The last place Anton Lupi wanted to be was back on the farm with the werewolf pack. He and his mate Greg were supposed to be home, eating nearly raw steaks and discovering how they fit together now that Greg was a werewolf like him.
They'd left the farm less than two hours ago and here they were again, his penthouse home engulfed in flames and his manservant Jackson kidnapped by vile outsiders who refused to challenge him head on, taking on his family instead. They'd already killed three, including Dorso, who they'd thought was the leader. They must have been wrong; no pack would mount such an offensive without an alpha.
Much as Anton didn't want to go back to the farmhouse, there had been nowhere else to go. He wanted to rescue Jackson on his own, but Anton knew that he would need the help of Andrea and the pack. He didn't even know where to begin to look.
He pulled up in front of the farmhouse and cut the engine, hand sliding on Greg's leg.
Greg looked more than halfway feral, eyes glowing as he panted. "Where are they? We have to go get Jackson."
"We have to plan first." He wasn't going to let anyone get their hands on Greg again, even if it meant locking his mate in the basement of the farmhouse. He would not trade Greg for Jackson. They would have to find another way.
Even as the anger and determination coursed through him, Anton responded to the light in Greg's eyes, the wolf so close, his need right there. It was a newly formed bond, Greg a newly formed werewolf. Anton was being pulled in two directions.
"Your apartment..." Greg's body rippled, the so-new wolf wanting out, fighting free.
"I know." He growled, moving in to kiss Greg, his teeth clacking against his mate's.
It hadn't been simply his apartment, either. Not at all. Greg's kitchen, their home. Their lives.
Greg's snarl answered him, the wolf still new, moving on pure instinct. He growled back, teeth snapping near Greg's neck. Greg was his mate. His. His instincts, his wolf had never been so near the surface as it had since Greg had been kidnapped.
The front door banged open, both of them growling at Devon, the little beta male almost bristling. "Andrea says we have to get you inside, get you protected."
Anton hopped off the bike, still growling, hand curling possessively around Greg's bicep. "Does she know where they're holding Jackson?"
"I don't know. Come on. I'm sorry about your friend." Devon padded in front of them, a livid bruise on the back of his neck, the claim obviously meant to be seen.
It raised Anton's hackles, having a claim that wasn't his own in plain sight, and he dug his fingers harder into Greg's arm, all but dragging his mate along.
"Back off." Greg pulled away, muscles rippling. "I can walk."
Growling, he grabbed the collar of Greg's shirt, slamming him up against the wall next to the door. "You're mine."
Devon tugged his arm. "Get out of the hallway. Daniel's resting."
He snarled at the little beta male, shrugging off Devon's hand. "You don't get to tell me what to do."
"And if you can't get it under control, Anton, we're not going to get anything accomplished." Andrea snapped at him, and at Devon, glaring at all three of them.
"Jesus, can't you people be quiet?" A carbon copy--barring the hair, which was long and shaggy instead of nearly shaved--of Devon wandered out, heading for Andrea. "This the new pair? Cripes, I go out of town for a few days and shit goes to hell."
Andrea cuffed the not-Devon boy playfully and Devon groaned. "Would you all shut UP! For fuck's sake! Daniel is SLEEPING!"
Greg snorted. "Little shit's shrill, huh?"