by Carmen Fox
“Are you going to tell Jonah?”
Drake speared the last of his pasta, slid the forkful into his mouth to chew, and at long last swallowed. “No. Not yet. Before I turn his view of the world upside down, I’d like to give him something that will ease the pain, you know? Like the killer on a platter.”
I sipped water and regarded his pained expression, before taking another bite of pasta. “Do you have any ideas?”
“A suspect, you mean? Not her parents, if that’s what you’re thinking. Nothing on Earth could make those two kill their child. Raven’s friends didn’t have a motive either, at least not an obvious one.”
He’d already come a long way with his insights. Could he be pushed further?
“I’m an outsider, so don’t take anything I say personally. Okay?” I slid my empty plate away from me.
“I’ll try.” He sat hunched, but alert.
“Marlon might have started the campaign against the travelers for not being pure or whatever, but the rest of you are continuing his vision in a quiet way.”
I scratched my arm, but the itch remained. No, not an itch.
Drake’s dominance was seething and ready to break. “Now, why would I take your comment personally?”
“What I’m saying is you lot have a certain world view. I never said you’ve done anything wrong.” I took a fortifying breath and softened my tone. “But Raven’s choice of boyfriend could have pissed someone off, right?”
The prickle on my arm subsided.
“All right.” His shoulders relaxed. “Say a dislike of humans might be a good motive for disapproving of Raven having a boyfriend, but why kill her? Why not kill Cody?”
I leaned back, deflated. “I don’t know.”
“There’s something you don’t know?” He sprawled his hand over his chest. “Oh my. Has my fever spread to you? Are you feeling all right?”
I kicked his shin under the table.
“Fuck.” He winced and bent to the side to nurse his leg.
“Baby.” But I didn’t push my mocking any further. In fact, I hadn’t even meant to kick as hard as I did.
“You know, you’ve bought into the going theory that the travelers were part human.” He tapped his nose. “I have my own theory.”
“Go on.”
“Let’s say, I’ve found intriguing references in my books that turn that thought onto its head.”
“How?” I squinted. “Drop the vague clues and say what you have to say.”
“What, no please?” He swiped a non-existent crumb off the table with force.
Ah. Bitchy McBitcherson had reared her ugly head again. “Sorry. My temper’s a work in progress. But I know so little about my mother’s pack, and you know so much.”
His gruff expression softened into a smile. “Tell you what. Let me get a shower, and then we’ll open a bottle of wine, and I’ll tell you what I know. Okay?”
That sounded suspiciously like a date, yet I detected no predatory glint in his eyes, no ambiguity in his voice. Maybe he simply thought his revelations would be easier to bear with a generous supply of alcohol.
I crossed my arms and stretched out my legs. “Fine. Or, you know, thank you.”
Yes, finishing school had truly paid off for me.
“Wine glasses are up there.” He pointed to a corner of the kitchen. “And the wine’s over there. I’ll be quick.”
He exited the room, leaving it to me to collect our plates. Typical. I placed the dishes onto the counter with an emphatic clang. I was his guest, so how come it was me doing the chores?
Because he was taking a shower and I wasn’t. Because he was injured. Because for a second, I’d thought he had died, and that scare proved impossible to shake. Not everything Drake did had to do with keeping me in my place. Not everything was a battle. What was wrong with me? During my time in Chicago, I’d become a picture of calm and unflappableness. But a few days in the presence of werewolves, and I couldn’t call a spade a spade without thinking, “Would this be the implement they’ll use to beat me into submission?”
My suspicion wouldn’t ruin this night for me. Maybe I’d learn about Mom, or maybe Drake and I would have sex in every room of this cabin. Who knew? No point spoiling an evening before it had begun. Gritting my teeth, I rinsed the plates and the pots, wiped the counters, and grabbed the wine and the glasses from the cabinet.
I was nearly out of the door when I turned back. Maybe it was petty, but I stalked back to the center of the kitchen and pulled the tablecloth to the side, so that one end hung lower.
There. My rebellion might be stupid, but it would not be crushed.
Hair still wet, Drake already sat on the small sofa—a pile of upholstered comfort—and paged through a book. The scent of shower gel that clung to his damp skin invited me to sit close.
He’d retrieved a pile of reading material on the history of the Triangle. “The few werewolf books that survived. This is what the three settlements looked like around the time your mother lived here.”
The photos inside, more brown than gray, offered a view into the past. Women and gentlemen in fancy costumes strolled along busy roads, past tall cars we’d now reverently refer to as automobiles. Hundreds of these photos blended into one and took me back into the past.
What their idyll hid was that female werewolves still had a worth, like any commodity. At least now, human laws had penetrated our sheltered existence and guaranteed us a limited sense of equality.
Back then, in my mother’s time, the idea that one day a female wolf would take the throne had been unthinkable. Yay for Dad, who’d never wavered in his support of my ambitions.
Shame the whole thing had been a lie.
“Looks human, you know.” I pointed at a photo of a couple walking arm in arm.
