The Tracker's Rage (Mate Tracker #3) - Ingrid Seymour Page 0,68

you fake your own kidnapping?”

“Yes. It was quite fun.” He grinned like a maniac.

“Did you send people to hurt me?

“Oh, no. They weren’t going to hurt you. They were only supposed to scare you, get you fired up about finding me. I knew Jake would be, but I wanted you to find me.”

“Why?”

He ran a finger along the arm of one of the pews and rubbed the dust between his fingers. “My rescue needed to appear convincing and involving you lent the whole affair credibility, especially with the likes of Tom Freeman.”

“How did you disguise your wolf when that Copper Mage attacked us at the restaurant?”

“That?” He pulled a face as if this question was a waste of time. “That was just a stupid little spell from Jenson. I couldn’t have Jake recognize me. I regret not killing him that night, but I didn’t think he would become such a pain in the ass. It had all worked out great, though.”

“Meaning you got your father in jail.”

Stephen nodded and grinned again.

“Why? He cares about you.”

He shrugged as if that made no difference. “He’s mediocre and content with a small slice of a very big pie. He bores me.”

I opened my mouth to ask another question, but he waved a hand in the air. “This bores me, too. Enough questions.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, bringing his nose close to mine. “Join my pack, Toni.”

I almost choked. Was he for real? Join his pack? I would rather birth a barbed-wire bat. My first instinct was to spit on his face, but was that smart? Something told me he wouldn’t just give me a pat on the back and let me go.

“Why would I do that?” I asked, attempting to buy myself time as I tried to figure out a way out of this bind.

“I’m glad you asked.” He angled my chair toward one of the pews. The sound of wood scraping against stone echoed through the temple. He sat and crossed his legs. “There are many good reasons. For one, you don’t want to be a lone wolf. You need a pack, trust me. A beautiful, young werewolf like you... someone will try to snatch you up.” He chuckled. “I guess someone already did.”

The bastard thought this was funny. My wolf stirred inside of me, roiling with anger. I tried to call her forward again, but nothing happened. My skin didn’t even itch.

“I would protect you,” he went on. “No one would dare lay a finger on you. Soon, my pack will be more powerful than all the St. Louis packs combined. You could be part of that. You could be at my side, enjoying the power and luxury. No more scraping for a few dollars at your little agency.”

He pronounced the last word as if he were talking about garbage, and that made my anger redouble. Gah! When I got free, I would send him packing to jail, though not before I nailed him by the balls to the apex of The Gateway Arch.

“Is that all?” I asked. “Or do you have any more bullet points to present?”

His expression hardened. He pushed to the edge of the pew, his eyes drilling into mine. “I sense you’re mocking me.”

Boy, he’s perceptive.

“I only ask because I need to know everything before I make such an important decision, don’t you think?”

He grunted.

“For instance, when you say ‘your pack,’ do you mean your father’s pack? Or an entirely new one?”

“My father’s pack is a joke.”

I nodded. “Okay, so a new pack. How many are there? What if I don’t like them? Maybe I should meet them first.”

“Quit fucking with me.” He stood in one swift motion, grabbed me by the neck, and squeezed until I could hardly breathe. “This is no joke. I’ve been patient with you. I’ve forgiven your interference, but I won’t be lenient for much longer.”

I struggled to take in air, my lungs beginning to burn, my wolf thrashing, fighting to get out but running into some invisible wall every time she made an attempt.

Finally, he let me go, shoving my face to one side as he took a step back. I took several gulps of air, wincing at the pain in my windpipe, willing my woozy head to clear.

“Okay,” I coughed. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“You’re lying,” he spat, kicking at my chair, right between my thighs.

The legs scraped against the stone floor as the chair skidded backwards, then it caught on something and the front legs rose