“—inside. I know.”
As the door closed behind him, she sighed and rolled her eyes. The man was definitely not the easiest person to deal with. But, she licked her lips and grinned, he certainly was a good kisser! And, she’d been sufficiently upset with him that her usual nervousness around him had disappeared. That was something, at least!
Rafe scouted around the cabin, more to give himself time to cool down than with any expectation of finding the rogue. The early morning fog had lifted providing a clear view of the area, not that he really needed to look around. The beast would be long gone by now, though at the moment that was the least of his worries.
He’d kissed Eve. And it hadn’t been just any kiss. Damn but he’d never felt anything like it. His body had reacted instantaneously and was still hard and aching for relief. If she hadn’t pulled away… Well, thank heaven she had because he’d lost all common sense for those few minutes.
What the hell had happened? Dumb question. He knew what had happened, but couldn’t quite believe it. He’d kissed plenty of women, both human and Lycan, but never another Fae. That was the only possible explanation for the phenomenon he’d felt. When two empathic minds reached out to each other they sent feedback in a continuous loop. It grew exponentially until it exploded in an orgasm which left the participants weak and helpless from an overdose of endorphins. They hadn’t progressed that far, but if the kiss had continued much longer… He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to return to the cabin and take up where they’d left off. What he needed to do was think this through; approach the situation logically.
Eve must be part Fae. Having assumed she was human, he’d always had a mental wall in place whenever they met out of common courtesy for her privacy. He’d never attempted to read her emotions. If he had, he would have known what she was and been prepared.
Did she know she was Fae? Likely not or she would have commented on the effect of the kiss. Unless her abilities were just entering the awakening stage and she had no idea what she was in for.
A novice in need of tutoring…
Interest sparked within him at the possibility of being her mentor and teaching her the full extent of her skills. Yet, as soon as the idea came to him, he negated it. No involvement. Wasn’t that part of his self-prescribed treatment plan? Instinctively he knew that it would be impossible to stay detached from her. He’d been drawn to her before and now, knowing that they shared a common heritage, it would be doubly hard to resist.
He’d only encountered a few other Fae in his life; elderly relatives on his mother’s side when he’d still been a pup, a few professional contacts. The Fae were a dying breed, and even though efforts were being made to seek out those that remained and somehow unify them, the chances of success seemed slim.
The screaming of a blue jay jerked his attention to the present. There’d be time enough to ponder this new discovery later on. Right now he needed to check on the rogue werewolf and focus on keeping Eve safe. He began to tramp through the woods, ducking under low hanging branches and pushing past bushes. Evidence abounded that the wolf had been nearby; footprints, broken twigs, and an indented spot in the grass where it had obviously sat for a prolonged period of time.
It would seem the wolf had formed an attachment to Eve and was growing progressively bolder, making no effort to hide its presence, perhaps even sending a subtle challenge to him. That idea caused his hackles to rise.
Pausing near the top of a small rise, he surveyed the area. He was wasting his time looking. What he needed to do was consider the situation as if he were dealing with one of his clients at the Rehab Clinic. Mentally he began to complete a standard intake form, spending some time debating which box he’d need to checkmark.
There were several categories of rogues. Some spent their whole life on the fringes of society. Mostly transient, they pushed the edge of the law but stayed just this side of breaking it. However, a rogue from that particular group wouldn’t remain watching a single cabin for over a week.
It could be looking for a mate. That was a realistic possibility. Some did try to establish relationships and form a pack, though the grouping was often dysfunctional and quickly fell apart.
Or, it could be stalking Eve with a more deadly intent. The more dangerous rogues coldly premeditated attacks based on some insane logic of their own, such as a resemblance to someone they once knew. They’d fixate on an individual and follow them, sometimes for weeks, before an unknowing act by the potential victim would cause them to snap and attack. These were the kind that, unless trapped, became caught up in the need to maim and kill, a psychotic blood lust taking over their minds. By then, most were unsalvageable and, if brought in alive, lived out the rest of their existence in heavily guarded confinement.
If the rogue was, indeed, Damien, however, then he’d fit into a fourth category. Still hurting from the loss of his mate, his anger would be directed inward, blaming himself for not protecting her, and outward towards anyone who he perceived had contributed to her death. It was unlikely he’d attack unprovoked…unless the loss of the blood bond had made him mentally unstable. And there was no way to assess that without talking to him.
Rafe growled in frustration. As always, his job was a guessing game. He observed and talked to clients, interviewed those who had interacted with them, trying to put together a picture of what was going on in their minds. But, even with his empathic abilities, what it all boiled down to was an educated guess…and he’d guessed wrong before.
He dragged a hand through his hair. God, was he up to this? Hell, he had to be. Reno didn’t want Rogue Retrieval involved. That meant someone had to try and talk to Damien and do an initial assessment, try to keep him here and under control. It would require finesse and caution; a casual comment could easily spook a rogue, sending them running, or into a rage. And if that rage was directed against Eve…
Chapter 9
Damien had heard the pickup truck approaching the woman’s cabin long before it arrived and so he’d slipped away, circling until he was downwind. Wresting control from his wolf, he’d shifted into human form and watched from a vantage point some distance away. A man had exited the truck and begun barking orders at Eve.
