Hunting Season: Werewolf Bodyguard Romance (Guarded by the Shifter Book 1)

decent place to have a meeting with the security detail. This was the first time Owen was officially meeting anyone other than Peters, and he wanted to make sure they were just who Stasia needed to keep her safe.
Peters was backed up by Doug Griffin, Rene Beaufort, Russ Hill, Jessie Morgan, and Cathy Rivera. The six person team was working in three shifts with hours overlapping so four people would be watching Stasia during the core hours of eight AM to eight PM. Stasia wasn't the type to go out much on weeknights, apparently, so night coverage was less than day.
From the way the surveillance team sat, Owen was willing to guess that half of them were ex-military: Beaufort, Morgan, and Rivera. He wasn't sure about the others. His attention kept snagging on Hill.
Russ Hill was probably Owen's age, maybe a little older, and had the kind of All American good looks that made people very surprised when a man turned out to be a serial killer. Not that Hill was a serial killer.
Probably not.
But he captured Owen's attention, and Owen still didn't know why. Had they served together? Gone to school together? Rode the subway together? His mind was caught on the puzzle, which only had him half listening to Peters as he went over the protocols Stasia was supposed to be following.
"You'll liaise with me during core hours," Peters was telling them, "and then Rivera or Griffin during their shifts. Any questions?"
Stasia sat at her desk and leaned back in the chair, thinking for a moment before shaking her head. "I appreciate that you're here to help me. I'll try to make this as painless as possible for you."
That would have startled a sound out of Owen if he wasn't still snagged on Hill. He didn't like that guy and he couldn't put his finger on why. But since Stasia had no questions, the meeting was over. The surveillance team got up and started filing out of the room.
Did Owen need to bring up his uneasiness about Hill? Or was he on high alert and overreacting?
Hill made it to the door and looked over his shoulder, his face half-obscured by one of the room's deep shadows. Seeing him like that was enough to trigger a dark memory in Owen, one he would never be able to forget.
How could a person forget the night their life changed forever?
Dense forest. Denser shadows. Torches flickering in a slight breeze, barely illuminating the clearing around them. It was like something out of an ancient fairy tale. The Black Forest, evil magic, scary sigils dug into old trees, and the scent of decay in the air.
One moment Owen had been heading back to base, the next he awoke, bound with thick rope and barely able to move.
There was red paint—he hoped it was paint—all over his naked arms and chest, and the wooden slab under him felt worn from years of use.
At first he could barely make out the forms at the edge of the light, and then he was certain they were demons sent to drag him to hell. Owen had never been more than casually religious. Until now. Now he would pray to every saint to save him.
But no one was coming.
In the shadows, he saw a form wearing a giant animal's pelt, head and all, like a robe. There were other fur clad figures, but interspersed with them were normal looking people, men and women in fatigues holding guns.
The flashback let Owen out and he jerked in his seat, barely managing to hold in his gasp.
"Are you alright?" Stasia asked.
"Fine." How was he supposed to answer that? I think one of your surveillance team kidnapped me two years ago and turned me into a werewolf. Yeah, not happening. Already he was beginning to doubt the memory. Why would Russ Hill have been there? And why would a guy who had something to do with secret German werewolf rituals be guarding an heiress in New York?
Then again, anyone could ask why a werewolf was guarding a New York heiress. All Owen could tell them was that the job market was weird.
"Did you know your security detail before today?" He wasn't willing to dismiss that memory as fantasy. Just because he couldn't think of a reason why Hill would have been in Germany didn't mean there wasn't one.
She shook her head. "No, they're my father's people. Should I be concerned?"
"No. I'm sure it's fine." He had to think more before he said anything about Hill. Accusing him without more information could open up a can of worms he wasn't ready to deal with.
He probably needed to talk to Gibson.
But Stasia had her teeth in it and didn't want to let go. "Is it? You look like you've seen a ghost."
Of course she was the type that couldn't let a thing like that go. But he didn't want her focusing on it, and he certainly couldn't explain werewolves. Not yet. Not to her.
It was time to change the subject. "What did your brother mean when he said Bermeja? That's in the Caribbean, right? My file says you lived there for a bit. What were you, some resort doctor or something? Living it up?"
She pushed up from her chair and took a step towards him, gray eyes fiery with indignation. "Excuse me?"
He'd said something wrong. He could feel it. But there was no backing out now. And a part of him wanted to see how she would fight. She seemed like a good sparring partner. "Your brother said something happened to you in Bermeja." He pushed off the wall he'd been leaning on and stalked closer to her.
She didn't back down. If anything, his presence fueled her fire. "I was almost kidnapped, but they didn't get as close as the guy got yesterday." She said it with the kind of detachment that came after reciting a terrible story over and over again. "And I was providing medical support after one of the island's hospitals