feared Wayne really

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

wanted. “You can’t possibly think I’d be your hired

assassin?”

“Really, Boudreaux? You said you would kill the

bastard who did this to you.” Clint’s voice was soft, with an
edge of steel.

“To me. You’re talking about government-‐‑sponsored

killing. Even the CIA doesn’t pull that crap on US soil. I

think you take your fucking cowboy names too seriously Mr.
Clint Wayne. This isn’t the Wild West, and we aren’t your

goddamn posse.” Travis turned to look at Sam, then Jet, and
finally, at Russ. “Why are we listening to this shit?”

“Because we haven’t heard his offer yet, Trav. Why

don’t you have a seat and let’s hear what he has to say. We
can always kick his ass out if we don’t like it.” Russ

suggested.

Too tense to sink back into his recliner, Trav pulled a

barstool further into the room and perched on one hip. He
schooled his face and trained a blank expression on the fed.

“All right. Let’s have it all. Don’t try to feed us some line of
bullshit, because trust me, we'ʹll know.”

Clint nodded. “I understand. Believe me, two days ago

what I had to say to all of you would have been vastly

different. Now, the Secretary has a brand new Congressional

sub-‐‑committee breathing down her neck, demanding
something be done about these killings—and all the attacks

on LEO'ʹs—but nobody is quite clear yet on what exactly can
be done through traditional means under the terms of the

new laws.”

“Why Homeland? They gonna classify the rogues as

terrorists?” Jet asked, speaking for the first time.

Clint nodded, clearly pleased by the question. “Got it in

one. There is already an established protocol for handling

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

suspected terrorists. So if it helps to ease your conscience,

Boudreaux, what we’re talking about is good detective
work, first and foremost. Like I said, this is just the initial

step. Once we have sufficient evidence to make a case, the
Justice Department prosecutor will present it to the judge.

The whole damn set-‐‑up is based on the Louisiana
Attribution Law. If there’s enough evidence to convict, but

no way to bring the supernaturals to trial—” He cleared his
throat but continued.

“These bastards—” This time when his voice broke,

Clint stared toward the bookshelf, his lips pressed into a thin

line. No one spoke, but Trav looked at Sam and knew that as

much as Clint Wayne had pissed him off earlier, the man
was grieving for his team members. Trav understood the

loss of a colleague and friend; so did Sam. He didn’t need to
hear Sam’s thoughts to know they were on the same

wavelength. They would help…at least until the vamp who
killed Flores and Roberts was brought to justice.

“So, our job would just be to investigate and capture?”

Travis had to get the exact details out in the open now that

he—and Sam, he supposed—were actually thinking about
going along with this crazy-‐‑assed idea. He needed to be

crystal clear before he opted in.

“No. Let’s cut to the bottom line, gentlemen. There’s no

way to just ‘capture’ a supernatural being who is off-‐‑the-‐‑

chart evil. There’s not enough local resources to build
holding cells for every type of power. The whole reason

we’re looking at using former LEO’s who, for good or bad,
aren’t on the force anymore is that you understand the

concept of Attribution probably better than anyone. You get
that sometimes the line between justice served and a

criminal walking is razor thin, and, frankly, we’ve vetted

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

you two. The consensus is you won’t go rogue, you won’t

abuse your authority, and we can trust you.”

Clint sat back and let the information sink in. But Travis

wasn’t finished, not by a long shot.

“All nice. I have a warm fuzzy feeling inside. But, you

haven’t answered me completely, yet. What do we do when
we’ve made the case and captured the suspect?”

The agent straightened, his spine suddenly iron as he

took the time to look steadily at each man in the room before

he answered. “Under federal law you will be empowered to
terminate the targets. You make the case, hunt the

perpetrators, and take them down. Is that clear enough for

you, Mr. Boudreaux?”

The tension in the room ratcheted up at that bald

statement. Travis once again caught Sam’s eye, then looked
to Jet and Russ. He saw the turmoil, felt the unease that

passed between all of them. To suddenly have that much
authority…it was heady and scary and nauseating all at the

same time.

“Crystal, sir. Crystal. Fucking. Clear.” Jet’s low rumble

brought all attention to him. “So, Special Agent-‐‑in-‐‑Charge,
that explains why the two former cops are here. Now, how

about explaining why you brought in the local Alpha? Shits

and giggles?”

Clint spared a glance at the big man, his exasperation

barely contained. “Why yes, Mr. Gorman, you got it exactly
right. I came down from Washington just to see your

handsome mug and have you sit in on all this for your
entertainment.” He turned to Russ, snarling. “Really? He’s a

big fucker, but do you choose your Betas for brawn or
brains? Or does he have other…attributes that keep you

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

amused?” Clint glanced at the big guy, his disdain and

impatience obvious.

Travis retrieved his mug, then took a long sip of blood

to hide his grin. This guy was a firecracker. An asshole fed,
but he had a little life to him and really? Travis missed this.

The camaraderie. Being part of a team. He glanced over and
saw the smile hovering at the corners of Sam’s mouth. For a

moment, the other men in the room disappeared and he felt
something…warm… pass between him and Sam. Ah well,

he sighed to himself, and turned back to the drama in front
of him.

“To answer your question,” Clint continued, cutting Jet

off mid-‐‑growl, “we need a team of more than two. There is a
disproportionate amount of criminal activity in this area

involving wereanimals and vamps. Werewolves are among
the strongest of the shifters, and the current consensus is that

two weres and a vampire would make the most effective
team.”

“Three?” Russ sat back and smiled. “Perhaps you

should do your math again. There are three weres here, and

one vamp.” Holding up his hand, he counted off on his
fingers. “One, two, three…four. Not a math major, I

presume.”

Clint shook his head. “Jesus. Working with

furballs…gonna drive me crazy,” he muttered under his

breath. “No. The plan is to use Travis, Sam, and Jet.”

Russ jumped up from his chair and yelled, “Oh hell no!

If anything, I am the one who should be on the team. It’s my
responsibility to keep the pack safe. You have this all ass-‐‑

backwards, Agent.”

There was a long pause as Jet turned to Russ. The big

black Beta slowly shook his head, as if he’d already figured

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

out the answer. “No, Alpha. Your responsibility is always

first to the pack, to lead and keep them safe. This…hell,
there’s no way you can be involved. If it ever came out, you

would put yourself and the pack at risk. You can’t know
what’s going on.” He turned to the agent. “Right, Clint?

That’s your thinking all along, wasn’t it?”

Clint leaned back and looked thoughtfully at Jet. “I

apologize, big man. I had you all wrong. There’s quite a
good mind inside all that”—he looked Jet up and down—

“muscle, isn’t there?”

Russ and Jet continued to stare at each other, and Travis

felt the silent argument tickling along the edges of his

awareness. He looked at Sam, who was trying to maintain a
blank face, and could tell he was fighting the strain of the

battle himself. After a few moments, Russ’s shoulders
sagged a little, and he turned to Clint. “As much as I

disagree with being odd man out, I can’t put the pack at risk.
They are my life and my responsibility.”

Clint’s voice gentled a little. “Look at it this way. You

have plausible deniability should something go wrong.

There are three good men here—I know lifelong law
enforcement officers like Travis and Sam wouldn’t enter into

this lightly. And from what I’ve learned of you and your

men, Alpha, you are honorable. The less you know directly,
the better. It would really be best, now, if perhaps you left us

to discuss the final details of what needs to happen next.”

Russ opened his mouth to say something, paused, and

shrugged. “It’s time for dinner anyway. Think I’ll stop by
the club. Sam, I’ll see you and Jet back at the compound a

little later.

Sam glanced over at Travis, then down. Hmm, what’s

that about? Travis thought.

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100

“Actually, Russ, I have an appointment to look at an

apartment in the Quarter.”

Ahhh. Time for the cub to have some freedom from Daddy

One and Daddy Two. “Sam, you know I still have the
apartment behind the courtyard if you don’t mind living

above the garage. You'ʹre welcome to it.”

Please. Take the apartment.

Are you sure?
Yes.

Again, the weird back-‐‑and-‐‑forth mind thing was

working. Travis glanced at Russ, who was watching them

with a frown on his face. Travis wondered if he could make

a connection directly with the big wolf himself.

Yo. Hairy. Can you hear me? Nothing.

Yo, hairy? That’s the best you can do? Sam’s thoughts were

just as clear, and somehow even the smart-‐‑ass tone carried

through the woo-‐‑woo shit that was happening between
them.

Later. We have to talk about this later.
“Thank you, Travis. You sure it’s not a bother?” Sam

took the conversation back to the spoken level.

“Not at all. We can discuss the details later. Consider it

a done deal.”

Sam caught his gaze. “Really. Thank you. I wasn’t

looking forward to having to house hunt and explain…well,

you know.”

Russ cleared his throat and got everyone’s attention.

“Well. That seems to have settled itself quickly.” He threw a
sharp look at Sam. “I suppose I should get to Fang’s and

check in with Celeste. And I’m expecting a call. Gentlemen.”
He moved to the door, paused and turned. “I do expect to be

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101

brought in on any matters that might impact the pack,

Clint.”

