Dire Needs: A Novel of the Eternal Wolf Clan by Stephanie Tyler Page A

and he remained behind, still suspended from reality. One of the ghosts turned to him, took his shoulders and shook. S
ave us, Rifter,
it said before floating away.
    Rifter tried desperately to get out of this nightmare, found his feet on firm earth, and he ran in the opposite direction, looking for a way out. Instead, he found himself in Gwen’s mind—a swirling mass of confusion and pain as well, but more manageable for him. She was in trouble—and she was pissed too. Another seizure—or maybe it was something more, because he could swear she was awake.
    Either way, she needed his help. Whether she’d want it was another story.
    His eyes shot open, and the harsh wheeze sprang from his throat and echoed through the room. He put a hand to his heart even though the steady throb rang in his ears.
    The Native Americans thought that if you died in your dreams, you died in real life. For him, no such luck, although every single time before this when he’d had this particular dream, he did die on the ground in his old village. Since the ending of the dream segued into trouble for Gwen, he knew he had to help her.
    He was also planning on never sleeping again.
    “Where’s Rift?” Stray called through the door when Vice paced for the nine thousandth time in front of the room where Harm was being held.
    “Still not answering his goddamned phone.” Vice’s body was tight with frustration. The sun had risen and Rifter hadn’t bothered to check in. The rest of them, plus Cyd and Cain, were holed up here safely. The house was spelled, unbreakably so, a gift from Seb to Rift before things got all kinds of fucked up.
    Vice rested his forehead against the doorjamb andwondered if Harm had stirred at Stray opened the door and assured him, “Harm’s still out cold.”
    Vice blinked, and shit, he hadn’t spoken out loud, had he? He didn’t think so, and Stray looked confused too, but Vice didn’t have time to delve into it because it was late afternoon and all they had to show for it was a text from Rifter from hours earlier saying that he was busy.
    Yeah,
busy
with a
human
.
    “How long do you think Harm’ll stay down for?” Stray asked. “How do we know if he’s faking it?”
    “We’ll know. But silver poisoning’s a bitch.” Harm had stopped mumbling minutes after they’d found him behind the bar and then sank into unconsciousness when Stray took him over his shoulder to carry him back here. Jinx had wanted to drag him by his dick but had listened to Stray and backed off. Eventually.
    “Jinx tried to sneak in the window and cut his legs off,” Stray said matter-of-factly.
    That was exactly why Stray was watching over Harm. Although Stray was just as angry, he was by far the more tempered of the men and their wolves. And Rifter would most definitely want first crack at Harm.
    By rights, Rifter was their leader, no matter how hard the man tried to pretend otherwise. It had been Harm’s job, but he had refused to come back, even after learning of the demise of the majority of the Dires. Harm had been too busy fucking around. He’d been making music in lots of different genres and disguises. Take ten years off between gigs and then reinvent himself and reemerge. His latest incarnation was in a group intent on bringing eighties hair metal back into the mainstream. As of two years ago, when the band broke up, Harm had been on a giant stage in front of millions of fans, singing and fighting and screwing.
    And doing interviews.
    With that kind of media scrutiny, it was a wonder no one had discovered Harm taking a howl at the moon. And for years, Harm had reigned at the top of the charts, causing chaos wherever he went, trashing hotel rooms and the like.
    But now Harm was here, and in no condition to do anything.
    The Elders would have a field day with this one, but Vice knew he would never follow the wolf currently lying in chains on the floor of the basement, couldn’t go anywhere near that fucker without ripping his