Howl My Name (BBW Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance) (Grayslake Book 5) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Howl My Name

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  Howl My Name

  Reid just killed her father. There’s no way Evelyn’s gonna mate him now… Dammit.

  Werewolf Reid Bennett has one goal: investigate the Brookfield clan’s Itan. Reports are coming in that the male is abusing his werebears and--even if he’s a werewolf--Reid will put a stop to it. Unfortunately, the resolution ends up being permanent and now Reid’s the clan’s leader.

  The only positive about his new situation: curvy werebear Evelyn Archer. She makes his wolf howl and he aches to explore every inch of her lush frame. He’s the clan’s leader and he knows exactly where he’d like to lead Evelyn—his bedroom.

  Evelyn doesn’t know what to do with Reid. Sure, he’s the sexy wolf her werebear wants to nibble and claim, but she has bigger issues to deal with. Such as the fallout of her father’s death… at Reid’s claws. Okay, maybe she can take a break for one little lick...

  They both have plans for the Brookfield clan… and each other. Except there’s a small problem—someone wants them dead. Nothing new for Reid, but a threat against Evelyn is unacceptable. When it comes to Evelyn, he’ll break all the rules to keep her safe, including dusting off his homicidal tendencies again.

  Chapter One

  Reid really wished he had a smoke. Or a drink. Damn, a drink would have been nice. Just a shot to soothe his nerves a little. Unfortunately, his therapist—in another bid to get him to calm down—decided drugs would mask the problem.

  Since when did beer and smokes become drugs? It didn’t matter. Mainly because his wolf was even more pissed than normal at not having its beer and smokes. How’s that, Miss Therapist?

  He should take a picture of what happened when he didn’t get his “drugs” and text it to her.

  Sometimes a patient takes two steps forward and one step back, Mr. Bennett.

  A dead body? Huge step back.

  Nothing for it, he was gonna have to call it in. The question became, who did he get in touch with first? His therapist since she wanted to be his number one go-to person when he had an “episode” or his boss Terrence, the Southeast werebear Itan?

  Considering Reid was a wolf and he’d killed a bear…

  With a sigh, he dug in his pocket and tugged his phone free. He sought out Terrence’s number and then tapped the contact. It rang once… twice… and then the male answered.

  “What happened now?” Terrence growled.

  “Aren’t you merry fucking sunshine this morning?” he couldn’t help goading the bear. The Southeast Itan may have helped him out of a tough spot—taken him in when the Southeast Alpha kicked his ass to the curb—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give the male shit. Pack or not, Reid was still as alpha as they came. Submitting to a bear just wasn’t in his wolf’s skillset.

  Killing though… He nudged the bloody body with the toe of his boot.

  “Reid, who died?”

  Take out one bear before sunrise and everybody thought he was some sociopathic murderer.

  All right, it’d been a pack, one whole pack, that day, but the assholes screwed with his family—and then covered it up. Wolf didn’t particularly care for that and showed ’em.

  Maybe he was a sociopathic murderer. But if he was, was this murder really on him? Terrence knew he was a fucked up piece of work. If anything, the death of this bear was on his shoulders, not Reid’s.

  Now he was thinking like his half-sister and the woman’s best friend.

  “Reid,” the other male snapped.

  “What?” he snarled.

  “You called me. What do you want?”

  Right. Wolf hated being challenged. Sorta why he was in this situation.

  “You sent me here to Brookfield.”

  “And?”

  “Just laying out the facts, boss man.”

  “Reid…”

  “Wolf don’t like your tone,” he growled.

  “Your wolf and I came to an agreement, and it’ll get over it until we meet again. What. The. Fuck?”

  “Kiss your kids with that mouth?” Now he grinned because giving him shit about cursing around his half-grown children was fun as hell.

  “Reid.” The tone, the way the r rolled off his tongue and ended in that rough d told him he should quit playing with the bear.

  “We got a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  Reid stared down at the male before him. He took in the guy’s size, ignoring the deep wounds that cut to the bone as well as the shallow cuts that marred his chest. Those were from when he’d just been playing with the bear, showing him he shouldn’t mess with his wolf. Pure fact, at the best of times his beast didn’t like being challenged. Without beer and smokes? Like was no longer in his vocabulary. Loathed though… That was a little more accurate.

  The wolf did some good work on the man’s legs. One long stripe from hip to ankle. Nice and clean. Part of him—way down deep and almost forgotten—experienced a twinge of regret. Not a big portion, but there was something.

  Then he remembered who threw the first punch. And the second. Then the third strike was a kick.

  Reid warned him good and hard before he retaliated.

  Making a big mistake here. Stop now and walk away. Keep this up and I’ll own all your shit in the next fifteen minutes.

  It’d taken eight.

  Eight minutes of fangs, claws, and blood and now Reid Bennett—sociopathic murderous werewolf—stood over a dead body.

