“Are you all right?”
“No,” Jason said. “I’m tired.” That was partly the truth. Glen didn’t have to know about the panic he felt at never being with Rose again. Even if he did manage to get her back, she wouldn’t want to be with him. She had already expressed that much. He had fucked up too many times. Rose didn’t want to be with him.
And Jason was scared.
He took a deep breath and turned back to Glen, reopening his eyes. “We should get a hold of Claire and see if she can make anything of the files,” he said, changing the subject quickly. He tossed the soda to Glen, who caught it before it landed in his lap.
“What do you want me to tell her?”
“The truth. Tell her what we found. It’s not much, but maybe it could be.” He glanced over the files as he said this, wondering just what sort of secrets they could hold. The nagging voice of his psychic consciousness tugged at him again. Once more he ignored it. He was tired and wanted sleep.
Glen said nothing else and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. They both waited anxiously for Claire to pick up.
* * *
Claire heard the vibrating of the phone as it danced across the bedside table before she was even fully awake. She grabbed for it automatically and pushed the button to talk.
“Hello?” she said, groggily, holding the phone clumsily to her ear. She sat up on her elbow, brushing unruly hair from her face.
“We found something that we think might help us find Simon.” It was Glen. Claire blinked her eyes a few times and stared at the naked, sleeping Davis beside her. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, leaving bright streaks of light across his upper torso. His chest lifted and fell with slow breathing. He was still asleep.
“What’s that?” she asked. Davis stirred beside her. He groaned a bit and turned his back to her, cradling a pillow under his head.
“We went back to the warehouse. Simon had left all his files there.”
Claire remembered the warehouse all too well. She suddenly felt nauseous, sick at the mention of it. “He did?”
“Yes. We think he might’ve covered up something with the PRDI. He had his own file there, as well as the files for a man and a woman I think might be his parents.”
“The files said he was dead, didn’t they?” Claire asked. Davis rolled over to face her. He blinked at her, eyes still coated with sleep but Claire turned, kicking her legs off the side of the bed.
Glen sounded surprised. “How did you know that?”
“I found something, too.” She grabbed the bed sheet and wrapped it around her awkwardly with one hand. She stepped out of reach of Davis, who sat up now, watching her.
“What?”
Claire told him about the Conners and the fire, giving him a quick, condensed version of the information she had found in the file. When she was done, there was a moment of silence.
“That sounds familiar,” Glen admitted.
“Davis said you stumbled across it before.”
“I might have. That narrows things down a bit. I still want to bring these files over and have you look at them.”
“All right.” Claire walked the floor, the sheet trailing the floor behind her. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thanks, Claire. I’ll be there in a couple of hours.” There was no goodbye. The phone went silent. Claire sighed and tossed the phone without looking where it would land. It hit the pillow beside Davis and he grabbed it, staring at the number that was still displayed on the screen.
“What was that about?”
Claire didn’t answer him right away. Instead, she opened the door to the bathroom connected to her room and flipped the light on. She stared at her reflection in the wide mirror over the sink. She realized how pale she was. Her blonde hair looked dull and lifeless, sticking out in all directions. She made an attempt to smooth it down but it did no good. She sighed and turned on the faucet.
“He said they found something.” She paused before adding, “At the warehouse.”
Davis slid out of bed and walked to the bathroom. He hovered in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Claire avoided looking at his naked body and concentrated on her reflection. Did he feel the same way about the mention of the warehouse? Did it make him as uncomfortable as it did her?
“What did they find?”
“Some files, from the PRDI.” She cupped water in her hands and splashed some on her face. She sighed again, and gripped the sink basin. Water dripped off her face, onto the back of her hand. Davis watched her, silently, waiting for her to continue.
She finally was able to compose herself. She looked at his reflection in the mirror first then turned to face him. Davis’s gray eyes were soft, compassionate. They held more emotion than Claire wanted to see. She had to look away.
“Glen thinks Simon may have stolen his own files, along with those of his parents.”
She risked a glimpse at him, saw the softness of his eyes replaced with confusion.
“Then that means Simon was once in the PRDI files.”
“Yeah, it would appear so.”
“That’s how he was able to cover his tracks,” Davis said, his voice lilted with awe.
“And there’s more.” Claire turned to him and shifted her hold on the sheet, tightened it around her. “The article I found, about the fire—”
“What about it?”
“That was Simon. The files show that he’s dead.”
“He faked his own death,” Davis stated.
“Yeah, just like we thought.”
They were both silent for a moment, absorbing this new information and staring at each other. Davis finally sighed.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
Claire didn’t know. She shook her head. “Glen’s coming here in a few hours with the files. He wants me to go over them, see what else I can find.”
“What else can we expect to find?” He moved out of the doorway and Claire made to walk past him. He grabbed her arm. His hand was warm against her chilled skin and she stopped. Her eyes turned to his.
“What can we expect to find?” he asked again, his voice softer. “What can we find to lead us to him?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. It was a lost cause, she feared. How could they find him, delving into the past? She shook her head and pulled away from him. Davis held fast to her. His grip was strong, so strong it nearly hurt her. She didn’t struggle.
