Free Wolf Strap by Naomi Clark Page B

abandoned suitcase between us. “Nice, Ayla . Just leave the weak and feeble human to carry the luggage.” She flicked her honey-blonde hair from her eyes and offered Vince a hand.
    “I’m Shannon Ryan.”
    “Vince Taylor.” He shook her hand carefully, avoiding the crushing grip he might have offered me. “Nice to finally meet you, Shannon.” Then, gentleman to the last, he picked up both our bags and carried them to his car. “Come on, ladies. Let’s get you home.”
    Vince lived on Larkspur, an estate bordering one of the larger parks in the city. Designed specifically for the Pack, it was a luxury estate catering to the wealthier Pack members, the kind that wanted indoor pools and two-car garages at their disposal. Vince was a sous-chef. I raised an eyebrow as we pulled into his drive.
    Catching my expression he grinned.
    “It’s Joel’s place.”
    “You didn’t tell me he was rich.” I stared up at the elegant house, suddenly burningly conscious of my clomping boots and battered leather jacket.
    “He’s an architect. Let’s get inside.” He paused, pinching the bridge of his nose, a nervous habit that set me on edge instantly. A faint smell of fear, like rotting fruit, touched my nostrils and my inner wolf went on alert. “We need to talk,” he said.
     
    “M
    urdered?” I echoed for perhaps the fifth time. “Adam?”
    I clutched Shannon’s hand tight enough to make her wince. “Murdered?”
    Vince pushed a mug of hot chocolate, heavily laced with brandy, towards me. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.”
    I wrapped my numb fingers around the mug, letting the too-hot ceramic warm me. “What happened?”
    He shifted uncomfortably on the teak kitchen chair. For a werewolf, Vince had always been pretty squeamish. “He was beaten to death.”
    I closed my eyes against the image that sprang to vivid, bloody life before them. “He was sixteen,” I whispered.
    “Do the police have any leads?” Shannon asked, sounding far calmer than I thought she ought to. I guess she was used to this kind of talk, more so than me. Shannon was a private investigator, although admittedly the majority of her cases involved cheating spouses and tax evasion, not dead werewolves.
    “Not really. Nothing solid. Except–” Vince hesitated, heaved a huge sigh. “There was some graffiti on the alley where they found him. The papers are speculating it was Alpha Humans, but the police aren’t saying anything.”
    I grimaced. I’d seen a couple of reports on Alpha Human attacks in the past few years. The signature was always the same, the legend ‘abomination’ scrawled near the body. They were a militant group and three or four of them armed with lead pipes would be more than a match for a teenage werewolf. Even an adult wolf, caught unaware, might be taken down. If this was another city, I wouldn’t have been surprised, but here, with relations between humans and Pack as good as they were…
    “Any similar attacks in the area recently?” I asked, sipping my hot chocolate and trying to sound as detached and professional as Shannon.
    “Nothing in the papers. This kind of thing just doesn’t happen round here, Ayla , you know that.” Vince rubbed the back of his neck, looking equal parts dismayed and baffled.
    It did now. I stared at the smooth granite surface of the breakfast bar and once again tried to block the image of Adam, bloodied and battered, from my mind. I couldn’t force it away though, and I was infinitely grateful when Vince’s other half got home.
    I’d heard about Joel, but none of Vince’s rapturous emails did the other wolf justice. Lean and blond, sharp-eyed and strong-bodied, the kind of wolf my mum would have loved me to bring home.
    “So me and Vince were planning a run tonight,” he told me once all the introductions were done. “We’d love you to come with us, Ayla .” He glanced at Shannon. “And I guess you…”
    “Could run along behind?” Shannon smiled and