Chapter 1
Feeling blissfully tension free, Brandon strolled along Las Vegas Boulevard, the Strip.
The lights were glaringly bright, making the sidewalk and stretch of road seem nearly bright as day.
Even at this hour, nearly three a.m., the street was packed with cars and the sidewalk had its fair share of pedestrians.
The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke wafted from most of the casinos as he strolled past. His more sensitive nose could also pick up the faint aromas of cooking food.
Typical to the desert, the temperature had dropped considerably in the hours following sunset, but the cool air didn't bother Brandon.
Most of the people passing him were hunched into their jackets against the chill breeze.
Brandon was contemplating the menu kiosk outside one of the casinos when the scent reached him.
Nostrils flaring, a low growl clawing its way from his throat, Brandon looked around for the source.
He was downwind from the other alpha male, so he didn't worry about the other man catching his scent.
The other alpha was slightly taller, but thinner, more wiry. Brandon knew this man was an alpha shape shifter from the way he carried himself; head held high, confident strides, searching the crowd for potential threat or prey.
Brandon burned the other's image into his mind, determined to track him down and fight, as the wolf inside demanded.
As the other man disappeared into the casino, Brandon replayed the image in his head. Shaggy, dark hair, light brown eyes, boyishly handsome features. Dressed in blue jeans, a T-shirt, and an LVPD crime lab vest with the name Sanders stitched on the front, he'd been carrying a large silver case.
Greg Sanders shifted his field kit to the other hand as he approached Captain Jim Brass.
Brass was standing near the hotel elevator, waiting impatiently for him.
They'd been shorthanded since Warrick's death a few months ago, so Greg had been called in.
"'Bout time you get here!" Brass griped, pushing the call button for the elevator.
"You're just lucky we were running late, or I'd be in the mountains, camping with Nicky right now," Greg shot back.
Camping was what Nick and Greg told everyone who didn't know about their abilities – which was everyone outside the pack except for Catherine and Grissom.
He'd told Nick and the others to go ahead and go. There was no point in Nick missing out on a chance to stretch his lupine legs, especially since they didn't get as many chances as they once did. Plus, Nick had needed the chance to just let go and voice his grief at his best friend's loss.
It didn't help his own irritation at not getting to go, though. Plus, he missed his mate. Their telepathic connection didn't extend much beyond a mile, and he missed Nick's presence in his mind.
Tamping down on an irritated growl, Greg inquired, "What have we got?"
"A bloody mess," Brass responded, as he pulled a small notebook from inside his suit jacket. Flipping it opened, he consulted his notes, "Maid called it in after entering the room to freshen it up this evening. Looks like a straight forward suicide, but we're still trying to identify the vic. The room's registered to a Neal Daily."
"Suicide, huh? What was the means?" Greg wanted to be prepared. Bloody crime scenes tended to mess up his sense of smell for hours afterwards.
"It appears the guy slit his own throat."
Greg turned towards Brass, an eyebrow raised. "You're kidding right?"
Brass was known around the lab for his dry sense of humor, but every once in a while, he'd come up with a witty line that would leave the CSIs in near hysterics of laughter. This was not one of those times.
Several minutes later, Greg knew he was in for a very long night.
Nick had gone for a short run with the other nine pack members who'd gone on the "camping" trip. Without Greg there, his heart just wasn't in it, though.
He'd run several miles, then turned back to where they'd parked the vehicles.
Even though there was plenty of room in the economy sized van the pack had purchased some years ago, Nick had driven his own truck.
Now he was starting out on the nearly two hour drive home, as the sun began to crest the mountains behind him.
He didn't try calling Greg, since the alpha was probably still busy with work. Plus, he knew Greg would just order him to stay with the others. As the saying went: it was better to ask forgiveness than permission. And with Greg, forgiveness tended to come quickly after Nick whined in submission and need.
After everything that had happened to Greg and Nick in the last few years, Greg had decided that life was too short to be too strict with his pack.
Greg had survived an explosion at the lab that would have left a mere human with nearly debilitating scars on his back. Being a shape shifter, though, with accelerated healing, his back had healed with no scarring within a month. A few years later, Nick had nearly been abducted from a crime scene. His superior sense of smell and hearing, along with his greater than human strength had saved him from being buried alive. Then, Greg had been pulled from his work Denali and severely beaten. His superior strength hadn't been enough to fend off the gang, and he'd nearly revealed his ability to shape shift. He'd managed to avoid shifting, even though the wolf inside had screamed for release. Only months ago, Warrick Brown had been shot and killed by Undersheriff Jeffery McKeen. When Nick had caught up to the man, he'd had to fight the wolf back, as his every instinct raged at him to shift and tear the throat out of the son-of-a-bitch who had killed his best friend.
So Greg tended to be rather lenient with the pack. As long as they weren't putting anyone – shape shifter or human – in danger, Greg let them get away with it.