  “Problem’s about six-two, six-three. Between two twenty, two hundred fifty pounds. Hazy on that since there’s a shitton of blood on the ground.” But that sounded about right. Head wounds bled like a bitch. Thinking about bleeding had him looking over his own body. He had a nice set of claw marks down his chest, but it was just a flesh wound. His wolf took care of in no time. His biggest concern was his shirt. He liked that shirt.

  Terrence sighed and Reid imagined the male was sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair, and pinching the bridge of his nose as he stared at the ceiling. He’d seen the position often enough. Mainly when Reid had done something. “Tell me it isn’t the Itan.”

  “It ain’t the Itan,” he immediately replied. How should he know? It wasn’t like he checked the bear’s ID before the dick took a swing at him.

  “Do you even know who it is?”

  “No.” He shrugged. Wolf didn’t care who stepped up. Just that it wouldn’t back down.

  “Can you please verify his identity for me?” The words were hissed into the phone and he knew Terrence was gritting his teeth.

  Reid rolled his eyes and bent down, shoving his hand into one pocket and then the others until he found what he was looking for. “I have Patrick Archer. Huh, guess it is the Itan.”

  Well, that sucked.

  “Fuck me.”

  “
Not my type, but thanks, boss man.” He grinned.

  “You’re not taking this seriously,” the bear snapped.

  Reid tossed the wallet onto the male and then clenched is free hand into a tight fist. “When I found him trying to rape a twelve-year-old bear, I took it very seriously. When I stopped him and that asshole tried to take my head, I took it very seriously. Calling you, looking at that piece of shit and wishing he was alive so I could kill him all over again… Yeah, my wolf is feeling fucking serious.”

  “Dammit.” Terrence bit off the word. “You were supposed to observe and report.”

  “I’m not just observing shit if I see something like that happening. It won’t fly with me.” Ever. He had too much history with that kind of bullshit. He might understand males going at each other but a male trying to rape a female. He was a twisted asshole, but not so twisted he could watch that happening.

  “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He ended with a roar and Reid knew Terrence’s anger had shifted from what Reid did to why he acted like he had. “Who else knows?”

  “Probably the kid I sent packing, holding her shirt together and bleeding from a few holes in her side. Girl fought and she was still wearing her shorts when she left. Tough little bitch.” He had to appreciate a girl with that kind of strength. Not a single tear on her cheeks. A hell of a lot of appreciation in her eyes though. He wondered how long he had before she spoke to someone and they came looking for him. “Need to tell me what to do here, boss.”

  “Fuck.” Terrence sighed. “I’ll make some calls, but until further notice, you’re the Itan in that town. You may even end up there permanently,” that last bit was mumbled but he heard it anyway.

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I told you I’d shove a clan at you at some point.”

  Sure, it was a constant threat, but come on. “But I’m a wolf.”

  “You just had to kill him. You couldn’t have held him for me? I’m not that far away, Reid.”

  Reid’s shoulders rippled, the wolf really hated being questioned and Terrence was doing a lot of questioning. His fingers tingled with the need to bear his claws while his gums ached with his slowly emerging fangs. He’d managed to keep his ass in check while he fought the animal, only busting them out when it looked like there was no other end to their fight. “No, I couldn’t have held him for you. The asshole was gonna die, Terrence. My hand or yours, he was a dead bear walking.”

  “And now you’re the proud owner of a clan. How’s that feel?”

  Chapter Two

  Human blood tasted different from a deer. Definitely from rabbit or squirrel, too. Though, in truth, Evelyn didn’t have much of a comparison to go on since the liquid filling her mouth was her own. She’d never experienced the coppery flavors flowing over her tongue, and she had to admit, she didn’t care for the experience.

  That didn’t stop it from coming though. Especially not when the fist that caused her to bleed collided with her cheek, yet again. The resounding crack echoed off the basement walls and the red liquid flew past her lips in a wide arc that created a gruesome painting on the smooth tile. She went ahead and spit what remained, clearing out her mouth so the blood didn’t dribble down her chin. Kinda hard to be a bad ass while she salivated all over herself.

  Mouth empty once more, she slowly tore her attention from the fluid sliding down the drains and back to that violence-loving male. And then she smiled widely, stretching her cheeks despite the swelling that marred her vision and the gash on her cheekbone. Wearing rings while beating the shit outta someone wasn’t smart. Not when he wasn’t trying to kill her. He just wanted the truth.

  “Who,” he panted with the exertion. Apparently kicking her ass—even while she was tied up and unable to move—was difficult. “Who did you talk to?”

  Evelyn licked her lower lip, testing the split while trying to ascertain her injuries. “No one, Uncle.”

  Uncle. One of three and then there was dear old Dad, but he’d disappeared about an hour ago. Or more. Possibly less. It was hard to tell in the wet room. Steel walls, tiled floor, drains every six feet. It was the first time she’d been down there, but not the first she’d heard of it. She saw two males dragged through the clan den and down the stairs in the first few days of her arrival, but she’d kept her mouth shut. Bears—shifters in general—were violent creatures that required a strict sense of order to stave off chaos. She was new to the clan, her father’s bastard half-shifter daughter, what did she know?