Well, that was a demand, not a request. Travis watched the

responses war across Clint’s face, before he settled on the
safest one. “Of course, Russ. As I can expect a call from you

regarding any crime committed by anyone under your
purview. Good night, Alpha.”

The two men stared at each other, neither giving an

inch. Russ opened the door finally, and walked out.

“Well,” Sam drawled, “that made my nipples hard.”

Travis snorted and even Jet had to smile. The tension slowly

leaked out of the room, and Sam looked at Clint. “So what

now?”

“We find the fucker who killed my agents. And I think

we have the talent in the room to make that happen.” Clint
caught Jet’s gaze, then Travis’s. “We have some data that

might be helpful. And”—he paused to look at Sam—“it
looks like we might be killing two birds with one stone.”

****

Russ stood outside the door, his hand on the knob for a

moment and tried to puzzle out what just happened. He

knew Sam was feeling antsy over being stuck in the
compound, but it took him by surprise that he’d already set

up an appointment to look at an apartment. He knew it was

the Alpha wolf in him demanding to have control and know
what a new packmate was up to, but something else

bothered him.

Firmly deciding, he opened the door again, surprising

everyone. Except Jet. He always seemed to know exactly
where Russ was and could read his moods.

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102

“Gentlemen, forgive me but I do have a bit of

unfinished business. Sam, can you walk me out? There’s
something I need to talk with you about.”

Sam slowly rose and nodded, curiosity and uncertainty

warring on his face. Russ turned to leave again and, as he

figured, heard Jet’s voice. “I’ll join you, Alpha. I find I also
have a question or two to ask.”

As he made his way down the stairs to the first floor

and out onto the street to get to his SUV, Russ had time to

frame the issue in his mind. He still wasn’t sure exactly what
just happened, but damn it, he would have answers.

He leaned up against the door, feet crossed at the ankle

and hands in his pockets to give the illusion of perfect
disinterest. When Sam and Jet joined him, he smiled. “So

what the hell was that about up there?”

Sam watched him for a moment, his eyes hooded and

the wheels obviously turning in his brain. It was times like
this that Russ hated the fact Sam had been a cop and knew

how to keep his cool, masking his feelings. Almost as well as
Russ did. He’d have to remember that.

Sam matched his stance, leaning against a lamppost. “I

believe it was about forming a team to deal with

preternatural crimes, Russ. I can certainly draft a report, if

you like. Perhaps some of the law enforcement lingo was a
little hard to follow—”

“Enough, pup.” The low growl of his voice, combined

with a slap of the Alpha power he usually kept dialed back

made Sam hesitate. Jet shifted his stance, his arms loose by
his side, as if he was expecting trouble. The Beta, normally at

ease in his skin, looked distinctly uncomfortable. Russ toned
it down a little, and continued. “Explain to me

your…whatever it is you and Travis are doing. I can catch

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103

wisps of it, but as far as I know, only packmates can

communicate mentally. Are you and Travis able to have
telepathic conversations, Sam?”

The direct questioning seemed to work best. Russ could

feel the stillness in Sam’s mind, the pulling-‐‑in and the slow

building of his walls. Every day they appeared to be
stronger, and he wouldn’t breach them. That would be a

form of rape, and it went against everything he believed in.
But he would not be denied here. This was too important.

Sam took a deep breath, and looked Russ straight in the

eye. “No, Alpha. We can’t communicate like wolves can.

Travis and I were partners in the force for a short time, and it

must be a cop thing. We can read each other’s bodies and
maybe it’s…I don’t know. It’s not the bond we have as

wolves.”

Russ held his gaze, and the tension slowly bled out of

the air around them. Russ glanced over at Jet, and they
exchanged a look. He wasn’t sure he believed Sam—not

entirely. They would be keeping a close eye on those two,
and Jet would be his eyes and ears as this team of Clint’s

settled into place.

Russ nodded and hit the remote to open his door. He

stopped, turned and called back to his Beta. “I will expect a

full report on the case when you two get back to the
packhouse.” Jet gave him a salute, and as he cranked the

truck, Russ watched Sam and Jet walk back inside the
townhouse. He’d check in with Jet later and get his take on

it. Telepathy was common within a pack or between
vampires, but interspecies communication took far more

power, more self-‐‑control. Sam and Travis were like fucking
babies in the world of paranormals. There was no way they

should be able to talk mind-‐‑to-‐‑mind with each other unless

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104

Sam was Travis’s blood servant—and he knew without a

doubt that wasn’t the case.

Shit. He’d known almost from the start that Sam

was…different…stronger than any other newly changed
werewolf. But for them to be telepathically linked—

wouldn’t Travis have to be equally gifted? Sam’s story that
they’d been partners as cops was one possible explanation.

But what if it was more? What was it about Travis that made
Henri willing to risk turning a human police officer—even

before the world knew about the preternaturals? And the
Master vampire had tried to take Sam once, too. Who were

these guys?

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105

Chapter Eight

The four men settled back in Travis’s living room, and

Sam nodded to let Travis know everything was fine. He’d
refrain from using his unspoken voice just now, until he had

time to think more about it and talk it over with Travis in

person. If Russ was beginning to suspect something, he
wanted to know just what the hell was going on himself

before he told anyone else.

Besides, they had more important things to work out at

the moment. Sam needed to get his head back in this game,
and take the bastard behind killing the feds off the playing

field. He took his seat back on the sofa and leaned forward.
“What did you mean earlier? Two birds with one

stone…you already have info on who did this?”

Clint gestured for all of them to sit again, then pulled a

file out of a briefcase that had definitely seen better days. He

opened it and pulled a stack of photos out, fanning them
across the coffee table.

“According to surveillance, this vampire”—he pulled

out a photo from the stack and slapped it on the top of the

file—“has been involved in a series of paid hits for one of the
larger organized crime families in the southeast. His former

partner is someone you might recognize.” Clint dropped
several more photographs onto the table. “Sofia Bastian.”

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106

Sam leaned forward. Quickly thumbing through the

stack, he saw the woman—the vampire—that attacked him.
She was a beautiful creature, and he wondered, not for the

first time, why the fuck she tried to make him a midnight
snack. He wasn’t working an organized crime case, and he

couldn’t find any link between the Jourdain case he’d been
working with Danny and…wait a minute.

“You mean to tell me that bitch who tore my throat

open was a mob hitman? Hitwoman? Hit…bloodsucker?

Whatever. She worked for…who?” He started digging
through the paperwork, trying to find a name, anything that

would link Sofia, the Jourdain case, and the family that

might have hired them. He had a pretty good idea of who he
would find.

“Slow down,” Clint leaned forward and took the stack

from Sam. “Let me explain.” He took a moment to re-‐‑order

the pages and then laid out the first photo. “This is Sofia and
her partner, who we know only as Eric. No last name, no

history. According to our sources, she turned him about
twenty years ago, and they often worked together. She took

her duty to train him seriously. She is—was—around a
hundred years old herself, with considerable skills and

talent.

”You are really quite lucky she chose to toy with you,

Garrett. And it goes to show how powerful werewolves can

be in a job like this. Jet didn’t leave much of her to identify.”

Travis tapped his finger on the photo. “Perhaps I can

help here.”

“Yes, I think you can,” Clint said. “We know you'ʹre

building a database of supers, and I’m hoping you can give
us some information on this guy. Oh, don’t look so

surprised,” he laughed at the shocked expression on Travis’s

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

107

face. “You’ve hit databases that Homeland Security

considers sensitive, and we cyber-‐‑followed you back to your
cozy little office. And I’m impressed. As far as I know, yours

is the most comprehensive information pool on supernatural
creatures we’ve run across. That includes the FBI’s,” he

chortled.

“All well and good,” Jet broke in, “but where’s the

proof? I don’t see anything linking the murders of the agents
to the attack on Sam.”

“Getting there.” Clint’s voice held a slight musical note

cued to annoyed. As if their unwillingness to let him draw

this out all night disappointed him. Tough shit.

Before Sam could filet Special Agent Wayne, he felt the

soothing brush of Travis in his mind.

Let me, Sam.
“You know, Clint, I’m on a rather tight schedule. It

would be nice if you got to the point before sunrise. Please.”
Travis tacked on the last word like a velvet slap.

Sighing, Clint moved another sheet out. “Several years

ago, Sofia began doing hits exclusively for one family. And

her contact was Vincent Jourdain—when he was still
human.”

The sudden charge of energy in the room was electric.

Sam felt the tension, the excitement, and had to repress a
small whimper that threatened to escape when Trav ran his

tongue over the tips of his fangs. Damn, talk about a fucking
distraction.

Sam would never voluntarily share blood no matter

how sexy his partner was…would he? Shoring up his mental

shields, Sam ordered his suddenly interested dick to calm
down and forced his focus back on the immediate situation.

He felt the heated look Travis shot him, the adrenaline-‐‑

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108

fueled pheromones flying off all the men in the room. He

really, really needed to get laid when all this was settled.

Damn, but he couldn’t let his dick be in charge. He

thought of Russ and Jet, and his cock gave a twitch. Those
two…jeez, the sex was amazing, but it was like going out on

a date and the guy had your life planned out in the first two
hours, down to the adopted kids, cats—no fucking way—and

picket fence. Those two men screamed commitment, and
Sam just didn’t think he could go there. But when he looked

at Travis, he remembered their one hook-‐‑up, and their
friendship, and damn if his heart didn’t beat a little faster.

