The Last Griffin

  The Last Griffin

  Wendy L. Koenig

  Published 2016

  ISBN: 978-1-62210-292-1

  Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © Published 2016, Wendy L. Koenig. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Liquid Silver Books

  http://LSbooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Blurb

  Olivia Bonaparte is a young bartender in Boulder, Colorado. She lives in a normal world with a normal life until brutal men become intent upon killing her. Soon, everyone looks at her as if she’s a criminal. Secrets from her past begin to unravel, thanks to the two sexy men who have taken her into their protection. Still, their pursuers continue to hunt them.

  Brian Merullo, a werewolf, has a troubled past. With the assistance of a white Bengal tiger shifter, he has learned to bend the beast within to his will. Now, as he races to keep Olivia safe, he discovers that the wolf has very definite ideas about his perfect mate. But how can he show her his feelings when every relationship in his past has failed because of what he is? He worries Olivia will turn away like the others.

  As they battle for their lives, pushing deeper and deeper into the mountains, only one question remains: can Brian stop their enemies in time to save the love of his life?

  Dedication

  For Vince.

  Acknowledgements

  Many thanks to the members of my writers’ group, Breathe. Without you, this story wouldn’t have made it to manuscript form. Thanks also to the wonderful staff at Liquid Silver, who work tirelessly to make every writer’s manuscript beautiful.

  Chapter 1

  The silence of the attack surprised Olivia Bonaparte. She wasn’t sure what she thought that kind of thing should have sounded like, but silence hadn’t been it.

  It was eleven p.m. on Christmas Eve in Boulder, Colorado, and the whole night had been quiet. As she walked home from her job as a bartender at Q’s, a local bistro at the open air Pearl Street Mall, snow fell in thick wet flakes, hiding the sky and anything more than a few feet away. It muffled the night sounds: car engines, horns, voices, and shouts. She didn’t see the dark shapes skulking behind her, nor did she hear their footsteps.

  She had no reason to worry. The way home to her Spruce Street apartment was well lit and usually busy with other pedestrians, though she hadn’t seen many that night. The peace of the season surrounded her. Even her normally raucous neighbors were silent. No televisions or radios invaded the building with carols or commercials. From a few doors down came the soft strains of laughter. Had all but one family gone away for the holidays?

  As she opened the door to her home, something heavy landed between her shoulder blades, knocking her to the floor. Two intruders barreled into the apartment. The ricocheting door trapped a third attacker outside and he pulled it off its hinges, splintering the wood. The sound echoed loudly in the quiet entryway. She’d never forget it. Her neighbors must have heard it. Help would come soon.

  Though she only saw the three attackers, she almost felt the presence of more waiting not far away. Of course, that could have been her imagination. Like cowards, her muggers wore red-brown bear costumes and flanked her as she struggled to her feet. In Miss Atwood’s self-defense class, she’d learned a wide, defensive stance and she took that now, rolling her hands into loose fists. Specific moves eluded her; she just hoped instinct would take over. The yell that bubbled in her throat died away as the bear-men attacked, quiet as grave-robbers.

  Desperate, Olivia fought, connecting her boots to shin bones and knees, and her fists to everything she could reach. Still, the men threw her to the hard linoleum like a rag doll. On the floor, she continued to kick, connecting more than once with rigid bone. She wrapped her hands around legs and bit. She thought there’d be some screams or shouts at least. But the only sounds were grunts, growls, and deep raspy breaths. The sounds scored across her mind, and she knew she’d remember them forever.

  Her ribs snapped under one kick and another brought an ache deep in her back where she figured her right kidney was located. Then all fight fled her and she huddled as tightly as she could into a ball. This would ruin the holiday for her neighbors. Bright wrapping paper and ribbons would have a darkened hue, hymn singers would be a tad more somber and everyone would be dressed in black. No longer would she be thought of as the plain girl down the hall. She would be remembered as the girl who ruined Christmas. Would anyone tell Miss Atwood at the orphanage? Or would the elderly woman learn of her death from the newspaper? Olivia was pretty sure the final blow would come soon, but suddenly the brutes scattered.

