Taken By The Others - Jess Haines An H&W Investigations Novel

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be, I knew it was there. I’d seen it. Touched it. Rolled my fingers through the fur, felt the weight of that not-man, not-wolf body. Known that, if not for his control over the pack he led, I’d have been nothing more than food to the rest of them. I’d also watched him fight another shifted Were, one much bigger and scarier than he was, keeping it away from me long enough to save everyone’s ass.

      Chaz had also been useful in tracking down some of my clients’ marks. After the showdown against David Borowsky and his band of enslaved Weres made the news, a whole bunch of Others contacted H&W seeking our services. Sara and I decided we’d take the work, as long as it didn’t look too risky, unlike the majority of PI firms who won’t touch anything Other-related. I don’t have as much of an issue helping Weres and magi as I used to, though vampires still go to the back of the line. And for the most part, I don’t socialize with Others, since I still consider the majority of them scarier than Michael Myers with a machete and a grudge.

      Chaz is the exception to my “keep the hell away from anything with fur or fangs” policy. Since he’d saved my life, it was hard to think of him as a bad guy. And we’d dated before, until he revealed what he was after we’d been together four or five months, and I freaked out and dumped him. This was admittedly a stupid move on my part. I came to realize this when I finally saw past my own blind idiocy that he cared about me and was showing me he trusted me with knowing what he was. Of course, it took him rescuing me, and helping me save Sara from the clutches of a mad sorcerer, to bring me around, but hey, at least I saw past the fur. Right?

      We weren’t contracted. I refused to sign the papers that opened me up to being changed into a werewolf. It also meant we couldn’t do the nasty, but that didn’t bug me so much. Chaz hasn’t been brave enough to bring the subject up again, and I was happy to put off making a decision that involved the possibility of me being turned into an Other for as long as possible.

      Contracts were all that saved humans from indiscriminately being eaten or injured by Others. The laws governing the wording of the contracts also made it abundantly clear that no Other was to chance turning a human, accidentally or otherwise, into one of their own. Given the passions attendant to things like sex and feeding, it prevented any Other from getting intimate with a human until they had all their legal ducks in a row.

      In other words, Chaz and I might hug or kiss each other, but if we were going to do the horizontal tango, it would require a far greater commitment to him than I was willing to give at the moment. Dating was one thing–the kind of courage it would take to put my life in his hands quite another.

      After mulling all this over, I realized that Chaz might know something about this Max Carlyle guy. He didn’t speak of it often but I knew he kept on top of the supernatural community’s secret goings-on. I figured I’d ask him about it when he came by later that night.

      The whole ride home, I wondered who this Max person was, and what he wanted with me. Also, why did Jack care so much about me? Even though my business would be a great front for the mostly illegal activities of the White Hats, it didn’t explain why he kept pestering me or why he considered me such a threat. What connection did he have with Max Carlyle, if any? What was the connection between this newcomer and Alec Royce?

      None of these questions could be answered easily, which didn’t improve my mood. By the time I pulled into my parking space at home, I’d resolved that tonight was going to be a stress-free evening with my boyfriend and that I’d worry about it all tomorrow.

       Chapter 3

      By nine thirty, I was getting pissed. Chaz was supposed to have shown up hours ago. He wasn’t picking up when I called. I’d turned my cell back on once I got home–no missed calls, voice mails, or text messages. Nothing on the answering machine at home. I even checked my e-mail–nothing but spam. That made two no-call-no-shows from him so far this month.

      Where was he?

      The last time it happened, he said it was pack business. Nothing to worry myself about. Something unavoidable. Something like when he called in his pack mates to help deal with David Borowsky, psychotic sorcerer extraordinaire, and his unwilling pack of lap-Weres. Nothing I wanted to get involved in, or know anything about.

      After a while, annoyed and tired of waiting, I ordered Chinese from down the street and sat down in front of my computer. Curiosity getting the better of me, I did a Web search for any information about Max Carlyle. Nothing came up except hits that I was pretty sure had nothing to do with the person Jack had been talking about. A movie character? Surely not.

      I leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. Royce knew something about this guy. Jack knew something about this guy. The idea of talking to either one of them wasn’t appealing. Chaz might know something, but I was more than a little ticked off at his inability to pick up a phone to call me and say, “Sorry, honey, running late,” or even a simple “An emergency came up, I won’t be around.” For his sake, his butt better be rotting in a gutter somewhere or I was seriously going to rip him a new one the next time I saw him.

      Out of my three choices, Royce seemed the least offensive of the bunch. Chaz would hate that I’d called him. He’d hate it even more if I set up a meeting with him.

      I reached for my cell.

      “Well, this is decidedly unexpected,” came the dryly amused response from the other end of the line.

      “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry about what I said, and hanging up on you earlier.”

      “An apology?” he said, his quiet laughter making me grit my teeth. “I must admit, I did not anticipate this from you.”

      “Listen, I know I made a mistake. You don’t have to rub it in. Are you still willing to meet with me or not?”

      “Of course. We’ll put that little faux pas behind us. I realize it may be a trifle late for you, but I would suggest we meet as soon as possible so you understand what you will be dealing with once Max gets into town. What would be convenient for you?”

      I spoke without thinking. “You know where my apartment is. Why don’t you just come over?”

      “I need to wrap some things up at the office, but I can be there in about an hour.”

      “Okay. See you then.”

      After he hung up, I stared at the cell phone cradled in my hand. I’d just invited Alec Royce, the oldest and most powerful vampire in the United States, to come to my apartment.

      Guess it beat waiting for Chaz to show up.

      With that thought in mind, I got off my butt and started tidying up the place. I shoved loose papers lying around on my desk into a drawer and turned off the computer monitor. I loaded the dishes piled in the sink into the dishwasher, then grabbed my shoes from by the door and my jacket off the arm of the couch and tossed them in the bedroom closet. I figured that would do well enough for the fastidious Royce.

      Part of me even wanted to pass by the mirror to see how I looked. The rest of me knew it was stupid and that this was for unofficial business, not a client or even a friend. Besides, I didn’t want to give Royce the wrong idea. As good as the vampire looked, he was a vampire. You know the sort. The typical tall, dark, and handsome man who also happens to be an evil, bloodsucking creature of the night. Not the type of guy you take home to Mom. Not like Chaz.

      Figuring it wouldn’t hurt to take some precautions, I dug into my dresser and pulled out one of my guns. I’d picked them up way back when I thought Royce was trying to kill me. Turned out at the time Royce just wanted to make me his living slave and it was someone else who was out to kill me. Funny how these things turn out.

      While I was in the drawer, I ran my fingertips over the leather belt with three matching silver stakes in their sheaths. I could literally feel discontent radiating from the thing.

      “Sorry,” I said, feeling more apologetic toward the inanimate object than I was

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