“Let me go, Davis,” she said, gently. He did and she slipped away. Their mutual thoughts shifted, moving from thoughts of finding Simon and rescuing Rose, to more personal issues. But they were left unspoken.
She stopped by the bed and grabbed her panties from the mess of tangled clothes at the footboard. She dropped the sheet and bent to slip into them.
Had it been a mistake, what they did? Davis didn’t want to think so, but Claire’s actions seemed pointed that way. She slipped on her jeans and blouse, leaving it unbuttoned. Her black lace bra shown through the thin white material of her shirt and he found it somewhat erotic.
She walked away from the bed and back to the bathroom, moving past him yet again. Her scent was strong, left-over arousal from their earlier love-making. He breathed it in and turned away. It was gone as soon as she pulled the door to. He returned to the bed and dressed quickly, slipping on his underwear. He was hard again, but he knew now was not the time for sex. He buttoned his jeans difficultly over the bulge.
He watched her from the corner of his eyes. The bathroom door was slightly ajar and a stream of yellow light streaked across the carpet. She brushed her hair quickly, spritzed perfume. He smelled its delicate scent, her scent.
She walked out and crossed the floor to grab her phone from the bed. Davis watched her, turning his shirt right-side out. He slipped it on.
“Do you want me to stay?”
She didn’t answer right away. She stuck the phone in her pocket then looked up at him. Her hair was golden, shining in the streaming sunlight. Her dark eyes
were rich, endearing.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “I’m going to be busy later. You can stay, if you want to help.”
“If you need me,” he said. It was a double entendre and they both knew it.
Claire smiled, softly, gently. “It’s fine, Davis. You can go, if you want. I won’t hold you here.”
Davis nodded. He could take a hint. “All right,” he said, “I’ll leave with Glen when he gets here.”
“I’m going to go online, check out a little bit more. Maybe I can find some more mentions of the Conners and the fire.”
“I’ll just fix a bite to eat or something,” he finished. It was back to small talk again. Uncomfortable silence followed. Claire’s smile faltered, faded.
“Yeah, sure,” she said. Davis stood there, waiting for her to say something more. She took a deep breath.
“Look, Davis, about what happened—”
“You don’t have to apologize. No one’s at fault here. We were just in the moment, like always—”
“No, it’s not about that,” she interrupted. “Well, not really. I just wanted to say, well, if we resolve this problem with Simon and save Rose, do you want to, I don’t know—” She stumbled over her words, unable to form them into a coherent sentence. Davis knew this wasn’t like her. He took a step forward, but she held up a hand to stop him.
“Wait.” She took another deep breath. “Let me try that again.”
“Okay,” he said. He waited.
Claire moistened her lips before starting again. “I want to make this work between us. I know we’ve tried a few times before, and we always seemed to fall apart for whatever reason. I was thinking we could try it again, this time mean it. Make it work.”
He stared at her for a long time. Claire lifted her hand again in a faint gesture of uncertainty.
“I think we can make it work this time. I mean, I want to, and I’m pretty sure you want to.” She went on hurriedly. She didn’t have to say any more. Davis crossed the floor in two quick steps and had her in his arms. He pressed his lips to hers in a deep kiss.
Claire stiffened at first, perhaps surprised at his swiftness but she soon gave in. She closed her eyes and returned the kiss with as much passion as he. His hands found their way into her shirt, trailing along her warm, soft skin. Her hands were on his back, fingers pressing against his shirt. When he finally withdrew from her, they were both panting.
“Does that mean yes?” she asked in a shaky voice.
Davis couldn’t explain how he felt. A dead weight seemed to be lifted from his chest. They were going to make it work.
“Of course that means yes,” he said amid a chuckle and he kissed her again.
* * *
Glen left a few short minutes after he ended the phone call. He was in a hurry to get back, to get some sleep and Jason didn’t stop him. He watched as Glen brought the van out of the driveway and disappeared toward the road. He stood on the front porch, feeling the warm autumn sunshine on his arms before he withdrew and went back inside.
The house was very quiet and empty and he felt completely alone. He liked it that way, from time to time, but now it made him nervous. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something watching him, something waiting for him. He tried to ignore it as he went into the kitchen and began to scrounge for food.
He made a ham and cheese sandwich, throwing it in the microwave for some last minute warmth. He ate it in four large bites, hardly chewing. He realized just how hungry he was. Having your mate taken away by your worst enemy and nearly getting killed again could leave a wolf starving. Jason began to fix a second sandwich.
He had just popped it in the microwave when he heard it. It was the sound of an engine. He froze, hand poised midway to the start button. He listened, allowing his werewolf ears to pick up the sound. The car was close, moving down the driveway fast. He heard the gravel crunch beneath the wheels. It didn’t sound like any engine he knew.
Abandoning his sandwich, Jason grabbed for his gun instead, which he had retrieved and kept close to him since returning here with Glen. He held it to his side and clicked the safety off. With a quick, light stride, he moved from the kitchen to the front door and peered out, carefully.