  It was silent for only a moment, and then footsteps pounded outside and across the floor. Unable to see the door from her position near the opposite end of her couch, she called, “Who is it?”

  When no answer came, she turned her head in a small movement. White-hot pain in her back penalized her, but she could see a tall, clean-shaven man with curly brown hair approaching. Police? So quickly? Apparently, her neighbors had heard. He squatted beside her, his knees popping at the effort. His nose looked like it had been broken once or twice, the bump exaggerated and slightly skewed off-center.

  His brow was furrowed with…what? Confusion? Concern? His rich, brown eyes stayed focused on hers. It felt as if something tangible passed between them. He frowned as if he felt it too, and it worried him. He took her hand with a gentle touch. “Medical help is coming. Hang on.”

  She squeezed her fingers around his, and he rubbed his thumb across the back of her fist. He said, “I’m Brian Merullo. What’s your name?”

  “Olivia Bonaparte.”

  “While we wait for the ambulance, tell me a little about yourself, Olivia.”

  “I’m twenty-three, and I work Q’s as a bartender. There’s not much else to tell.”

  He asked a few more questions. Her answers were basically all the same:

  “No, I didn’t see their faces.”

  “No, I don’t know of any enemies.”

  “No, nothing out of the ordinary happened the past few weeks, or month even, except this attack.”

  Olivia opened her mouth to say more, but crisp wind blew through her ruined door. Shivers from cold or shock rippled through her. Reaching across her body, he pulled a couch blanket to cover her. Close to her face, like he was, the scent of snow and mud from his street clothes filled her nostrils. He held her chilled hands in his warm ones and talked to her about anything that seemed to cross his mind. She was glad to have something to take her thoughts off the pain and terror she felt shaking inside her skin. His dialogue was as gentle as his voice, and she found it easy to listen, though wave after wave of nausea and deep-dwelling pain rolled over her.

  At last, she heard the cry of a couple sirens entering the parking lot. At the same time, a black-haired man arrived. He spoke to Brian in a voice as smooth as ice. “They’re gone.”

  Brian’s gaze locked with Olivia’s, and she again felt that connection pass between them. What was that? Her brown-haired knight loosened his grip on her hand. “I’m going to find the men who hurt you. Just hang on, okay?”

  She wanted to hold him back, to say, “Wait! No! I need you here.” Anything to keep him from leaving. She clenched hi
s hand as hard as she could. She needed his strength; it would keep her safe. He smiled an apology, worked his hand out of her grasp and left as ambulance workers in bright coats and white pants entered. The paramedics gently probed her body, sending Olivia into spasms every time one of them touched the small of her back. It seemed like forever, but at last they decided she was stable enough to transport to the hospital.

  Uniformed cops arrived. She asked one, “Where are the men who rescued me? I want to thank them.”

  She looked for Brian, the man with the mesmerizing brown eyes, but she didn’t see him anywhere. He’d probably gone to interview neighbors. He was on the job, after all. Still, she felt the keen edge of disappointment.

  Olivia was lifted onto the transport gurney. The harsh bite of pain enveloped her completely, and she lost consciousness.

  Chapter 2

  Brian waited in Tony’s navy blue Escalade at the edge of the apartment parking lot. Two fire trucks, an ambulance and three police cruisers stood at odd angles to each other, crisscrossing the parking lines, with the ambulance closest to the door of Olivia’s apartment. Emergency lights flashed in the dark, adding more gaudiness to the twinkling Christmas decorations and plastic snowmen up and down the block.

  He couldn’t get the picture of her out of his head. Her fighter’s stance said she’d had some kind of training, but he didn’t think it was much. Still, outnumbered and outsized, she stood up to her attackers, giving almost as good as she got. Even when they finally got her down, she continued to fight. She was a tough one. He hoped she’d make it.