Fucking traitorous thing. Not to mention his rock hard

erection straining at his jeans when he thought about those
fangs sinking in his neck while he rode Trav’s cock. He

shivered, and cut a quick glance at Travis out of the corner
of his eye.

“Focus,” Clint roared and cut through the haze in Sam’s

mind and forced his attention back to the real matter at

hand. “We’ve pieced this together from various law
enforcement agencies, plus a few supernaturals who provide

information on the condition of anonymity. We know the
Fontaine family used Vincent Jourdain as their enforcer for

years, but rumor has it that when Richard took over the

family business from his father, he dumped Vinnie in favor
of a vampire. No one knows for sure how Richard knew of

the existence of vampires, but it’s believed the original
source of the information was Vinnie himself. This was right

about the time the Fontaine’s lost their bid for a gambling
license in New Orleans. “

Clint slid a photocopy of a letter onto the coffee table

and Sam caught a glimpse of the words, “We regret to

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109

inform you…” before he looked back up. Something didn’t

click.

“So Fontaine used Vinnie as his go-‐‑between with Sofia?

He became a vampire himself—did she create him, too? I
thought du Champ was Vinnie’s sire?”

Clint nodded. “From what we’ve been able to piece

together, at some point Richard Fontaine broke his

connection with Vinnie in favor of directly dealing with
Sofia.”

“And that’s when Vinnie went to du Champ?” Sam

played connect the dots. “You think there might be some

kind of pissing contest between du Champ and Fontaine?

Instead of answering, Clint fanned another stack of

photographs on the table. Sam leaned forward and looked

closely at the surveillance photos of Vincent and Sofia and
solo shots of Eric. Huh. A couple of them looked like they

were taken at Fangs.

“Let me get this straight. Fontaine and his family used

that psycho Jourdain as an enforcer then switched to Sofia
and her boy. So does that mean…you think they could be

behind my attack?”

Travis, we have to check this shit out. If it was that fucking

mob that sic’ed the bitch on me…I have to know.

I know, Sam. We will. Focus. This is about the agents right

now.

Sam leaned back and took a deep breath. “Let’s not

confuse the issue. We’re here about the murders of your

agents, so what'ʹs the motive? Why kill two Homeland
Security agents? Something feels hinky.”

Travis came to stand next to Sam and rested a hand on

his shoulder. “I'ʹm with Sam, here. There'ʹs nothing to gain by

earning the enmity of Homeland Security. It'ʹs one thing to

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110

go after an NOPD officer or two. That'ʹs local, and while it

pisses people off and it'ʹs like knocking a hornet'ʹs nest, to be
honest the resources we have locally to go after something

like a mob family? Not gonna happen. So there'ʹs something
else in play here, isn'ʹt there, Rawhide?”

Jet choked and Sam burst out laughing, but Clint gave

Travis a look that should have fried him on the spot. He

replied through a clenched jaw. “We think so too, sparkle-‐‑
boy. Seems someone has been arranging small accidents

with low-‐‑level members of the Fontaine family. Little things
that make them look bad. Minor, but they'ʹve been escalating.

And we think your sire might have something to do with it.”

He tapped his finger on the picture everyone had ignored
until now.

Sam felt the wave of cold that passed through Travis as

Henri'ʹs pale gaze seem to look up at them from the photo.

“What are you thinking?”

“The Fontaine’s and du Champ have bad blood over the

gambling permits and a few other business deals. The
Master vamp seems to keep coming out on the happy end of

every skirmish. It’s unclear whether the attacks on Roberts
and Flores were meant as a warning, an accident, a scare

tactic, either from Fontaine to du Champ or something else

entirely, but I know where I’m placing my money. They
were fucking killed as a matter of convenience in a turf war.

Motherfuckers.”

No one spoke while Agent Wayne gathered the photos

and his composure. “The key is catching this Eric and
making him give us the answers. Now, how about we take a

trip downstairs and see what you might have in your
database? Unless you'ʹd like to make some more funnies? I

can wait.”

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111

Travis caught Jet and Sam'ʹs gazes, and all three stood

and started toward the door.

“Thought not,” Clint mumbled as he gathered his

evidence and shoved it back in the folio. “I can tell this is
going to be a laugh a minute. Rawhide. Make my day,” he

grumbled as he packed his briefcase. “I got your magnum.”

All three men choked with laughter as they made their

way downstairs. Agent Asshole forgets we can hear his rantings
at a hundred yards, Sam heard Travis mumble. He fought

back a chuckle and tried to let the silver-‐‑haired man have
some dignity as he plodded after them.

****

Once downstairs, the three men crowded into Travis’s

office and watched as he unlocked his computer and opened
the database. Sam stood close behind him, with one hand

resting on his shoulder. Travis shuddered at the thrill of the
light touch. God, he needed to talk to Sam, and soon. Later,

he sent to Sam through whatever the hell it was that let them
talk back and forth. Sam squeezed his shoulder in silent

acknowledgement.

Based on what he knew about the pack and about

broods of vampires—he had to smile at the people who
called them covens—the communication was more than

unusual. Master vampires could communicate with their

blood slaves, their brood, and with other species. But the
strength it took to do that took hundreds of years to develop.

Certainly outside Travis’s abilities. Alpha wolves could also
communicate beyond pack but Sam was just a pup in the

wolf world.

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112

Sam appeared to be really interested in the database,

though. Travis had shared some of his research with Danny
over the past few weeks, and he in turn had shared with

Sam. Danny said it had seemed to help take Sam’s mind
off…well, everything. And Travis had been studying,

reading up on everything he could get his hands on
regarding vampires so he could figure out some of his own

history. For two long years, he hadn’t known much more
than the basics—that he needed blood to survive, that

daylight could kill him, and that he was some kind of
undead. Other than that…nothing.

Not that the reading alone had been much help. There

was a lot of speculative fiction, romance, and horror. No, his
knowledge was hard-‐‑earned through online research,

scouring old newspapers, and weeding through ancient texts
that used odd phrases and antiquated metaphors to describe

vampirism. The modern werewolf books were just as full of
shit. At least Sam had Russ and Jet to guide him through the

transition process. That asshole Henri just attacked him and
left him to die. One of these days, Travis would pay that

creep a little visit and tear answers from him, bit by bit…

Travis noticed the silence, and realized he’d been caught

up in his thoughts. Again. Clearing his throat, he started.

“Okay. Based on what we know about this Sofia and Eric,
possible dates he was turned, and geographical

markers…there are three possibilities.” Trav’s hands flew on
the keyboard, and then the printer hummed and he reached

for the pages. He turned around in his desk chair and faced
the other men. “We can almost eliminate the first one, Eric

van Locken, based on physical description. Despite the
apparent Danish heritage, his dark looks don’t fit the lighter

hair and slim build this guy has in the surveillance photos.”

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113

He handed the other two pages to Clint. “Eric Campbell

was born in Tampa, turned in 1997, sire not known but
suspected to be a female based on anecdotal information,”

the agent read out loud. “Physical match, um hmm, last
know location Biloxi before Hurricane Katrina. Huh. Petty

larceny and simple assault in his background.” Clint looked
at Trav blankly. “Not gonna ask how you got that

information.”

He flipped to the second page and glanced up at Travis,

who smiled. “Eric Saint Pierre, turned 1988. Family from
France, last known male in lineage. Physically a dead-‐‑on

match. So to speak.” He sent a wicked grin to Travis. “No

offense.”

Trav laughed. “None taken. Read on.”

“Last known location. Shreveport. Worked for…” He

looked up and a predatory smile spread across his face.

“Fontaine Enterprises. Gentlemen, I think we have a
winner.”

Travis glanced over at Sam, who was looking at Jet with

the look Trav knew usually meant someone was going to

end up nursing a chewed ass. Literally now. He shared in
the anticipatory tingle that spread over Sam, who was

leaking images through their link of hunting and rending

prey.

“So what’s the plan? I assume your evidence will hold

up.” Jet glanced at Clint, who nodded. “We can go after him
tonight and get the answers we need. Or do we just…make

him disappear? Either way, I’m good.”

Clint looked at him, and shook his head. “Bloodthirsty

fucker, aren’t you? No, we need answers. Like I said, our
working theory is he was groomed to work with Sofia, and

that partnership was lucrative and successful. If he was

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indeed partners with Sofia in more than just business, this

may have a personal element to it. We just don’t fucking
know. So we need him able to answer questions. I would

prefer you bring him in, and let me assist. But”—he held up
his hand, warding off the objections Trav saw forming on

Jet’s lips—“I’m well aware how unlikely that is to happen.”

Clint leaned back, arms crossed, and regarded the three

men who made up this new team. Once again, Trav reached
for the man’s mind and drew the white static that blocked

reading any thoughts whatsoever. Trav saw him look
slightly over their heads, and knew, from experience of his

own, it meant he was choosing his words carefully.

He figured it was going to be the typical “Be safe out

there” speech, with a little of the “I’m the boss of you”

captain’s lecture thrown in for good measure. He fixed his
face into a neutral expression, knowing it pissed off all his

supervisors, and he just couldn’t resist.

