Wolf Rising Read online

  Also by Paige Tyler

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  Wolf Rising

  X-Ops

  Her Perfect Mate

  Her Lone Wolf

  Her Secret Agent (novella)

  Her Wild Hero

  Her Fierce Warrior

  Her Rogue Alpha

  Her True Match

  Her Dark Half

  X-Ops Exposed

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2018 by Paige Tyler

  Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover art by Kris Keller

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  Fax: (630) 961-2168

  sourcebooks.com

  With special thanks to my extremely patient and understanding husband. Without your help and support, I couldn’t have pursued my dream job of becoming a writer. You’re my sounding board, my idea man, my critique partner, and the absolute best research assistant a girl could ask for. Love you!

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  Prologue

  Gulfport, Mississippi, 2013

  Sheriff’s Deputy Jayden Brooks had just driven past Bayou High School when the call about a suspicious person came across the radio. Someone had reported a big man lurking around the school’s gym with a knife. Mill Road was deserted at this time of night, so he pulled a U-turn across the median and raced back in the other direction, flipping on his lights as he called his response in to dispatch.

  By the time he got to the gymnasium parking lot less than three minutes later, a dozen high school kids were running out of the building. Based on the day of the week and the limited number of vehicles there, it was probably the tail end of volleyball practice. It was late, but schools in this part of the country were serious about their sports.

  Cursing as a group of four more teens ran out of the building, some with blood on their clothes, Brooks shoved the car in park and jumped out. On the radio clipped to his shoulder, other Harrison County deputies were calling in their ETAs to his location. Sounded like he was on his own for at least the next five minutes. But that didn’t stop him from racing toward the gym. It didn’t take his eight years of experience on the job to know there was something bad going on in the school.

  Brooks caught the arm of the first kid he crossed paths with. A girl about sixteen, she was tall and slender with blond hair.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  It took several long, excruciating seconds for the girl to focus on Brooks. Her hazel eyes were wide and so filled with terror, Brooks thought she might pass out. “We were finishing up practice when this big, scary guy with these crazy eyes and a knife came into the gym. Coach Ellis got between him and the rest of us and told us to run.” The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “She hasn’t come out yet. I-I think he hurt her.”

  Shit.

  “Where’s the guy now?” Brooks asked.

  “He went after Cassie.” More tears came, spilling down the girl’s cheeks. “She’s the captain of the volleyball team. I think she was trying to get him to follow her so he wouldn’t come after us.”

  Brave, but crazy, Brooks thought.

  “More cops are on the way,” he told the girl. “You and your friends get out of here, okay?”

  She nodded, her bottom lip trembling. “What about Coach Ellis and Cassie?”

  “I’ll find them,” he promised.

  Taking his Glock from the holster on his hip, he sprinted toward the gym. The cold air fogged in front of his face, and his right knee immediately started to throb. It always did when the temperature dropped quickly like it had tonight. He’d torn some ligaments playing college football, and while it had healed well enough for him to become a cop, it hurt all the time.

  Two teenage girls came out of the school just as he was going in, a woman he assumed was Coach Ellis between them, her arms draped over their shoulders, blood on the front of her shirt.

  “Which way?” he asked, moving past them without slowing.

  Despite being injured, it was Coach Ellis who answered. “Down the hall, then turn left. There’s a door that leads to the football field. Cassie led him that way a few minutes ago. Hurry. He’s crazy.”

  Brooks nodded and ran, his boots pounding on the floor and echoing off the walls. He radioed dispatch on the way, giving them an update and requesting an ambulance. When he got to the door the coach had mentioned, he shoved it open, swinging his weapon and his flashlight in a wide sweep into the darkness behind the school.

  He moved as cautiously as he could but picked up the pace within a few feet. His gut shouted at him that Cassie didn’t have time for him to waste being careful. From the sirens in the distance, backup was on the way, but Cassie could be dead long before they arrived.

  The gate that led onto the field and the bleachers was locked with a big looping chain. Brooks looked up in the darkness, wondering if the girl—and the man chasing her—had climbed over. The fence was at least twelve feet high with two strands of barbed wire atop it. He didn’t know about the psycho with the knife, but there was no way the girl would have gone up and over the thing.

  He looked left and right, past the small ticket booths and food stands, toward the other
small outbuildings and occasional row of pine trees farther along the fence line. He cursed. The girl could have gone anywhere.