Eve.
He tested the name, liking its simplicity, the way it rolled off his tongue and whispered soft and gentle in his ear. It was another thing the woman had in common with his Beth; a short, sweet name. But Beth had been mostly Lycan and Eve was Fae.
Lycan and Fae; greater opposites would be hard to find. Lycan legend held that the gods had made werewolves from the earth, the solidness of rock and the richness of soil combining to create creatures of strength and courage. They were gathered into packs and instilled with a sense of duty and honour.
The Fae, however, had been formed from the mists that drifted over the land. Flighty creatures, they were whimsical, led by their emotions and prone to mischief. They’d refused to settle in one place or follow a hierarchical order. Neither species could tolerate the other and the gods, tired of their bickering, finally banned them from associating.
Of course, that was all ancient legend, but the two groups still avoided each other as much as possible.
Being Fae suited Eve. Fair and fine boned, with big eyes that showed every emotion. If he was the fanciful sort he could have easily imagined her sprouting wings and flying about a field of wildflowers, sipping nectar. That image would have been shattered though by the way she’d berated the man. There’d been a definite sting to her tone. He’d grinned, listening to her.
As for the man. Hmm…Rafe McRae. The name was vaguely familiar even if the face wasn’t. Perhaps someone he should have known from his days as a student at the Academy? Too bad he hadn’t paid more attention to his lessons.
Even after searching his memory for why he should know the man, he still came up blank. Damien wished he’d retained access to Lycan Link’s database; he could have had the man’s complete background within minutes. That bridge, howeve
r, had been burnt long ago. He was on his own now.
Damien studied the other were through narrowed eyes. The man carried himself well and moved with assurance as if he were used to being in charge. Not an Enforcer, he looked more the type to make the rules rather than follow them. An Alpha seemed the logical conclusion, yet there was no evidence of a pack. Had McRae lost his position? Had urbanization rendered his old home unsuitable? Or he could be establishing a new territory, maybe even considering taking Eve as a mate.
That thought didn’t sit well with his wolf...or him for that matter. Huh, at least there was one thing that he and the animal could agree on! Damien clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to warn McRae off, which made no sense. Eve was nothing to him. A passing resemblance to Beth, but that was it. The woman was Fae, not Lycan. He couldn’t afford to acknowledge anything else. Nothing could sway him from his path. Hadn’t he sworn that to himself as he’d stood by the bloodied body of yet another victim?
He recalled how rage had roiled within him, blurring his vision, clouding his thinking. His body had ached from the battle, wounds stinging as his sweat had seeped into the torn flesh. But he’d barely noticed. The need for justice, for revenge, had burned in his blood, obliterating any thought of personal comfort. That was what he must focus on now, and screw anyone who got in his way.
Shifting forms once again, he headed towards a fall of trees. He didn’t want to tap-dance around the local motel owner any longer. He’d spend his night here, the Alpha be damned.
Rafe crouched near the fire he’d made, the flickering light of the flames barely illuminating his face. He’d decided to camp out near Eve’s cabin. It served two purposes, allowing him to guard her, as well as providing an opportunity for a casual, non-confrontational encounter with the rogue if it happened by.
Luck was with him. No sooner had he laid out his sleeping bag and started a fire than he heard rustling in the brush nearby. The wind carried the scent of the rogue his way and he smiled inwardly but continued on as if he hadn’t noticed.
The beast’s behaviour would imply it wasn’t too far gone. While it might deny the fact, it was watching Eve and now it was seeking him out. Both actions showed that on some level it still craved interaction, especially with its own kind. By staying in human form, Rafe hoped the creature would view him as less of a threat. Just in case, however, he was prepared for an attack, his senses on alert, not to mention the vial of tranquillizer tucked in his boot.
“Nice night for camping.” Rafe spoke in a conversational tone over his shoulder as he placed the rabbit he’d caught onto a spit, and set if over the fire to cook.
There was no response, but the animal had paused its prowling. No more noise came from the brush.
“I like to spend a few evenings outdoors every couple of weeks. Of course, I do it the ‘human way.’” He flicked a glance towards the brush. “We don’t want them becoming suspicious now, do we?”
Again nothing. He tried a different tactic.
“You’ve been in my territory a week now. I don’t mind, as long as you keep behaving yourself. Feel free to join me if you want—I’ve made plenty.” He turned the rabbit on the spit and then stirred the tin of beans. “Or go back to the den you’ve found. It makes no difference to me.”
Minutes ticked by and then a wolf appeared near the edge of the circle of light cast by the fire. Black as the ace of spades, with silvery eyes rimmed with blue. It was big and powerful but too thin, its dull uneven coat giving evidence of a prolonged period of poor nutrition. The rogue was definitely teetering on the edge, lack of personal care often indicating the beginning of a downward slide.
It stood before him, head up, eyes level, not challenging but not cowering either. The beast was letting him know they were meeting as equals, nothing less.