Keeping his gaze about a foot over their heads, Clint

started. “This is…personal now. This snake took two of my
agents, and they never had a chance. The old rules just don’t

apply anymore, and I know it. I can’t tell you how to do
what’s in your blood now—I know none of you are quite

human anymore, and that’s fine, I don’t care. It would be

beyond presumptuous of me to try to give you advice. So I
won’t. What I will say is”—he drew in a deep breath—“if it

is him, and he’s responsible, get what you need and make
him pay. Roberts might have been a jerk to you, but he was a

sensitive. You know what that means?”

Travis sat back. “Yeah…he could sense the paranormals

around him—depending on the degree of sensitivity, he
might get a slight read of what they were thinking…”

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115

“It also means he was even more susceptible to thought

manipulation by telepaths.” Clint reached into his shirt and
pulled out a slim black key fob-‐‑sized device suspended from

a chain around his neck. “This is a Nullifier. It’s still in the
testing phase, but is designed to keep telepaths out of the

thoughts of the person wearing the device.

Travis nodded his head, not bothering to hide his fangs

when he smiled. “Worked good, too. I couldn’t tell one
damn thing from you.”

Clint leaned forward. “This is important, Travis. Were

you able to read Roberts in the car?”

“Easily.”

“That answers a question for me…from the way you

described Roberts acting during the interview, it was clear

he had been manipulated. His Nullifier wasn’t found with
his effects or on his body. Obviously, he lost it before the trip

to the werewolf compound.”

Clint dropped the Nullifier back into his shirt. “James

Roberts left behind a wife and two kids who called him
Daddy. And Agent Flores was a good friend.” His voice was

rough and he dropped his gaze to the floor. “When you
catch him, get your answers. And if this Eric was the one

responsible for their murders—make the motherfucker pay.”

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Chapter Nine

Danny leaned back in his chair and twisted his neck

hard enough to the left that it snapped, crackled, and almost
popped, but he finally got a look at the clock. With an effort,

he uncoiled until he was almost back in the same position as

when he started. God, everything hurt. Just goes to show
what two hours cramped over a stack of crime scene photos

and a boatload of tension would do for you.

The whole situation fucking sucked. The murder of the

two federal agents was sure to be a political hot potato yet
the chief and the mayor hadn’t been in to chew on his ass.

You could practically smell the ozone in the air, and there
wasn’t anything he could do except wait for the lightning

strike he knew was coming his way. Maybe they were
waiting on the governor. And now the whole issue of budget

cuts for the Odd Squad was going to look like the cluster

fuck it was.

Danny could have told them something like this was

inevitable. The sheer number of cases that came across his
desk was a constant surprise. Hell, three years or so ago

nobody gave serious thought to vampires or werewolves
really being real. Sure, he’d gone to see those silly movies

with the twinkly vampire and the poor young werewolf who
didn’t seem to own a shirt. But the minute he’d seen the

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117

newly turned vamp suspect burst into flames in front of his

precinct, he knew the world changed in an instant. And he
wanted nothing more than to be a part of it.

When the call had gone out for officers for a newly

formed team to deal with crimes committed against and by

paranormals, he’d been the first to put in his transfer
request. He believed everyone deserved protection under

the law, and had seen too many of his brothers in blue turn a
blind eye to gay bashings and crimes against people of color.

The old prejudices died hard, and the black eye the NOPD
had taken nationally over all the scandals of the previous

decade spurred more and more change. And damn it, the

reason he got into law enforcement in the first place was to
try and make this corner of the world a little better place to

live.

“No damn wonder the solve rate in this department is

one of the lowest in the city, if all your officers sit on their
asses and daydream instead of being out there working

cases.” The harsh words startled Danny, and he spun
around in his chair to confront the asshole who uttered

them. Well shit, it would have to be Clint fucking Wayne.

Pushing his anger down, he turned a feral grin on the

fed. Slowly standing, he rose to his full height and motioned

the shorter man to a seat. “How lovely to see you too,
Wayne. Come here to, uhm…make my day, pilgrim?” He

raised an eyebrow, mentally high-‐‑fiving himself for the
quick flash of anger his gibe at the man’s ridiculous name

provoked.

“Looks like somebody needs to do something around

here besides sit on his ass.” Ignoring the invitation, Clint
leaned against the desk and folded his arms over his chest.

“I need your case files, and I need them now. Homeland

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Security is taking over, and it looks like not a minute too

soon.”

Danny mentally counted to ten, then sat back in his

chair, leaning back to study Clint. He really wasn’t a bad
looking man, when you took into account he couldn’t dress

any worse and still be allowed out on the streets. Something
about that silver hair with the sexy little cowlick in back

made Danny want to run his fingers through it, holding the
irritating man in place while he thrust his cock in and out of

his big mouth.

Shaking off the image, he met Clint’s angry gaze. “I’d be

happy to share information with you, cowboy, as soon as I

get word from someone with some real authority that you’re
taking the case. Until then, how about you sit your happy

ass down and adjust that attitude, huh? I thought we were
on the same side here, not some heavy-‐‑handed cliché of

what everyone expects a federal agent to be. Now, be a nice
boy and think about it while I call the chief.”

Ignoring the waves of rage that emanated from the

agent, Danny reached for his desk phone and called the

precinct chief. While it was a courtesy—Danny and his team
really reported to state personnel, nominally the governor—

he owed it to his colleagues here to go through proper

channels.

“Hey, darlin’,” he drawled to Gracie, the chief’s right-‐‑

hand woman, “your boss have a minute for me? Thanks,
doll.” He waited while she giggled and put him on hold,

then took a more respectful tone when the chief came on.

After a brief conversation, during which he discovered

that yes, he was to cooperate fully with the fed, and that yes,
she understood he didn’t report to her, but that she would

take it as a personal favor if he would play nice in the

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119

sandbox with the bully, he hung up and regarded Clint.

“Looks like we’re going to be study buddies. I’ll have the
files copied and to you in a couple of hours. Where’s your

temporary office?”

Clint turned a frosty stare to Danny and gave him a

slight smile. “Oh, there’s nothing temporary about my
offices. We are setting up on the third floor, on the back hall.

Permanently. And I expect those files there within the hour.
Look, Burkette, you need to understand something.”

The right side of Wayne’s mouth twitched, then pulled

back into half a smile. Damn, if there wasn’t a little dimple

hiding in that right cheek. The man should smile more

often—might get more things done down here in the Deep
South.

“What’s that, Clint?” Danny added an extra coating of

sugar onto the man’s name, making it two full syllables.

Clint snorted, then pushed away from the desk and

started walking toward the door. He rested his hand on the

doorframe then turned to look at Danny. A good long look.
A cop’s look.

“Things have changed, Burkette, and you aren’t the

only office dealing with crimes against supers anymore. The

federal government has a mandate from congress, and that

means I am here. Permanently. So I suggest you take a few
minutes later in the day and put your doughnuts down and

figure out how you are going to work under me. Because I
don’t give a fuck who you work for, you do nothing related

to these murders—or any other paranormal crime—without
running it by me first.” There was nothing but cold

contempt in the agent’s voice.

Clint strode out of the office, leaving as much

devastation in his wake as a small hurricane…maybe not

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quite as life altering as Katrina—but pretty damn close as far

as Danny was concerned. Good thing he was alone, because
that little performance had his pulse pounding in his ears

and he felt a flush doing a slow crawl up his neck. He had
never been so pissed. Or so fucking hard. Because really, the

man did have a spectacular ass. And sooner or later, Danny
was going to tap it…because there was nothing he liked

better than a mouthy bottom.

****

For a Thursday night, the crowd at Fangs was pretty

tame. There had been a couple of minor flare-‐‑ups of temper
and testosterone, but overall, it was a good crowd. Russ sat

in his corner booth, for once not with Jet or any number of

wolves who needed something from him. He loved his pack,
and would be lost without them, but damn, it was nice to

kick back and have a few beers, listen to some kick-‐‑ass rock-‐‑
and-‐‑roll, and put his feet up.

Broad shoulders and a glimpse of unruly black hair

caught his attention, and Russ watched the big detective

push his way across the dance floor, a determined look on
his face. And…here goes the night. Even from this distance,

Russ could smell the anger radiating from the man like
sweat. He sighed, wishing he’d used the private back room

to relax in instead of sitting out in public. Ah well, no

shirking his responsibilities. He drained the rest of his beer
in two quick gulps and motioned to Talon to bring him two

more. Maybe he could get Danny to relax if he got him a
little drunk.

“I’ve been looking for you for a fucking week,” Danny

spat at him, throwing his body into the booth and glaring at

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121

the wolf. “Didn’t anyone tell you? I left, like, twenty

messages with your big guy and every wolf in this damned
city. And don’t think buying me a beer is gonna make this

any better.” He nodded politely to Talon before turning his
attention back to Russ.

Russ tilted the neck of his beer to Danny and took a long

pull from it before addressing the man. “And a jolly good

evening to you, Lieutenant Burkette. It’s so good to see you.
Yes, I am having a wonderful day, thank you for asking. A

beer? Don’t mind if I do. No, please, I insist, let me add it to
my tab, since I can see you are having such a bad day.