  Brooks shone his flashlight one way, then the other, looking for some indication of which way to go. He was about to give up and pick a direction at random when a cracking sound from his left made him spin in that direction. Any country boy who’d spent time in the woods would recognize that sound. Someone had stepped on a big stick and snapped it underfoot.

  He headed in that direction, keeping the fence to his right as he moved toward the noise. When he rounded the corner of a small food stand, he swung his flashlight over the woods behind it. He would have missed the girl if it wasn’t for the soft squeal of fear she let out as his light swept over her hiding place behind a large pine tree.

  Thank God.

  Slim with curly red hair pulled back in a ponytail, she was huddled down on her knees in the pine needles, blood running down her leg from a deep gash in her left thigh even though she had both hands clamped over the wound. She was shaking, but Brooks couldn’t tell if it was from the cool night, fear, blood loss, or a combination of all three.

  Brooks threw a quick glance over his shoulder to check for the crazy guy with the knife, then dropped down on one knee beside the girl, checking her for other injuries while calling in their location to dispatch and trying to keep an eye out for the psycho at the same time.

  “Cassie, I’m Deputy Brooks,” he said when he got off the radio. “I’m going to get you out of here, but I need to know where the guy who hurt you is.”

  She sniffed and shook her head. “I don’t know. When I ran over here to hide, he was right behind me, but then he just disappeared.”

  Brooks looked around again, but there was no sign of the maniac with the knife. Maybe the sirens had scared the guy away. From the chatter streaming across his radio, it was obvious the other first responders weren’t going to make that same assumption. He could hear his shift supervisor calling out orders to establish a perimeter, for three-officer teams to move in and start methodically clearing the school, and for EMS to maintain their position outside the barricades.

  Cassie moaned and rested her forehead against the tree she was still kneeling behind. Despite the chill in the air, she was soaked with sweat, and her face was pale. Cursing silently, he shoved his weapon in its holster. The girl didn’t have time to wait for EMS. She was bleeding out by the second.

  “Hey,” he said softly, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Stay with me, okay?” When she nodded, he continued, “Can you try to hold my flashlight so you can guide us out of here while I carry you?”

  She took one trembling hand away from her bloody leg to take the flashlight. “I think so.”

  Picking her up in his arms, Brooks quickly started back the way he’d come. By the time he reached the main sidewalk heading to the gym, he was almost running. His heavy boots pounded loudly on the concrete as he raced to get the girl to the paramedics, which was probably why he didn’t hear the second set of footsteps until it was too late.

  He jerked his head toward the sound in time to see a huge man hurtling out of the darkness, the dim moonlight coming through the trees glinting off the edge of a blade.

  Time slowed, and for reasons that didn’t make a lot of sense, Brooks found himself taking in every detail of the big man. The long, wild hair. The maniacal grin. The wide eyes that seemed to glow in the moonlight. And most of all, the wickedly sharp machete whistling through the air as he swung.

  Brooks tried to backpedal, but it was too late. And with Cassie in his arms, going for his weapon wasn’t an option, either. So he did the only thing he could think of. He twisted his body around to protect the girl.

  He’d hoped his tactical vest would stop the machete, but when a ribbon of fire sliced through his lower back and right side, he knew the man had hit him below the edge of the Kevlar vest. The guy had hit him in the one area the protective gear didn’t cover.

  Brooks tumbled forward as pain tore through him. He tried to hold on to Cassie, but she flew out of his arms anyway. She hit the ground with a scream…then kept screaming as she realized what was happening.

  Brooks rolled the second he hit the pavement, ignoring the ever-increasing pain and the wetness running down his side as he pulled his weapon. Somehow, he managed to get the gun pointed at the man. He couldn’t get a good look at the guy’s face from this angle, but from the growl of rage he let out, it didn’t take a genius to figure out he was psychotic…or on drugs.

  “Sheriff’s Deputy! Drop the knife or I’ll shoot!” Brooks yelled.

  He’d never had to pull the trigger on someone in his entire career in law enforcement, but when the man came at him again, Brooks didn’t hesitate. The .40 caliber weapon bucked twice, the bullets hitting the guy right below the sternum. Dark spots of blood immediately stained the front of the man’s T-shirt.

  It should have been enough to put the man down, but he didn’t even slow.

  Brooks tried to fire again, but his attacker was impossibly fast. Snarling, the man swung the machete again, catching Brooks across the chest and right forearm. His tactical vest protected his chest, but his arm wasn’t so lucky. The tip of the machete bit in deep, making his whole arm from elbow to wrist go numb with pain. His Glock fell from his hand, disappearing into the darkness of the concrete.