“We’re often so focused on what makes us different, on the wolf in us, that we forget that we are, at least in part, human.” Drake slowly turned the pages.
His warm body rested against mine, our cozy togetherness helped along by worn springs and sloping sofa cushions.
“Living among humans has put me in touch with my humanity.” I sipped from my wine glass and then held it tightly between my hands on my lap. “Humans are outward looking, always scouting for the greener grass. That’s what really lies behind their wars and the violence, but it also makes them excel at the arts and sciences. Werewolves are inward looking.”
“In what way?” He leaned forward to refill our glasses, but quickly resumed his spot by my side.
“We like to be alone or among our kind. Humans only ping on our radar when they encroach on our territory. It’s not that we don’t like them, but that we’re simply not interested in them.”
“I agree. Still, that doesn’t explain your reluctance to use your dominance.”
So that was his plan. Ply me with alcohol and find out my secrets?
I placed my wine glass on the dark wooden table only so that I could scoot to the side. “I have my reasons.”
He breathed loudly through his nose. “I’ve hit a sore spot, haven’t I?”
“Don’t go there.”
“You come across every bit the alpha you’re going to be. And yet you never let loose. Don’t you want to unleash your power sometimes? Watch others sit up and take notice?”
So he went there.
“I’m used to standing my ground without letting the wolf out.” If I sounded brusque, it wasn’t by accident.
“Bullshit. You’re among wolves now, and your dominance is in your genes. I’m not saying you have to let it rip every hour of the day, but keeping it back should be more of a struggle than it is for you. Don’t you worry that living away from your pack has made you too human?”
Drake’s argument matched the whispers that buzzed around my father’s advisors whenever I visited. How can Kensi lead us if she doesn’t understand us? Would she suppress our animal side so we’d be more like her? Idiots. Stupid, ignorant, asshat idiots. Would I relinquish my ambitions to
run free as a wolf just once? In a heartbeat.
Of course they didn’t know the reasons, and neither did Drake. But while it was painful to be reminded of my inadequacy at home, listening to Drake berate me for something that wasn’t my fault was torture. Of all people, he should accept me for who I was. Why didn’t he open his eyes and look at me, the real me?
“No. I don’t worry about being too human.” I shot up from the sofa and picked up my phone from the table. “I’m all wolf and prefer to call my restraint civilized behavior.”
“Where are you going?” Drake asked.
“It’s getting late. I’m gonna call a cab.”
He stared at the clock to his right, according to which it was after ten. “There are no cabs in the Triangle.”
“Seriously?” I flung my hands up. “Fine, I’ll take your car.”
“First, it’s a truck, not a car.”
I rolled my eyes, making sure he saw me doing so. Being German, I didn’t always pick the correct word, and trying clearly wasn’t good enough for him. “I know, I know. A car is a car unless it’s a pickup, in which case it’s a truck, and yet a truck driver doesn’t generally drive pickups. Who comes up with that stuff?”
“Not me. And second, no, you won’t take my truck.” He rose and stood pretty damn close to me. “You can stay here. I haven’t told you about your mother’s tribe yet.”
“You’ve been dangling your knowledge in front of my face like a carrot for a while. I can wait a little longer. Besides, I’m tired.” I glanced at the tiny sofa. “And I’m not going to sleep on that thing.”
“Not what I had in mind.”
His heart-stopping smile didn’t affect my resolve. Not now. Not anymore.
I squared up to him, my body too drained for this shit. But that was the deal. Pissing contests never ended. Mark your territory. Scare off rivals.
“We kissed. That wasn’t foreplay. It was a mistake. Let it go.”
The atmosphere turned heavy with his dominance, and his jaw muscles rippled. “Tell me. What did I do wrong?”
I gave a grim chuckle, while keeping my discomfort under lock and key. “Nothing. And as fun as listening to you recite my shortcomings is, I prefer to get some shuteye.”
“You kissed me. And I wasn’t criticizing you. We were just talking.”
His dominance fizzled and extinguished, but the hurt expression on his face was going to haunt me. Despite my words, he had to know I didn’t mean it. The way he played me like a banjo, how could he doubt his effect on me?
I inhaled long and deeply, fighting to keep my trembling body in check. “Just because I do things differently doesn’t give you the right to question my status. The free packs do plenty of crap I don’t agree with, and you don’t hear me telling you how things should be done.”
“You’re right.” He placed his hand on my back and steered me back to the sofa. “Come on. Sit.”
He topped up our glasses and handed me mine.
I took a huge gulp, as if the alcohol could wipe out the last few minutes. Drama wasn’t something I usually indulged in, but around Drake, a new normal applied.
“Okay then.” I moved, and my left knee touched his. He felt solid. Real. “Let’s keep things pleasant and talk about my mother.”
“I don’t have much on her yet.”
Seriously? Once again with the later routine?
He startled backward. “Don’t look at me like that.”
At least my glare still packed a wallop, even if my insides were more candy floss than candy ass.
“I’m not stalling, but I need to be sure.” He raised my hands to his lips and kissed my fingertips. “I don’t want to give us half-baked answers. I know how important your family’s roots are. I was lucky to have known my parents. I promise, I’m not toying with you.”