Losing your manners and all like you have.” He delivered

the last sentence in a low growl, leaning back and focusing
his attention on two men doing some dirty dancing

something like the lambada. Was he really old enough to
remember that one? And dancing it with Jet? That brought a

smile back to his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, merry fucking Christmas and a happy

New Year’s and Feliz Navidad. Sorry,” Danny sighed and
apologized, “this day has kicked my ass, And I really do

need to talk to you, Russ. No shit.”

“I really don’t have much to tell you, Danny. I know

what you are looking for, and there’s nothing I know that

you don’t. Like I told you, there’ve been a few wolves that
were in the area and now…they aren’t. No word from them,

and nobody missing them. Troublemakers, lone wolves,
none of them pack. Well, one was, but he was exiled.” Russ

had no intentions of telling pack secrets, and Connor was an
issue he would address as Alpha soon enough.

Danny looked at Russ from under hair that fell across

his eyes, not bothering to hide his glare. “You and I both

know when things start to become a pattern, it means

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122

something. Wolves with no ties to the community going

missing? And we have evidence from a case that’s been
Attributed and closed that can’t be explained—were fangs

mixed in with vamp ones, blood still on them, no DNA
matches. Something’s going on here, Russ, and we have to

find a way to work with each other.”

Russ motioned for Talon to come back to the booth, then

turned back to Danny, trying to find a way to phrase what
he had to say in a way that didn’t piss the man off. Well, too

much anyway. When the slender cat appeared at the table,
he ordered two beers each, and eyeing Danny, had him add

wings, nachos, and two burgers to the tab. “How do you

take yours? The standard here is rare.”

Danny shuddered. “Medium, please. If it bleeds, I can’t

eat it.”

Russ shared a smile with Talon, who merely gave

Danny a raised eyebrow. “We’d never ask you to,
Lieutenant. But you might want to try some tartare one

night. The new cook here has a way with beef that you won’t
believe.”

Choking on his beer, Russ had to blink away the tears

that stung his eyes. Damn it, he would kick Tal’s ass for that

one. The chef, Zeke, was a canine shifter—an Australian

Shepherd. And yeah, he did have a way around beef. He’d
been herding them in Montana for ten years prior to making

his way south to Louisiana.

“Better take care there, Alpha, those large chunks of

beer are dangerous.” Talon nodded as if it were an
indisputable fact and turned to go back to the bar.

“Just place the order,” Russ grated out. And keep your

damned jokes to yourself, you smartass.

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123

Shaking his head, Russ turned his attention back to

Danny, who looked bemused. “Can’t find good help
anywhere. Now where were we? Oh, yeah. I’m sorry, but

there’s not much else I can do here, Danny. I’ve put out
some feelers, and I promise you, if I hear anything that you

need to know, I will tell you.”

Danny slammed his beer bottle down, almost breaking

it. “And there’s the rub. What you think I need to know. Russ,
it’s the things you might not think to tell me, or think I don’t

need to know that break cases like this. I know what I’m
doing here; you have to trust me. And I don’t want to cause

the pack any trouble. You know Sam and I were partners for

a while, and he’s pack now. I would never do anything to
hurt him.”

Russ turned understanding eyes to him, and his tone

softened. “Trust me, Danny, I know. More than you might

think, I understand. But you have to understand, I have the
lives of dozens of men, women, and children under my care,

and they are my number one concern always. I promise you,
any information that comes my way that won’t endanger

them, I will share with you. Deal?”

Danny deflated some, looking down at his beer and

rolling the bottle between his palms. He raised his eyes,

finally. “Deal.”

Russ paused a moment, then slowly said, “I did hear

that a wolf went missing off Henri du Champ’s estate this
week. A young man, not much more than twenty. Not one of

mine,” he forestalled Danny’s questions. “A loner who Jet
heard was in the area, from somewhere around Shreveport.

He’d been talking to one of our young guys, and now he’s
not answering calls or texts. Could be nothing.” He

shrugged.

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124

Danny nodded. “If you hear anything else, let me know.

I think I might know which guy you’re talking about. Twink,
smart mouth on him. I saw him out there a while back, and

he looked a little worse for the wear. Bite marks all up and
down his neck, bruises and a bit pale. But didn’t seem to

have been forced into anything. I’ll see what I can track
down.”

Russ nodded and watched as Danny fiddled with his

napkin, then spun his bottle around a few more times. If he

waited long enough, he knew Danny would come out with
whatever was bothering him. Fifteen years as Alpha taught

him that silence was a great motivator. Danny should know

that too, but Russ bet Danny didn’t even know his
nonverbals were giving him away so badly. Yep, he thought,

here it comes.

“Just what the hell do you think’s going on out there at

du Champ’s? That little bastard is up to something. I know
it.”

As Russ opened his mouth to reply, a snide voice broke

in. “Drinking now, Burkette? That’ll solve that stack of cases

on your desk. I have two good agents on the slab in the
morgue, and the best thing you can think of to do is sit here

with the local Alpha and cry into your beer?”

Russ watched as Danny stiffened, then turned to see

who spoke so roughly to his friend. He should have

known—Clint. Aiming to head off trouble, he nodded at the
agent. “Wayne. Care to join us? There’s room for one more,

but you have to leave that massive stick up your ass at the
door.”

Danny’s eyes grew as big as saucers, and Russ smiled,

nodding in acknowledgement. Clint stood for a minute,

clearly undecided whether to be offended and leave, or to

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125

join them. Russ wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or not

when he slid in on the opposite side of the booth from
Danny, effectively putting Russ in the middle of the two.

Great. He rolled his eyes.

Talon chose that moment to deliver the food and the

beers, deftly placing one in front of Clint. Russ threw him a
grateful smile, and motioned for him to bring them another

round. He grabbed a plate and began piling it high with
meat and nachos. “Dig in. And just know, boys, if you don’t

play nice, I’ll take my balls and go home. I’m Switzerland
here, and won’t put up with this petty pissing contest.”

Both men chose to remain silent, and he took a moment

to open his senses up to the room. Ah, he thought, smelling
the anger, frustration and a hint of lust on both of them. It

wouldn’t be long before they figured it out, and it might be
fun to watch. In the meantime, he’d try to keep them from

drawing service revolvers on each other.

Clint broke the silence first. “So tell me about this du

Champ. Is that Henri du Champ, the Master vampire? Is
there something going on out there I should know about?”

Danny took a bite of burger, chewed for a moment then

took a swallow of beer before answering. Russ wasn’t going

to touch that one. “Yes, he’s the oldest vampire in the area,

and evidently the most powerful one in the state. Not just in
vampire terms, but he’s also managed to make nice with the

mayor and the governor. We have to treat him with kid
gloves, or we get our hands slapped, sometimes rather

harshly. Nobody knows much about him and his estate; we
weren’t allowed to search there even though a string of

crimes have been reported in the immediate vicinity. And, as
you know, Clint, your agents were found less than a mile

from his home.”

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126

Clint grunted, and reached for another wing. “Yeah, I

was told by His Honor that I was to tread lightly. Now, I
could give a shit about the piss-‐‑ant governor, but it was

followed up by a phone call from the Undersecretary of
Defense. Which sets my bullshit meter on high.”

Russ noted with amusement that the two were bonding

over local politics. How sweet. Not.

Clint turned to Russ, and asked, “What do you know

about the area there? You guys have to have scoped it out. I

can’t see that big guy you’re fucking not knowing what color
sheets Henri sleeps on and if his toilet paper rolls from the

top or the bottom.”

“Fuck, there are so many things wrong with what you

just said. Do they teach that in Agent Etiquette Class in DC?”

Danny guffawed.

Russ looked smug. “Burgundy. And it rolls from the

top.”

Danny stared. “So what else do you know?”

Almost at the same moment, Clint broke in with, “What

can you tell me about him in relation to the case? I need to

know how involved he is with the vamp assassin.”

Russ shoved a few home fries into a pool of catsup, then

into his mouth and chewed slowly, deciding he wouldn’t

share the source of his information. It was too important to
keep his informant undercover for now. If he heard anything

that might help Danny, he would pass it on, but he wasn’t so
sure he’d be feeding Clint any information. Unless it helped

Jet and his team, but he wasn’t sure he could trust this
federal agent any further than he could spit him. In little

bloody pieces, preferably, if he fucked with his Beta.

Danny finally caught up with Clint’s comment. “Wait a

minute, what do you mean with the vampire assassin? Do

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127

you mean Sofia? She’s dead, so what does she have to do

with anything?”

Russ exchanged a look with Clint, waiting on the agent

to take the lead with that little bit of information. He'ʹd had
misgivings about Jet being a part of the team Clint set up,

but if he was honest, it was mostly because he wanted to be
in the middle of the action himself. He knew it was going to

piss Danny off royally when he found out the feds had set
up a black ops squad right in the middle of his backyard, so

he sat back and watched to see how Clint would play it.

Clint took a swig of his beer and picked up a wing. “I

already told you I'ʹve set up an office and team here in New

Orleans, Burkette. Suffice it to say I have intel that your lady
killer had an apprentice. He'ʹs the one that went after my

agents.” He jabbed the end of the drumette at Danny,
punctuating his words. “I'ʹve sent my team in and they are

on it.”