  The big man stood over him, growling like a wild animal. His eyes seemed to glow blue in the moonlight, making him appear barely human. Brooks had no doubt the guy was drugged out of his mind. He had no idea if it was coke, heroin, or meth, but the guy was riding something hard.

  Brooks was still trying to figure out how to take the psycho down when the man strode off and headed for Cassie, machete in hand. The girl screamed and tried to drag herself away, shoving at the ground with her good leg.

  Gritting his teeth against the pain, Brooks rolled to his knees. He had to get to the man before he reached Cassie. As enraged as he was, the lunatic would kill her in seconds.

  Brooks swayed as he got to his feet. He only had a minute or two before blood loss made him pass out—or worse. He had to finish this before it was too late.

  Taking a deep breath, Brooks charged the man like he was still playing fullback at LSU. At the last second, he lowered his shoulder and slammed into the center of the man’s back. The impact jarred every bone in Brooks’s body, making the deep cut in his side burn like it was on fire as he drove the man to the pavement. But it got the madman away from Cassie, and that was what mattered.

  The guy squirmed in his grasp like a greased eel with ’roid rage. As they rolled around on the ground, Brooks managed to get one hand on the base of the machete, successfully keeping the weapon away. But that left him open to the man’s fists. The son of a bitch seemed to take great pleasure in punching him in his injured side.

  Cursing, Brooks pulled out his Taser with his free hand and shoved it against the man’s bare neck, then pulled the trigger. There was the familiar clicking sound as the nonlethal weapon pumped fifty thousand volts into the man. That would have been enough to incapacitate anyone else, but Mr. ’Roid Rage simply dropped the machete and wrapped both hands around Brooks’s neck like he hadn’t even felt the electricity course through his body.

  Brooks tossed his Taser aside. One, because it wasn’t doing crap. And two, because he needed to protect himself. But as he ripped the man’s hands away from his neck and tried to restrain him, his vision began to swim. Shit. He was maybe thirty seconds from passing out. If that happened, he was dead. So was Cassie.

  Balling his hand into a fist, he punched the man in the throat. Mr. ’Roid Rage grunted in pain and let go of him. Before the man realized his mistake, Brooks slammed the heel of his hand into the big guy’s nose. The crunch was loud and gratifying, but Brooks knew even that wouldn’t be enough to finish this.

  Grabbing the man’s long hair in both hands, he got a
firm grip to hold him still. With blood running down from his shattered nose and eyes blazing with that crazy blue, drugged-out glow, the guy looked like a frigging monster. His teeth even seemed to be longer than a normal person’s, and for a minute, Brooks thought he might actually try to bite him. Brooks didn’t give him the chance. With a growl of his own, Brooks slammed his head forward and smashed it into the guy’s face.

  Bones crunched, and bright lights flashed in his eyes. But even though it hurt like hell, Brooks headbutted him again and again until the man’s face was a bloody mess. Even that didn’t take the fight out of Mr. ’Roid Rage. Somewhere in between the third and fourth headbutt, he grabbed Brooks by the shoulders and flung him away like a rag doll.

  Brooks hit the ground hard, air exploding from his lungs as ribs cracked. Groaning, he opened his eyes to see the man coming toward him with that damn machete in his hand.

  Ignoring the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, Brooks struggled to push himself onto his hands and knees, stunned when he saw his Glock on the ground in front of him. With something between a laugh and a sob, he wrapped his hand around the gun and found the trigger with his finger.

  But Mr. ’Roid Rage was already swinging the machete.

  Brooks could barely feel himself squeeze the trigger, much less know where he was aiming. He got off three shots before the guy slammed down on top of him, those impossibly long teeth inches from his neck.

  Sure the man was going to rip out his throat, Brooks threw his arm up to block the blow. But then everything stilled as the guy stopped moving. With the little strength he had left, Brooks shoved the man off him. There were three bullet holes in the man’s chest.

  Too tired to even care anymore, Brooks fell back on the concrete, pain radiating through every inch of him as he fought for breath. He was dimly aware of Cassie crying somewhere nearby, then bright lights were in his face as officers and paramedics moved in. He knew most of them, had worked with some of them for years. But it was the face of his shift supervisor, Sergeant Jack Walker, that he focused on.

  Even though Jack had been doing this job for a long time, his face still betrayed how bad it was. That was okay. Brooks had already known.