  Tony crossed the lot, avoiding the arriving Channel 4 news van, and slid into the driver’s seat. The brilliance of the flashing lights strobed across his face, turning it red, then blue, then purple. They sat for a moment, watching the tableau until the stretcher came out and the paramedics loaded Olivia into the ambulance.

  “Do you think she’ll survive?” Brian held his breath. For some reason, it mattered. He wasn’t sure why, and frankly, it unnerved him. He could still smell the copper-base-salt of her blood on his hands. It had been all over her apartment, all over her.

  “Yep.” Tony looked at him. The headlights from the leaving ambulance lit his face then, and Brian saw his friend’s eyebrows hard knit into a frown. “All I found were footprints: bare human feet. But, it was Carl Hall. I’m sure of it.”

  Brian nodded by means of an answer. He wished they’d arrived sooner, then Olivia wouldn’t have been attacked at all. “We need to verify that.”

  Neither said anything for a few moments. Then Tony spoke again. “If it was them, my source is valid. He said Hall and his buddies were on the prowl for something.”

  “I didn’t see anything in her apartment to tell us why they attacked, and she didn’t know either.”

  Again, they were silent. Brian’s thoughts returned to Olivia. He tasted the name in his mouth, rolling the sound of it around and around. He liked it. He wondered about that snare of a connection he’d felt when he’d met her gaze. What was that? He’d never experienced anything like it before. It felt as if their future had tied together in that brief meeting. It was no mere attraction. Strangely, it felt like he was falling in love. He shook his head. No. It couldn’t be. He’d been with her for only a few short minutes. Besides, love wasn’t for the likes of him.

  He again saw her fighting in his mind. Saw her honey-colored hair swing as she whirled to block one of her attackers. In the few seconds he’d watched her fight, he’d glimpsed her fierceness and determination. It impressed him that she didn’t go down easily. He’d seen her attackers’ surprise in the way they had moved, but they had been equally determined and aimed their blows to inflict maximum injury. “They’ll be back to finish.”

  “We’ll need to interview her tomorrow, find out what insights she has on this after she’s got some distance from it. You’re right; though, it didn’t look like a scare tactic to me. They wanted her dead. We need to find out everything about her that we can.”

  “I’ll stay with her tonight. You talk to your sources again.”

  “You don’t like babysitting.”

  Brian stared at his friend’s silhouette in the dark. He shrugged. “She needs protection. That’s either you or me, and your contacts won’t talk to me.”

  The parking lot was dark and bare now, except for a lone police cruiser. Tony turned to regard him full on. He said nothing for a few beats. Then, “Don’t get involved with her. It’ll end badly. It always does.”

  Brian had offered Tony a valid reason for staying with Olivia, yet his friend had jumped to the opposite conclusion. He narrowed his eyes and glared at the man beside him, knowing Tony could see it. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not interested in getting involved with anyone. You don’t know anything about what I’m thinking.”

  “I do know it. And so do you. It’s all over your face. It won’t last long and you’ll be alone again in the end. Just don’t do it.”

  Brian turned away from the conversation. He didn’t want to hear any more of Tony’s logic. Of course, his friend was right. He often was. In his mind, he again saw Olivia bleeding out on the floor of her destroyed apartment. Something deep inside him twisted and tore. He couldn’t let anyone hurt her again. He’d stay by her night and day. If necessary, he’d give his life to protect her. But he’d keep his distance. He wanted nothing to do with romantic entanglements. He jutted his chin toward the road. “Let’s get going.”

  Tony started the car and turned it in the direction the ambulance had taken.

  Chapter 3

  Olivia woke late afternoon in the hospital on Christmas day. Gaudy red and green streamers twisted from the top of the wall-mounted TV to the corner of the closet door frame. Gold garland draped the window in the door. Somewhere, elevator music played a sappy instrumental of “White Christmas.” The usual hospital smell of cleaning solution and medicine rounded out the festivities of the season.