Russ'ʹs phone rang, the strains of Elvis Presley'ʹs “Teddy

Bear” alerting him to who it was. Ignoring the glower Danny
was giving the jackass agent, he hit connect, rumbling

“Evans” and listened. “Good job. Keep your ears open and
let me know if you hear anything else.”

He turned to Clint, amused at the silent pissing contest

going on between him and Danny. “Your vamp'ʹs on the
move.”

Clint transferred his glare to Russ. “How the fuck do

you know?”

As if he would tell the agent that there were no secrets

between an Alpha and his Beta. “Not important. But letting

the others know right away is important. Excuse me,” he
said, pushing Clint out of the booth so quickly the man

almost fell to the floor.

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128

As he stepped away to make the call to Jet, he heard

Danny'ʹs angry voice. “What the hell have you done?”

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

129

Chapter Ten

“Thanks for letting me take a look at the apartment. It’s

been a while since I was in here.” Sam looked around while
Travis went in, turning on lights. It was exactly as he

remembered. Cozy, masculine, organized…so like the man

who used to live here.

“It’s no problem. I wouldn’t have offered it to you if I

hadn’t meant it, Sam.” Sam turned and was struck once
again by the man. His dark good looks, taller than Sam of

course—all these damn men were, it seemed like—and those
eyes that looked as if he could see every secret a man held.

Of course, with his new vamp powers, he probably could.

Sam walked over to the window and looked out at the

moonlit courtyard. He noticed things like that now, his
eyesight enhanced, his sense of hearing and smell so

much…more. Closing his eyes, he couldn’t help but smell

the leather of the sofa, the slight bitterness of ammonia
where, he bet, Travis had been in and scrubbed the place

clean so Sam could move in. But most of all, the musk and
spice that was unquestionably Travis.

“Everything okay?” This time his voice was much

closer, right behind him. Damn, but Trav was quick and

nearly silent when he wanted to be. Sam realized he’d been

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130

standing there, just breathing in the familiar scent, and a

flush warmed his entire body.

“Travis,” he started, and took a deep breath and forced

out the words. “I am so, so very sorry. No, let me finish,” he
quieted Travis before he could stop him. “I was a shitty

friend, and I really was on my way here to apologize and ask
for your forgiveness and offer you my friendship when,

when…”

Travis’s hands on his shoulders were a welcome balm as

Sam remembered how his life had changed in that moment.
He leaned back into the comfort his friend offered, dropping

his mental shields so his damned untrustworthy voice

wouldn’t fail him before he finished.

You deserved better, Travis. I treated you so badly, and I was

so ashamed of myself. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?

There’s nothing to forgive, Sam. I understand. I was mad at

the time, but really, it’s water under the bridge. I’d like us to be
friends again.

Travis folded Sam into his arms, pulling him as close as

possible while they were both still dressed. The broad chest

was hard against Sam’s back, the big arms circling his waist,
anchoring him in the moment.

Needing more, Sam turned, pressed his cheek against

Travis’s chest, melting into the comfort of his big embrace.
He hadn’t allowed himself to lay his armor down and

just…be…in so long, and Travis…he was such a safe place.

After a long moment, Sam looked up and found the

warm hazel gaze fixed on his face, Travis’s sculpted
features…soft, caring. The moment stretched, as if they had

forever to decide what they wanted to do about the
connection that hummed between them. Tilting his head

slightly, Sam slowly closed the distance until their breaths

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131

mingled, hot, moist. Still, he hesitated, savoring the moment,

remembering the promise of them. With a sigh, Sam leaned
forward and brushed their lips together. Trav’s breath

hitched and a shudder rocked through them both. Then big
hands gripped his biceps and Sam was pushed back against

the wall and holy fuck. Travis took control of the kiss.

Kissing Travis was everything Sam remembered.

Demanding, powerful, rough. His tongue forced its way into
Sam’s mouth, kissing him hard and long, fucking his lips.

Travis’s hands slid underneath his shirt, the touch electric,
hungry. Travis wanted him…wanted him. It was a heady

moment, and Sam surrendered, deepening the kiss and

rubbing his hard dick up against Travis’s thigh. Nails
scraped along his spine, scratching, and Sam arched into the

touch, wanting more.

Travis’s need was palpable, a raging hunger that had

nothing to do with blood and everything to do with the
heated need that scorched them both. There was

something…different, more than what he’d had with Russ
and Jet. This felt scary big, like one more link in the chain

connecting them had closed.

Sam moaned as Trav popped the button on his jeans

and shoved them down around his thighs. Then Travis

pushed his own sweats down and took both cocks in one big
hand and began to stroke.

Heart thundering, wondering if he was about to push

Travis too far, Sam tentatively slipped his tongue into Trav’s

mouth, seeking those sharp canines. As his tongue slid over
the sharp point, Travis let out a long, slow groan that

tightened the muscles low in Sam’s belly and the grip Travis
had on their cocks. Jesus. Sam smiled into the kiss and

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132

explored the sharp fang from gum to tip, feeling the tension

in Trav’s body ratchet up.

Sam moaned as Travis pumped faster than he thought

possible, driving him closer to the edge.

Trav… so close.

Me too. Hold on.
Trav’s other hand slid down the crease of his ass, and

two fingertips brushed against his opening, and that slight
touch took him over the top. Screaming into Travis’s mouth,

Sam came hard, scraping his tongue against that sharp fang.
The penny taste of blood filled his mouth and Trav bowed

back, his body tight as he shot. Sam closed his eyes as the

two of them spilled together into Trav’s hand. When he
could finally open his eyes, Travis was watching him, his

eyes sleepy, heavy-‐‑lidded, and fucking sexy as hell.

I won’t hurt you, Sam. Not ever again.

I trust you.
Travis rubbed a hand over Sam’s scalp, then pulled him

back into a gentle kiss, full of possibilities. Sam knew they
needed to talk, but for now? This was enough, there was

plenty of time. They stayed pressed together, tasting each
other, their kisses making promises until Sam’s cell phone

buzzed and he knew the time to deal with the vampire

hitman was on them.

“The best strategy would be to let Sam and I contain

Eric while you question him, Travis,” Jet said for the
umpteenth time. His nerves were starting to fray at the

circular arguments the two, especially Sam, had thrown into
the middle of his perfectly logical and beautiful plan. Why

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133

couldn’t they see that he had been doing this for years in his

role as Beta of the pack?

Sam sighed, and gave Jet what he guessed was

supposed to be a withering glare. “You may have been
planning and executing wondrous plans, but you have to

admit that Travis and I have experience partnering and
tracking criminals. Oh wait, yes, we were cops. And damned

good ones. So back the fuck off and just admit that the best
plan is to draw him out and then—”

“And so very successful you two were, pup. One of

you”—he nodded with his chin to Travis—“was ambushed

by a vampire and popped up like a jack-‐‑in-‐‑the-‐‑box at his

own wake, and the other never even knew what hit him, and
if it hadn’t been for a certain handsome, modest stud who

shall remain nameless, would have been dinner for another
bloodsucker. No offense, Travis.”

Travis snorted. “None taken. But how about this? We all

put our dicks back in our jeans and maybe find some

common ground. Sam, you have to admit Jet has the edge in
experience with dealing with other supers, and neither one

of us is field-‐‑tested against anything vaguely approaching
this.” Jet saw the look that passed between them and saw

when Sam’s shoulders relaxed minutely and his jaw

unclenched.

Travis turned back to him, though, and continued. “But

you have to admit that Sam and I have been trained on some
techniques that might have some value here. We were

partners, although I admit it was only for a brief period of
time, but we both have worked with others for a long time.

We do have some skills to bring to the table, Jet,” his voice
firm but gentle.

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134

Jet brought a hand to his eyes and rubbed, taking a

couple of deep breaths. He did concede, internally, that
Travis had a point. But neither of them had any idea how

difficult it was to take on a vamp, especially one that made it
past the first ten or fifteen years. Their strength and speed

made them hard to kill, and unless you got the drop on them
quickly, like he had on Sofia, then you were in deep shit.

“Fine,” he finally sighed. “Just…and I ask this in all

seriousness, here, guys. This will be hard enough getting the

drop on him and hopefully holding him long enough to ask
questions. Which he probably won’t even answer, but that’s

for us to worry about then. The only chance we have is to

take advantage of the element of surprise, and to throw
everything we have at him at one time.”

Sam rolled his neck until it popped and opened his

mouth to say something, but Travis jumped in smoothly

first. “Agreed. And you and Sam can use your pack
communication to coordinate the attack and how you two

will hold him in place. I assume you will be in wolf form,
and I can question him.”

“Right. And then you and the pup can do your little

thing and he can share anything with me I might need to

know.” Jet almost cracked a smile at the way both of their

jaws dropped at his little announcement, but before any of
them could speak, his phone rang. Checking the display, he

saw it was Russ.

“Jet here, Alpha. What can I do for you?”

Russ’s velvety chuckle sent chills down his spine and

settled in his balls. “Well, pretty thing, when tonight is over

you can get your ass back here in my bed and make nice
with me. I have something here that came up that only you

can take care of.”

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

135

A small smile escaped, and Jet’s voice lowered until it

was just a rumble. “For you, anytime, anywhere, any place.”

