Shameful by May Dawson
51
Killian
It takesme a while to track Legacy and her moronic minions down. They’d camouflaged their scents, changed cars, then all but disappeared. If I hadn’t gotten to know Legacy, I’d assume that—as usual—Rhett was the mastermind, West the accomplice.
But good-girl Legacy has broken and apparently said fuck it in a big way. I think she might be the one calling all the shots.
In the end, though, I used to be close to West and Rhett. I can guess where they’ll head for help, since they have to avoid other shifters.
Anyone from our pack will turn them into Cyrus. No one from another pack is going to risk Cyrus’srage.
They have to stay on neutral territory, not veer into any pack lands.
But a long time ago, I’d spent a night with them at Pews and Brews. There’s nowhere for them to hide, but they might be able to get help from Fiona. She’s always had a tender heart for idiots and idealists, as evidence by her harem.
And sure enough, as I watch they march out of the bar. Legacy hugs Fiona goodbye; West and Rhett and Fiona’s guys stand around awkwardly. None of them are really the huggingtype.
I track them to a motel in the bad part of a city. Cities are usually neutral ground; this is the safest place for them to avoid other packs.
I set up in the building opposite them. The truth is, I don’t really want to disrupt what they’re doing, not until I have to, which might be a matter of saving their lives if Cyrus or the guard come knocking. Gibs has bought me some time, shown some faith in me. I don’t want to let himdown.
But if we can bring Tobias Bentley down, if we have a vampire body to show, then I might be able to get enough support for Legacy to get her off Reject Island. If she has a new mate or two—the thought strains something in my chest—and Cyrus fears the other alphas’ judgment, he should releaseher.
The thought of Legacy mated to someone else irritates me like a splinter lodged in my skin, something so small and yet so constantly memorable. I remind myself for the fiftieth time that I’ve been alone for a long time. Maybe latching onto the first she-wolf I see again—one mated to someone else—is a trick of my loneliness.
Maybe there’s no good reason why my soul growls mine every time I look ather.
I don’t need Legacy Quinn.
I can almost convince myself of that, right up until I see her fuckingWest.