Pushed by the momentum and the fact that he still had her hair, she went with them all, right into the middle of the battlefield. He got off a shot, but a giant gold paw slammed the man’s hand down, crushing it under its weight. The agent’s high-pitched scream so loud it could be heard above the growls, roars, and howling.

Irene untangled the man’s fingers from her hair and pulled herself away. But before she could make a run for it, the barrel of a gun pressed hard against her throat.

“Get up.”

She almost groaned. The third male agent. The driver. She’d forgotten all about him. He dragged her to her feet, spun her around, and wrapped his hand around her throat.

He snarled, his fingers tightening against her neck, his gold eyes reflecting in the dark. “I should kill you now.” And she thought he just might, but he stopped when that angry male face leaned up close to his and growled low and long.

The agent looked over at a very naked Niles Van Holtz. But it was most likely not the nudity that concerned him, but those fangs.

Van didn’t even have to tell the motherfucker to let his female go, he simply knew it was the smart thing to do. Irene stumbled back and Van focused all his attention on the male who didn’t belong in his territory.

“And what are you going to do about it, little doggie?” the male sneered.

Christ, he hated Siberian tigers. Always had. They could be worse than the lions.

But he didn’t have to make the first move. His sister did. Carrie used to date a tiger and she still hated the bastards. She slammed into the back of him as he shifted from human to tiger and Van followed them down. A few more of the Pack joined in. The big bastard had to be topping at least seven hundred pounds and ten feet long once shifted. But then two of the Löwe breeding males grabbed hold.

The fight didn’t last long once the hyena pulled one of the tiger’s legs off. But Van heard the slide of a gun yanked back. He turned and saw the barrel of a .45 aiming right for him, held by a blond piece of ass with what looked to be a shattered nose.

He bared his fangs, ready to go for her throat, but then there was Irene, who he’d ridiculously believed had run home like a frightened girl. Instead, she came up behind the blonde and wrapped her right arm around the woman’s neck, her forearm hard against that slim throat. Her left arm slipped under the blonde’s, lifting it and the gun up while she raised her left hand, showing the other woman the syringe Irene held.

“You want to know what I’m working on, Jenny?” Irene demanded. “Well, here it is!” She slammed the needle into the woman’s jugular and compressed the plunger with a vicious growl worthy of any She-wolf.

Gasping for breath, Irene stumbled back and the blond female dropped to her knees. She yanked the needle out of her neck and stared at it. But withinseconds, whatever Irene had used on her went to work, eating through the blonde’s neck and ravaging her face.

The woman’s screams became choked sobs, her skin festering and dissolving right in front of them. Blood no longer kept in by human flesh poured to the ground. And by the time Jenny’s rotting bones hit the dirt . . . she was long gone.

“What . . . what did you do?”

Irene opened her eyes. She didn’t know she’d closed them until she opened them. That’s when she realized they were all staring at her.

“Don’t worry,” she said to one of the Pride females. “That was the last of it.” Irene didn’t bother to mention she could easily make it again with a few basic household products and a wad of gum. Nope. Not a good idea to mention that.

Holtz walked up to her, his sister and Jackie right behind him. He stared at her face. “What is it?” he asked softly.

“Broken wrist, I think.”

He winced for her and motioned to a few of the Pack who charged off into the woods. “We’re going to have to take you to the hospital, baby. Our doctor can’t fix this here.”

Irene shrugged, then wished she hadn’t. She again closed her eyes until the nausea brought on by pain passed. “That’s fine.”

“And what about her remains?” Another Pride female demanded. “Our children play here. We hunt here and—”

“What remains?” Irene asked.

She watched them all stare at the spot where Jenny Fairgrove had died such an agonizing death. Not a piece of bone or speck of blood remained.

Which was exactly the reason the Russians wanted it. A nice, clean, efficient way to kill.

“Don’t worry. It leaves no residue, nothing unsafe. Tomorrow there will be flowers on that spot.”

Van grinned as he pushed stray sweaty hairs off her face. “Flowers?”

“Don’t judge.”

“I’m not. It just seems such an ‘Irene’ kind of thing to do.”

Irene glanced at her arm. “I really think I should get this taken care of. The pain is becoming quite unbearable.”

“You’re in unbearable pain right now?” one of the She-wolves asked. Irene hadn’t bothered to learn the Pack members’ names yet.

“Yes,” Irene answered simply. “I’m just not much of a screamer . . . shut up, Holtz.”

“I didn’t say a thing,” he laughed.

Holtz took hold of her uninjured hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you to the hospital.” He easily lifted her into his arms, careful not to jostle her wounded limb.

Never before had Irene felt so safe or cared for. And his body heat soothed her like nothing ever had....