Page 12 of Act of Command

She found herself telling him how she was an art major, all about her roommate Alice, and then about how she’d been stood up on the night she’d been taken.

Brad’s dark brows met. “A guy stood you up?”

“Yep. And then I was abducted by crazy people who have a psycho vampire leading their cause.” As she said it, Mae began to wonder if maybe Corbin had set her up. Had he been behind her capture? Had her mother’s instincts been that far off?

Brad grinned. “I’ve had worse dates.”

She laughed. “Do tell.”

“Once had a woman think it was a good idea to visit a petting zoo with me during a full moon.”

Mae lifted a brow. “End as bad as I think it did?”

“Oh yeah. What do you say we get through this and then I can hunt down the dick that stood you up and break his face?” he asked.

“Sounds like a plan. I’m not one who is normally for violence, but I might break the guy’s face on my own,” she managed, leaning against the window.

Chapter Five

“We have got to start monitoring Striker’s food intake!” said Malik Nasser, or Tut, as the rest of the team often called the Ancient Egyptian. He entered the training room, his eyes wide as he waved his hand in the air. Everything about Malik was suave and smooth. He had a look about him that one could not easily place, giving him an air of mystery with the ladies. He was the type of man who could charm the pants off any woman, and she never felt used when he was done with her.

And he was always done with them.

He wasn’t mated and seemed to have no designs on settling down. Corbin envied the ease with which Malik moved from woman to woman. Corbin had sex when his lion side demanded he sate the need, but no more. He disliked going through the motions of romancing a woman long enough to bed her and wasn’t comfortable with the idea of picking up a woman he didn’t know at a bar, taking her home and fucking her. He preferred the pretense of a relationship at the very least. Yet he had no desire for anything long term. No real burning desire for commitment.

Malik shook his head. “Seriously, the man is lethal.”

Corbin eyed James, who in turn shrugged. Neither knew what Malik was going on about.

“Och, I’m nae lethal,” said the Scotsman as he entered behind Malik, moving a newspaper in the air in a fanning motion. “Though, I do nae think any of you want to be visitin’ that restroom anytime soon. Might want to give it a wee bit to air out. Had beans for dinner and they were guid. Verra guid.”

James coughed to hide a laugh and Corbin groaned. Striker often reminded him of an overgrown child. The man was a competent warrior and soldier, even though he often seemed anything but. His partner in crime, Boomer, staggered in shortly after him, coughing and pounding on his chest.

“What the hell did you eat? Roadkill?” demanded Boomer, his long, blue-black hair down. The man was dressed head to toe in black. His go-to color. He was the only member of Corbin’s team who was also covered in piercings. At first glance, one would think Boomer was a Goth who took a wrong turn and landed in PSI headquarters. Miles Walsh was a skilled operative with a penchant for blowing things up, hence the nickname. His mate, Haven, was beautiful and normal. So very normal compared to Boomer’s oddities.

“I know, right?” asked Malik, giving Striker a side-eyed stare. “You should see a health care professional. That isn’t normal.”

With a smug grin of satisfaction, Striker held out his hand. “Pull my finger.”

Huffing, Malik walked towards Corbin. “Do something with him.”

“Would that I could,” answered Corbin. “Why are you all here? It’s late.”

The men glanced at one another and then back at him. “Duke called us. Told us the girls had made some headway with the information we brought back from the Middle East. And he mentioned a supernatural trafficking ring that was tied to the last one,” said Boomer, clearing his throat. “We were hoping there was enough there that we could maybe help some more people. Get some more of those perverted fucks off the street. We need to do something. We’re tired of feeling like we’re losing this battle.”

At the mention of Duke Marlow, the man appeared in the doorway, his dark brown hair looking as if he hadn’t bothered to run a brush through it. Knowing Duke, he hadn’t. He nodded to Corbin. “The girls helped the analysts. They’ve got some more information on some of the women currently being held for auction. I put a call in to Casey, he and Weston are going to go check out one close to them, and I phoned the Immortal Ops. Another is closer to them than us. I hope you don’t mind. Eadan and Wilson said they’d go have a looksee.”

Corbin nodded. All of the I-Ops were either expecting babies very soon or had just had them. As much as Corbin wanted to allow the men family time, this was a matter that required all hands on deck—especially since they were operating on limited manpower as they’d not been able to successfully weed out the traitors in the PSI. He had a hunch not one man would turn down the task when they realized what was at stake. Women were to be protected and cherished. Not sold to the highest bidder.

“Thank you,” said Corbin. “I’d rather not waste time with normal protocol, and besides, we need to keep this as close to the vest as possible with what has been going on around here lately. Our circle of trust is limited.”

“Agree,” replied Duke. “Listen, one woman is supposedly not being held too far from here, but her location is a little bit of a mystery. The techs are coming back with six possible spots she might be right now. The information doesn’t make a ton of sense. We could all split up and do some recon. Call in the others if our location is it. I think we should head out tonight. After what we saw over there, I don’t even want to think of another woman spending any extra time at the hands of these sick fucks.”

Corbin grabbed his workout bag. “Splitting up works. We need to avoid wasting any time. We’ll stay in constant contact.” He was about to say more when he heard the distinct sound of his cell phone buzzing in his gym bag. He knew everyone else in the room heard it as well with as sensitive as their hearing was. Keeping things private in a room full of shifters was difficult if not impossible.

Duke grunted. “Going to run off and take the call in private again? You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

Giving in, Corbin decided to take his lumps from his teammates like a man. He already knew who was calling him this time of night—his mother. The woman was centuries old and had never once troubled herself with learning the time zone differences between London and Corbin. With a deliberate slowness, he retrieved the phone, hoping his mother would give up before he answered. She didn’t. Not that he really thought she would. She was on a mission.

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