  Her mouth remained shut and she didn’t ask questions. Didn’t mean she didn’t listen though.

  Then she wondered why the hell her grandmother’s will ordered her back to his den. And because it’d been in the will, she’d had no choice but to go. She no longer belonged to her grandmother’s clan. She was part of Brookfield now and clan law required she present herself to her new Itan. Do not pass go, do not avoid returning to her hometown.

  Which was how she found herself in a screwed up, perverted clan that lived and breathed death and rape. Even now, half-dead from being beaten for days—four? Five?—she wanted to vomit.

  Those two males? Killed for objecting to sharing their mates with her father—the Brookfield Itan.

  The women ended up in his hands anyway. His and her uncle’s.

  “Stupid bitch, you made a call. Simone heard you,” her Uncle Daniel hissed. “Who was it?”

  Simone. God, she prayed her little sister got away. The moment she’d met her dad’s eyes and then his Enforcer’s—none other than Uncle Daniel—she’d known there was trouble. She’d spun and shoved, pushing Simone down the front steps, with a shouted run!

  The battle afterward was brutal and punishing, Evelyn fighting not just for herself, but trying to delay their pursuit of her half-sister. And she didn’t blame Simone for ratting her out. Life in Patrick Archer’s home was kill or be killed. Simone didn’t want to end up dead… or the next taken to the basement. She wouldn’t put it past her father or uncles, either.

  “I didn’t talk to anyone.”

  The next strike was a backhand. At least he went for her other cheek that time.

  “Liar.”

  Yeah, she was, but she didn’t think he could scent it beneath the blood.

  Daniel balled his fist, pulled back his arm, and she braced herself for the next punch.

  “Brother,” the single word was murmured, but Daniel froze. Hell, her third uncle stilled as well. That was what happened when Uncle Ezekiel spoke. “My turn.”

  Her mind flipped through the Brookfield inner-circle. Patrick Archer, Itan. Daniel Archer, Brookfield Enforcer. Sean Archer, Healer. Ezekiel Archer, Keeper… and so much more. Had he not been so batshit crazy, he would be the Itan. But he wasn’t and his grip on reality waned with each day. Only Patrick could keep him in line. Barely.

  Ezekiel’s turn? She was screwed. Literally and figuratively. She just wondered when he’d rape her. Dead or alive.

  It hadn’t been the first day. Or the second. Or the third…

  The truth settled into her bones. After being tortured for days, she finally accepted that help wasn’t coming. She’d risked it all, her own life as well as Simone’s, with that rash call and for what?

  Hope died, but pride at even trying continued to fill her.

  It’d had to be her, she’d had to be the one to risk everything to save the clan. They’d suffered years of abuse, years of being constantly battered and threatened by the inner-circle, and they were all… broken. Shells of who they could be. Why hadn’t they reached out?

  Fear. Death—murder—was a powerful motivator.

  The only person Evelyn loved—her grandmother—was gone, but her teachings lived on in Evelyn’s heart. She should never—ever—allow those weaker than her to suffer if something could be done about it.

  So she’d taken that phone number scribbled hastily on a tiny slip of paper by her ex-Itan. His handwriting was hardly legible, the numbers smooshed together to form the method of her salvation. Af
ter fighting to figure out what they said, she’d made the call.

  The voice on the voice mail was soothing, a soft timbre that gave off a feeling of comfort and then those words…

  “You do not have to bear your pain alone. Leave your name, number, and a brief message and assistance will be sent to you.”

  Bear your pain… Sent to you…

  She’d left a message, short and concise and… begging for help.

  Staring into her uncle’s eyes, she realized help wasn’t coming. Or, at least, she wouldn’t live long enough to see her clan freed from the Archer males.

  Evelyn played with Daniel, taunting and teasing him, when he came down to toy with her. In between those lovely visits, she suffered through her Uncle Sean’s treatments. She wasn’t sure why he bothered stitching her together just so Daniel could tear her apart again.

  Ezekiel’s steps were slow and measured, the homicidal gleam in his eyes frightening and she fought back the tiny shudder of fear that overtook her.

  But he caught it. Caught it and smiled wide, exposing his pale fangs. The tips were sharpened, a hint longer than a natural human’s, and she knew his beast lurked just beneath his skin.

  “I like you afraid, Evelyn,” he murmured, voice low but it felt as if he roared through the room.

  That was her fear talking and she hated it. Instead of saying anything, unwilling to reveal the depths of her terror, she gathered saliva and blood in her mouth and spat at him. The red scattered over his face, marring his tanned skin with the liquid.

  Instead of striking her, he smiled even wider, his eyes turning the full black of his bear. And with him so close, invading her space, she caught something rise above the coppery tang of her own blood.

  Desire.

  A quick glance at the juncture of his thighs revealed he was hard.

  Maybe if she taunted him, he’d end it before he violated her. She hoped.

  “Blood do it for you, Zeke?”

  “Your blood.” He ran a finger along his jaw, gathering droplets as he went, and then he slipped it into his mouth. He moaned with the movement, pure pleasure coating his features. “Delicious.”