Jason didn’t know what to call the vehicle that was tearing down his driveway. It might’ve once been a car but it was covered in rust and chipped paint. It didn’t look like much. He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the driver.
It was a woman, with dark hair.
Rose.
He loosened his hold on the gun and pushed open the door. He ran out onto the porch and down the steps just as she brought the rust-bucket to a stop next to the Camaro. He couldn’t believe his eyes when she stepped out. She looked disheveled and she was barefoot. Her hair was a mess, but her eyes were bright, relieved. He grabbed her into his arms without a second thought and held her close.
“Oh God, I thought I lost you again,” he breathed into her hair, smothering his face in her dark locks. Her arms locked around him tightly, possessively.
“Jason,” she said. She was close to tears. He could hear it in her voice. “I thought I would never get away. I thought I was dead.”
“How?” He pulled away to look at her face. “How did you get away?”
Before Rose could answer, a gentle wind blew toward them. It rustled her hair, and she brushed it away. Her scent drifted upwind toward him and he smelled the scent of her heat and arousal, the familiar scent of the female wolf he loved. But there was something else the air brought to him. It was a dangerous scent of sweat and sex. It was musky, strong, familiar. It was a tainted scent.
He sniffed, not believing it. Rose’s face went white and her eyes wide. She smelled of fear as well, and that’s when he knew.
It was the scent of a male werewolf. It was the scent of Simon.
Chapter Sixteen
She saw the change in his eyes, in his expression before he shoved her back. His blue eyes flashed with a hint of gold and his face became white, colorless.
Her shoulders hurt where he shoved her, but the pain was inconsequential. She stared up at him, her heart kicking against her chest. She was scared to move, scared of what he might say and what he might do. There was no denying it. He knew. He could smell it. He looked her up and down, nostrils flaring. She realized she was still half naked. She had to explain.
“It’s not what you think—” she began, but Jason cut her off, his voice hot and angry.
“It isn’t about what I think. It’s about what I smell.” He took a step back, staggering on the uneven ground. His hand closed around the grip of the gun and shook with rage. Rose felt her lower lip tremble, felt the tears start to burn behind her eyelids.
“It’s not like that,” she tried to say. “Let me explain—”
“There’s nothing to explain,” he yelled. Angry spittle flew from his mouth and landed on her cheek, but she didn’t brush it away. “He’s been with you. He’s fucked you!”
It hurt to hear it said aloud. It took her breath away and left her gasping. Her throat locked up and her face burned hot. She couldn’t say anything. Jason looked away from her.
“He’s been with you,” he said, disbelievingly.
Rose let out a little scream of fright and surprise when he drew back his empty fist suddenly and punched the driver’s side window of Simon’s car. The glass shattered around his hand, creating a sparkling web. The blood smell was strong. It dripped down his skinned knuckles.
It startled her enough to bring her out of her stupor. She finally found her voice.
“He forced me, Jason.”
“I don’t believe it.”
And that hurt too. Rose opened her mouth and made a small sound of protest. “How can you say that?” she whispered, her voice trembling. Jason didn’t look at her. He stared down at his hand, watching the blood already begin to congeal and dry around his knuckles and fingers. “How can you even think that?”
“I can smell it, Rose,
” he said. His voice was still angry but it sounded different, darker. It reminded her of the way Simon often spoke and it made her shiver. She stared at him.
“Smell what?” Her voice was so soft she could barely get the words out.
“I smell it. Your arousal. Your attraction. The heat-scent.” He let out a breath, then finally turned his eyes to her. They were yellow, burning. “You gave in to him.”
She felt a flutter of panic. “I didn’t give in to him. I didn’t!”
“Oh God, Rose.” He turned away again. “Don’t lie to me. Please don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.” She took a step forward, reached for his arm. “I didn’t give in.”
He pulled out of her reach and spun to look at her. Fury and pain masked his face. “I can smell it.”
Rose began to sob. Her tears were hot and angry, full of rejection and hurt. She listened to him without wanting to.
“I know you gave in to him,” he said. “I can smell it. I can sense it.”
“I didn’t—”
“Stop lying.” Jason opened his clenched hands and held them out as if to grab her, but he brought them back, closing them tightly.
She stepped back from him. Anger replaced the hurt.
The wolf was angry and she growled within. She didn’t like the intensity of his emotions. She didn’t like what he was saying.
“You want me to tell the truth?” she said in a breaking voice. She glared at him, feeling the heat rise to her face. Jason’s face softened for a moment, but only a moment. His eyes were still intense, blazing.
“Fine. Simon screwed me. Is that what you wanted me to say? Simon screwed me and I liked it. No—the wolf liked it. She gave into him. She—”
“Stop it!” Jason shouted again. This time he did grab her. His fingernails were sharp, tearing through her t-shirt and into her skin. She shoved him away from her and his nails tore her flesh, spilling droplets of blood.
“Is that what you wanted me to say?” she yelled back. She shoved at him again and he stepped back. She stumbled when he did, almost falling down, but she remained standing.
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