“Excellent, chere. Now, of more current concern…a little

birdie just informed me that our friend, Mr. Saint Pierre, left
Shreveport and is on his way here. We hit it lucky; word is

he’s coming to take out our man Travis. And we simply
can’t allow that, can we?”

Jet didn’t realize he was growling until he noticed the

strange looks both Travis and Sam were giving him. He

jerked himself back to the here-‐‑and-‐‑now, shoving down the
strange feeling of possessive protection he felt for Travis.

“On it, Alpha. Thank you for the news.” He thumbed the

disconnect button and turned to Sam and Travis.

“Showtime, men.”

****

Travis set the empty bottle of synthetic blood down, and

leaned across the bar to tap Talon on the shoulder to get his

attention. The sleek beauty of a man smiled and waved,
motioning him to head out.

“Safe winds, my friend. Travel safely tonight. There’s

something ill in the air, and I would hate to see a good man

hurt.”

“No worries. I’ll take care of myself. You have a good

night too, buddy,” he said.

The warmer nights that spring brought to the Quarter

called out more people, and at later hours, so it was no

surprise that the streets around Fangs were filled with
tourists. As he weaved his way through the street toward his

home, he stopped at an alleyway and hesitated a moment,
then turned and walked down the dark street as if at the

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

136

spur of the moment. His boots clicked softly on the asphalt,

and he hummed a little tune. To the casual observer, he
hadn’t a care in the world.

****

He’d been tracking the young vampire since he left that

ridiculous bar. Fangs. How fucking original. While he was

just now getting used to not having to hide his true nature
quite so much, Eric Saint Pierre still preferred the ways his

mentor and maker taught him.

Stick to the shadows. Height made for a distinct

advantage. Don’t let yourself get outnumbered. Identify,
isolate, and strike.

The young fool must have forgotten all his police

training. Or counted himself a little bulletproof now that he
was one of the brethren. Ah, but if his maker had been a

genius like Sofia rather than a soft fool like Henri Du
Champ, then he might take to the streets of New Orleans

with a little more care. It would be his distinct pleasure to
take du Champ’s get out permanently. And all the better

that his little wolf friend would mourn his loss. Until he was
taken off the board too.

Eric smiled a rather toothy, predatory grin and moved

quickly up the wall onto the roof, positioning himself at the

middle of the alleyway and waiting.

****

It’s disgusting here. Travis better get his ass here pretty

damned quick.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

137

Shut up, little one. If you checked your watch, you’d see we

are right on time. And here he comes…

From their position behind the dumpster, Jet and Sam

could see any foot traffic that came from either side of the
alley. Crouched naked, their clothes in a knapsack tucked

out of sight, they were ready to shift when needed. While
the stench of rotting produce, stale beer cups, used condoms,

and God-‐‑only-‐‑knew what else might confuse a human or
vampire nose, Sam could smell the unique blend of musk,

sweat, and whatever that was Travis. He also caught a whiff
of another presence, much fainter and much more bitter.

He started to reach out to Jet when the man’s tight voice

appeared in his mind. On the rooftop, three o’clock. Get ready,
this will happen in about five, four…

Travis, Sam reached out, he’s above us. Get ready in three,

two, one…

****

Just as his target passed from the dim light of one

streetlight into the dark before the next, Eric leapt from the

low rooftop onto where his target should be just stepping.
His fangs extended, he intended to have a little snack before

tearing the man’s heart out. So it was a great surprise to him
to land not on top of his victim, but between two very large

wolves.

Ah, perhaps this would be more fun than he had

thought. Especially since he scented the foul odor of the man

he’d been tracking for months. Sam Garrett. Revenge would
be so sweet.

But his reactions, lightning quick that they were, were a

split second slower than he needed. Two strong sets of jaws

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

138

tore into his body, one tearing out his right hamstring, then

clamping deeply into the muscle of his bicep, the other set
tracking identically on his left side. As he fell to his knees,

the vampire stepped into the fray and grabbed him securely
around the neck.

An almost perfect trap. He was immobilized, and

should he try to move, his arms would be torn off or his

head twisted until his neck broke or it popped off entirely. It
would take a good amount of blood to speed up the healing

process, but he could feel the muscles in his legs starting to
rejuvenate. Slowly, of course, since he was leaking blood,

but the knitting had begun.

He would bide his time, but these three would not get

the best of him. He owed Sofia more than that.

****

Sam had his teeth deep in the upper arm of the smaller

man, holding him tightly in place. He could feel slow

movings under his teeth, and wondered what the hell it was.

His body is trying to regenerate itself. Keep the pressure on

and don’t let up for a minute.

Well, that explained that. Just…gross. But he dug in and

ground his teeth tightly together against the bone.

Tell Trav to start.

Yes, boss.

Travis, let’s go. Showtime.
Sam kept one eye on the vamp, and one on Travis.

“Hello, Eric. Good to finally meet you. As you can tell,

my friends and I don’t much like surprises. And we have

just a few questions for you. I’m sure you understand.”

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

139

Sam felt the laughter in his mouth before he heard it.

“I’m sure you do. Such accommodating hosts too.” He
looked around. “Inviting me into your home like this. You’ll

forgive me if I plead the Fifth, I’m sure.”

God, but this asshole was smug. Sam growled deep in

his throat and felt an answering tension from his Beta. He
dug in his paws and pulled a little, and when Jet felt it, he

echoed the movement. Eric’s arms pulled tighter, the teeth
imbedded in bone now, but he gave no outward sign of

pain. But Sam could feel the involuntary jumping of muscles
in the vamp’s body and the increase in his heart rate.

“How quaint. I guess you’ll be asking for a lawyer

next,” Travis drawled and tightened his own hold on Eric’s
head. “So sorry, but you know I’m not NOPD anymore. No,

thanks to my new…status, my friend Sam and I aren’t LEO’s
anymore. Not exactly. No, you see we met with a brand new

friend. You may know a couple of his associates, Agents
Roberts and Flores.”

The sudden tension in his body let Sam know Travis

had scored a hit with that one. You got him. Keep going, Travis.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sam

had to give him credit. Eric’s voice was calm and steady.

Travis kept going, like he hadn’t heard him. “Seems

their supervisor, Special Agent-‐‑in-‐‑Charge Wayne, wasn’t too
happy when his two friends, who he hand-‐‑picked to meet

with Sam and I, were ambushed. So let’s cut through the
bullshit.”

He’s doing great, Jet said. Tell him to keep pounding it in.
Jet says go for his throat, Trav. Sic him, boy! He laughed.

Just wait, you two.
“Again, I have no idea what you mean. But if you let me

go now, perhaps I won’t call the police and report this rather

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

140

unfortunate hate crime committed by two of their own. I’m

sure—”

“The Office of Homeland Security has, shall we say,

deputized us to act in the country’s best interests against
paranormals who commit crimes.” Travis’s voice was tight

and controlled, and it sent a shiver down Sam’s spine.
Damn, they really did need to talk again. And soon.

“Under Louisiana’s Attribution Law, as agents of the

law, we only need reasonable proof that one of us

committed a crime, and we can make the case.” His smile
suddenly turned feral. “And Homeland made a damned

strong case against you. A judge has already signed off on it.

Now, this can go one of two ways. You answer our
questions, and we are civil. You fuck around, and you hurt.

Then my friends drag you out into the sun bit by bit
tomorrow, but leave enough of you for me to talk to once the

sun sets. Your choice.”

Holy fuck, Sam thought and shivered.

Um, Sam, remind me never to get on his bad side. I think my

balls just went up and hid, and Russ really had plans for them

later. Jet’s thought would have made Sam laugh if he wasn’t
pretty sure Travis meant it.

Sam’s thoughts were pushed aside as Eric made a

sudden and frantic move to escape. Burying his jaws as
deeply as he could, he and Jet held the vamp in place, and

watched as Travis tightened his grip and slowly pulled
upward on Eric’s head, the tendons standing out on Eric’s

neck in stark relief.

Through gritted teeth, Eric finally appeared to break.

“What do you want to know, asshole?”

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

141

A sweet smile that meant anything but something nice

was in store broke across Travis’s face. “Thought you would
never ask.”

****

“Tell me why Richard Fontaine killed the Homeland

Security agents.”

“Homeland? Is that where those feds were from?

Richard never ordered that hit.”

“You’re lying. You still stink of their blood.”
Eric gasped out a laugh and sent a mental image of

Flores pressed helplessly against the white stone crypt while
Eric drained Roberts of life. Jesus Christ, she had seen it

coming and been helpless against Eric’s power. The kill had

been personal with this vampire.

Afraid the healing might start before they had what

they needed, Trav recklessly thrust into the vampire’s mind.
Like flicking through the pages of someone’s photo album,

he caught glimpses of Sam’s attack, of Sofia’s death, of the
were compound. Travis pulled back before he got caught in

the vampire’s web.

“Sofia was your sire and you were tracking Sam and the

werewolves in order to extract revenge on the werewolves?
But why did Fontaine order the hit on Sam in the first place?

And why kill Flores and Roberts on the outskirts of du

Champ’s?”

Eric’s face contorted and he hissed.