  A dark-haired man in jeans and a leather jacket stared at her from the easy chair in the corner of the room. Deep brown eyes met hers frankly. It took her a moment to remember what had happened and who he was: her rescuing knight.

  He stood and walked to the bed. He was tall. A lot taller than Olivia remembered, though from her position on the floor of her apartment, anyone would look tall. He stood at least six and a half feet. When he spoke, though, there was no intimidation in his voice. It was strong, yet gentle. Calming. Like it had been last night. “Do you remember me? I’m Brian Merullo. I sat with you in your apartment before the ambulance came. My friend, Tony, wants to speak with you. He’ll be here in a few minutes. He’s chatting up a nurse down the hall. Do you remember us?”

  Chatting up…? This did not instill confidence. Nor did Brian seem to approve of it; his voice had been laced with criticism. “You were the two cops from last night.” Olivia’s voice sounded like a scratchy LP record. She didn’t even want to know what she looked like.

  Brian shook his head, his brow furrowed. “We’re—”

  “Good. I see you’re awake.” As if speaking of the second hero summoned him, the silky voice she’d heard while curled up on the floor of her apartment interrupted from the doorway. She turned her head and met the startling blue gaze of Brian’s partner. He held out a long fingered hand that was as finely groomed as his jet black hair. He was almost as tall as Brian. “I’m Tony Silver.” His voice was smooth like his name. She felt no empathy with him, no connection and one word came to mind: slick.

  Olivia couldn’t help herself. She asked, “Tony Silver? What kind of a name is that?”

  “It’s Italian. It’s really Antonio Silvani.” He smiled and winked. “Don’t tell anyone. How are you feeling?”

  She wasn’t sure about trusting him, but Brian obviously did. Since she trusted Brian, she decided to trust Tony, too. She answered honestly. “Woozy. Sore. Have a headache.”

  Olivia moved a hand to where her kidney had hurt the previous night and found gauz
e. It stretched high on her back and all the way around her chest. Broken rib? Great. What other injuries did she have from the previous night’s escapades?

  Tony said, “I’m going to get your take on what happened and let you return to healing. That good with you?” He sat on the edge of the bed and Brian returned to his chair in the corner. The chair was low and his knees rose high in front of him. He crossed his right ankle over his left knee, exposing Nike running shoes and white gym socks. He picked up and began reading a celebrity magazine from the stack on the small table beside him. The cover depicted one of the Kardashian women with big words: “She’s done it again!”

  Olivia said to Tony. “I don’t really know any more than last night.”

  He pursed his lips, hesitated, and then said, “Close your eyes.”

  She glanced again at Brian, but he appeared not to have heard: he was engrossed in his magazine, and she wondered if he was really reading it or pretending. Obediently, she lowered her eyelids.

  Tony’s voice led her back to her memories of the evening before. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here with you. What do you smell?”

  Smell? Her mind jumped to the whirlwind of the attack for a brief second before it recoiled. She didn’t get anything and tried again, leading with her nose. She remembered the smell of the city walking home: snow on the wind, exhaust, food. She did her best to blacken the images and focus on the smell. “Snow. Sweat. Musk. Mud.” Why mud?

  “Good. That’s great. Do you hear anything? Did they speak?” His voice held her in the scene.

  Again, Olivia tried to blacken the images, but this time it didn’t work. She heard the brute attackers in her head. Saw the swinging legs and fists. She wanted to leave the memories far behind and open her eyes to broad daylight. Instead, she squeezed them shut tighter and twisted the hem of her blanket, wrapping it around and around her finger, using the pain to keep her from falling into the nightmare. “No. There was nothing except the occasional grunt and growl. They were breathing hard.” She then became conscious of her own deep breaths at that memory.