Rafe made no move except for a slight nod, but it was sufficient reassurance. The air shimmered and a man stood before him. Thin, but still well-muscled, above average height, black hair. Yep, it was Damien Masterson.
Giving no sign of recognition, Rafe inclined his head towards a log on the far side of the fire. “Have a seat if you want.”
Damien studied him carefully before sitting down. His posture was loose and relaxed but his eyes gave him away, watchful, no doubt expecting some sort of trap. The man had been a rogue long enough to have experienced the prejudice normal Lycans held towards his kind. While it was understandable that others reacted that way, Rafe knew the mental damage constant rejection could cause; knew how it pushed the recipient closer and closer to the edge.
“Nice to have some company now and then.” Rafe glanced at his companion and then looked away. “Mind you, I enjoy the quiet, too.”
Damien merely grunted.
Sometimes it took an hour or two before a rogue was willing to open up. Rafe settled back prepared to wait. He had all night.
Time passed. The Alpha—Rafe—sat staring at the flames, occasionally turning the meat that roasted on the fire. There was nothing threatening about him, but neither was he submissive. They were meeting as equals; it was…reassuring. Slowly, Damien relaxed. How long had it been since he’d sat in the presence of another Lycan without having to worry about being attacked or run out of the territory?
A sigh escaped him, and he adjusted himself into a more comfortable position. His damaged leg often cramped in the cool night air.
Rafe quirked an eyebrow obviously taking his movement as a sign that he was ready to talk. “Where you from?”
“Does it matter?” He stiffened, wondering how the other man would respond.
“Not really.” Rafe shrugged, his eyes never moved from the flames he was watching. “Just curious if I have to worry about Trackers from Rogue Retrieval showing up here.”
Damien considered his answer. Honesty would likely have him tossed out on his ass. “It’s not likely.” That was a lie but he’d become skilled at it out of necessity. “I haven’t done anything. Nothing...illegal.”
This time Rafe flicked a glance his way, looking him up and down. “Yeah. Guys who choose to live like wolves, and look like shit, have never done anything.” He gave a small shrug and returned to staring at the fire. “This is a quiet territory. As long as you don’t cause a ruckus, your background doesn’t really matter.”
“Yeah. Nothing matters.” Damien stared at the flames, lost in dark memories of another fire, the one that had torn his life apart. He resisted the urge to rub the ache in his right leg; never show weakness, that was his motto.
How long he sat there he didn’t know, but suddenly he was aware of McRae coming closer, his hand extended. Instinctively, Damien leapt into a defensive crouch, ready to strike out at the enemy. Just in time he noticed the other man was holding a plate of food.
He relaxed and stood straighter, but didn’t apologize for the near attack. For a moment their eyes met. McRae’s expression was calm, his hand steady as he waited for Damien to take the plate.
Reluctant respect for the man rose within him; most would have flinched in the face of a near attack. He let his gaze fall to the offered dish. A quick sniff told him it was rabbit and a serving of canned beans. Taking the plate, he sat down.
“You look like you haven’t eaten much. Strange. I haven’t found the hunting to be that poor.” Rafe sat down again, took a piece of meat in his fingers and began to eat.
“No. Lots of game about.” Damien was surprised when his stomach growled at the tantalizing scent. It had been ages since he’d had much of an appetite. He ate when he remembered to, which wasn’t often.
“You moved pretty fast a minute ago. So you can’t be skin and bones because you’re a lousy hunter.”
Once again, Damien forced himself to be civil. “Why all the questions?” He ripped a chunk of meat off with his teeth and started to chew. It tasted surprisingly good.
“No reason.” Rafe shrugged. “I don’t usually find a rogue wolf on my land. I’m curious.”
Silence fell as they both ate.
Damien studied the man, checking his demeanour, his breathing rate, his scent. There was a hint of deception in the air, yet his gut sensed no malice. “Could be.”
Rafe poked the fire with a stick and a log shifted sending a shower of sparks into the air. They burned brightly for a brief moment before extinguishing and disappearing from view. Damien felt his throat tighten. Just like Beth; a bright light quickly snuffed out... He blinked and cursed the memories that seemed determined to push to the foreground tonight. Shit, he should’ve stayed in his wolf form. The pain was always present, but his wolf’s mind wouldn’t be making these types of connections.
“I was at the Academy once.” Rafe spoke conversationally, and Damien jerked into awareness of the man’s presence again. If Rafe had noticed his inattention, he gave no sign. Instead the man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It was about ten years ago. I did a half course Academy and a half course university my first year, before switching to straight academics.”
Damien studied his host. He didn’t fit the stereotype of a scholar, looking more the part of a drill sergeant who’d bark an order to do a hundred push-ups before breakfast. His curiosity about the man piqued. “Did you go back to your pack when you were done?”
Rafe shook his head. “I had some money, earned a bit more and then bought this chunk of land. I took over the main place and now I’m starting to fix the cabins. My ultimate plan is to rent them out. People like to come here for quiet vacations; fishing, getting back to nature and whatnot.” He chuckled. “At least that’s what the former owner told me. This is the first year I’ve tried the rental thing.”
Betrayed: Days of the Rogue Page 10