Ideas fell into place. Years ago, the Fontaine family had

run a wide network of underground gambling dens in New

Orleans. They’d bought their way into horse racing and been
first in line for the riverboat casinos on the Mississippi and

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

142

the Gulf Coast. Seemingly out of the blue, the Fontaine crime

syndicate sold all their Crescent City assets and consolidated
all their holdings in Shreveport-‐‑Bossier City. Henri du

Champ emerged as the new power player in the New
Orleans gambling scene…

“So Fontaine is out to discredit du Champ?”
“Yes.”

“All over the loss of the gambling business?”
“You are a fool, Boudreaux. You do not even see what is

right in front of your face. You align yourself with the wrong
kind, you naïve vampire. We are not like them. Henri is only

biding his time before he calls you home. You will not be

able to deny his call.” Eric’s voice was low and hypnotic and
Travis fought to shut out the words that flowed over his

mind like a caress.

“Perhaps Henri will fuck your ass while he drinks your

blood—it is what you crave—but either way, the bond
between sire and vampire is already complete. Someday,

Travis Boudreaux, you and your sire will hunt together, feed
together…kill together. You cannot deny your Master’s

bidding.”

“Not…true.” Travis pushed the words between gritted

teeth.

“You have no choice, young vampire. This is who you

are. Already, you can sense the truth of my words. You can

feel the need.” Eric’s gaze locked with his, and a small buzz,
like an idea niggling to get his attention pressed at his mind.

“I can see into your memories, into your mind. You are

not yet strong enough to fight me. The human cop only gave

you a hint of what you need. The wolf, even less. Taking
blood in a kill is so much better than during sex. You can

finally have Sam, take him, own him. I will get the other

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

143

one—the one who killed my Master. Let’s do this together—

let me teach you.”

The pulsing, heavy thrum of living heartbeats was so

close, so strong, calling to him to take that which was his by
right. Flaring his nostrils, Travis drew in more of the

delicious scent. The smell of blood, like a copper penny, rode
the air.

With his gaze locked with the vampire’s wide blue eyes,

Travis ran his tongue over the pointed tips of his fangs.

Images flashed between them: his mouth on Sam’s neck,
teeth piecing the café au lait skin, the hot, metal tang as rich

blood poured over his tongue and down his throat.

So real that he could see it…taste it…would kill to have

it.

Moving faster than the wolves could see, Travis drew

on his non-‐‑human strength and ripped the other vampire’s

head from his body. Nearly overwhelmed by the smell of the
fresh blood, Travis’s words were terse. “Burn the body.”

Without risking a look to see if the wolves followed his
order, Trav raced through the dark alleys of early morning

New Orleans. Toward Lake Pontchartrain. His fingers curled
into the spikey blond strands of Eric’s hair, a grisly reminder

of what he had become. Dawn pressed at the edges of his

awareness, spurring him to move faster, but Travis wasn’t
sure anymore it was a race he wanted to win.

~~Finis~~

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

144

About the Authors

L.E. Harner

Laura likes it hot, which helps explain why she ended

up Arizona after living in such diverse places as Japan, New

Orleans, Maine, and Florida. She once enjoyed hobbies such
as gardening and travel. Now the characters in her head

compel her to tell their stories to her readers, so she writes.

She shares her home with her husband and youngest

son, a dog and a cat. Laura writes under the names L.E.

Harner for her ménage and MM erotic romances. She writes
under the name Laura E. Harner for everything else. Her

books can be found at All Romance eBooks, Barnes and
Noble, Amazon, and other online retailers.

For my blog, book news, and to read free excerpts, visit

my website at:

http://lauraharner.com
Connect with me online at:

Twitter: http://twitter.com/lauraharner
Facebook: http://facebook.com/lauraharner

T.A. Webb

T.A. Webb is the writing name for the Mean Old Bear

That Could. By day, he'ʹs the director of finance for a non-‐‑

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

145

profit agency. He'ʹs worked with people living with

HIV/AIDS and with children in the foster care system for
over twenty years, and takes the smaller pay for the chance

to make a difference for those who can'ʹt help themselves.
After hours, he'ʹs the proud single papa of four rescue dogs,

was born and raised in Atlanta, where he still lives, and is a
pretty darned good country cook.

His sister taught him to read when he was four, and he

tore his way through the local library over the next few

years. Always wanting more, he snuck a copy of The
Exorcist under his parents'ʹ house to read when he was

eleven and scared the bejesus out of himself. Thus began a

love affair with books that skirt the edge, and when he
discovered gay literature, he was hooked for life.

T.A. can be found at Facebook under AuthorTAWebb,

tweeted at #TomBearAtl, or if you really want to, you can

email him at AuthorTAWebb@aol.com.

Also from the Author

Second Chances (Dreamspinner Press)

Mark Jennings is at a crossroads. His finance job in the

Atlanta nonprofit scene stresses him out, his mother is

dying, and his relationship with Brian Jacobs has crashed
and burned. He needs a distraction, some way to relax, and

a massage seems like just the thing. He never expected his
massage therapist, Antonio Roberto, to become his best

friend.

Despite their differences—Antonio is a divorced single

father—the two men forge a firm friendship that weathers

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

146

Mark’s reconciliation with Brian and Antonio’s questionable

taste in women. Over the years, Antonio remains constant in
his support, though others in Mark’s life come and go

through a revolving door.

When a young boy runs away from the group home

where he works, Mark finds another door opening. Through

it all he holds on to the things his loved ones taught him—
about family, about friends and lovers, about life and death.

Most importantly, he realizes that sometimes the greatest
gift of all is a second chance.

~~*~~

City Knight (A Bear on Books)

What happens when two broken men collide?

Marcus works the streets of Atlanta, determined to keep

it a safe place. An ex-‐‑cop, he buried his heart years ago. Ben

works the same streets, selling himself to pay for college.
The victim of a horrible crime, he decided to Just. Not. Care.

When their chance meeting leads to an unlikely

attraction, will the ghosts that haunt them bring them closer,

or separate them forever?

Caution: This is the first in a three part series, and you

WILL want to come back for part 2. Hot men WILL have sex,

and I can guarantee hot angst in my stories.

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

147

~~*~~

Deep Blues Goodbye (Altered States Book One) with

L.E. Harner

The world might not have been ready for vampires

when NOPD Detective Travis Boudreaux had the bad taste

to sit up at his own funeral, but two years later, the new
cause célèbre is civil rights for preternatural beings and most

humans are on the bandwagon. Except whoever is killing
vampires and wannabes.

Detective Sam Garrett hates all things preternatural.

Having your undead partner try to make you his first meal
will do that to a guy. One final screw-‐‑up gets Sam banished

to the Paranormal Criminal Investigations Unit—the Odd
Squad—under the oversight of Detective Danny Burkette.

Now it’s up to Burkette to work with Garrett by day

and Boudreaux by night as they follow a trail of clues that

leads from the historic cemeteries of New Orleans to the
bayous of southern Louisiana. Under the all-‐‑too-‐‑interested

gaze of a Master vampire and the local werewolf pack
Alpha, they discover some lessons in life—and death—take

longer to learn…and not all second chances are created

equal.

Warning: In this series the vampires don’t sparkle,

werewolves kill, and sometimes the men have sex. With
each other.

~~*~~

L.E. HARNER & T.A. WEBB

148

Winter Heat: Erotic Stories to Warm Your Life with

A.J. Llewellyn, Ike Rose, Donya Lynne, Sara York, Kimber
Khan, Daniel B. Johns, Julie Lynn Hayes, Serena Yates and

Patricia Logan (Sara York)

Named Best Anthology for 2012 by LRC

His Name was Harley Manfield -‐‑ They were the Three

Musketeers and friends for almost twenty years. But when

tragedy strikes the group, how will they be able to move
forward this Christmas?

Other L.E. Harner Titles Now Available

Altered States Prequel to Deep Blues Goodbye

New Orleans Police Detective Sam Garrett can'ʹt believe

his bad luck when he'ʹs assigned to investigate a string of

gay-‐‑bashings turned deadly in the French Quarter.

Especially when he realizes Travis Boudreaux, his new, hot,
and most-‐‑likely-‐‑straight partner, plans to use him as bait.

The worst part? They’ve got no back-‐‑up because the rest of
the city is preoccupied by another series of killings—the

victims drained of blood.

~~*~~

Ty Hard, Book One of the Willow Spring Ranch Series
Tyler has used Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell as a shield against

the truth since he was seventeen. Cut loose from his Navy
career and mourning his mentor’s death, Ty must come to

terms with his desire for another man, even while he fights

to keep his PTSD from pulling him under. Rancher Cass

DEADLY SHADES OF GOLD

149

Cartwright’s relationships never last more than a few hours,

and that’s just the way he likes it. Now he'ʹs done the one
thing he swore never to do: fallen in love. Can Cass convince

Ty to let go of his past or will sabotage at the ranch kill their
love before it has a chance to grow?

~~*~~

Triple Threat, Book One in the Pulp Friction line.
Master Archer found his forever with fellow Dom

Zachary, but when their discreet recovery business interferes
with their private time, Archer buys exactly what his lover

needs—the perfect personal assistant, submissive Jeremiah.

Because anything two can do, three can do better. Now the
trio must work together to recover a grieving widow'ʹs stolen

insurance money, and the thief is...her not-‐‑so-‐‑dead husband.

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