I sagged in my seat, slightly askew so as to study his face. Nothing in it tipped me off to a lie.
“Okay.” I stiffened. “Can I ask what happened to your parents? You don’t have to tell me, of course.”
“They died under Marlon’s rule. They were part of the group that stood up to him.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged with a cool casualness that had to be fake. “That’s what it was like back then. I never found out who killed them. That’s the toughest part.”
Probably why Raven’s disappearance ate at him. He’d felt responsible for their death, just as he felt he’d let Raven down.
I squeezed his hand. “How old were you?”
“Barely out of my teens. My brother used to be a lawyer in Denver, but he moved back to look after me, he said. Not that I needed it, but we were both happier to be around each other. Jonah vowed to avenge my parents.” He scoffed. “Tough when you don’t know who did it, but he had my back all the way.”
“And now you have his.”
“Yeah.”
At least I still had my dad. As self-absorbed as he was in his down time, and as busy as he was looking after the pack, at least he’d been around with advice and guidance.
“What did you find out about the travelers?” I stared at the books so as not to get side-tracked by his eyes.
“First things first. When we talk travelers, let’s make sure they weren’t real travelers. They shared neither customs nor rituals with any particular Roma tribe that I know of.”
“Just a pack of transients, then?”
“No, not that either. They came to our woods to settle. Yes, they preferred living in forests rather than houses, but they wanted to make this their new home. Marlon was the reason they didn’t.”
“Okay. I get it.” I finally looked at him again. “But you did discover something new, right?”
“I’ve translated the sentence on the campsite obelisk.” He gave a triumphant grin. “It means A wolf would not become a sheepdog.”
“Aha. Does that mean anything to you?”
“It’s an Estonian proverb.” He let out a huge sigh. “I get the feeling my discovery is not getting the credit it deserves.”
“Sorry.” I placed my hand on his arm. “I thought that since they went to the trouble of chiseling it into a rock, it might have a special meaning.”
“I think it does. It sounded familiar, and I’ve been going through my books, but haven’t found anything yet. No excuses, I know.” He raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “It’s not like I’ve been busy, you know.”
“I guess you’ve had a lot on your mind.” I toned down my smile. “How are you doing? I know you’re close to Raven’s family. This must be killing you.”
“I haven’t processed it yet, I think.” Drake moved his arm past my body and propped himself up against the back of the sofa, positioning his face an inch from mine. “My brain doesn’t seem to work properly when you’re around.”
“That must suck.”
He moved a strand of my hair aside with his nose. “Not so much.”
And then his mouth was on my lips. His kiss was tender at first, asking for permission. I gave it and fell into his unyielding certainty that this was what we were meant to do.
He quickly laid claim to my tongue, coaxing and nudging it into surrender.
His hands multiplied as he gathered my hair in one, gripped my waist with the other, cupped my neck with the third. Warmth surged into every limb, dizzying what was left of my will. I took my fill of him, or tried to, but his clothes were a poor substitute for what I knew lurked beneath.
Drake dragged me to my feet, kissing, caressing, and crowded me across the living room, through the hall, and into a bedroom. He closed the door with a swift kick.
Who would sneak up on us out here in the woods? Yet his need for privacy was a total turn-on. He didn’t want to share me with anyone, and to hell with reason.
“You can still stop this.” I twisted out of his grasp and led him by the hand toward the bed.
The room was caught in a time loop. A teenager’s poster of a rebellious rocker vied for attention with
a grown-up’s shelf of history books. A wooden box stood on his nightstand, its subtle earthy scent revealed it had been hand-carved recently. A sign, maybe, that Drake was good with his hands?
“I know this isn’t the most romantic of settings.” He swiped a couple of shirts and a book off his bed.
I pushed him onto the mattress and straddled him. “I strike you as the romantic type?”
“Romance comes in many flavors, princess.”
“Don’t call me princess.” I bent over and pushed a kiss onto his mouth. Hot. Fierce. Demanding.
Even though it was my kiss, the feel of his lips and the softness of his tongue obliterated my sass. For one brief moment in time and space, I gave myself to his touch.
But even this small concession irked. From somewhere, I gathered the strength to extricate myself. He was wily, all right, with his panty-melting eyes and his oh-so-agile tongue, but I wasn’t going to submit to him that easily. Or at all.
I cocked my head and winked. “How did you like that flavor?”
“Delicious. Let me get another taste.”
He pushed my buttoned-up jacket over my head and used my trapped arms to ease me back toward to him. The peppermint freshness that typically clung to him faded under his male scent—light, yet alive with vigor and intensity.
Could he smell me, too? Smell that I was ready for him?
Even though his lips remained soft, he was calling the shots. He switched between taking and giving, between bastard and gentleman. I’d been kissed more times than I’d care to remember, but not like this. Never like this.
He stroked my back, teased my spine, and with a swift flick, unclasped my bra.
Too much skill was in that motion. Too much practice. How many women had benefited from his dexterity before me? How many would once I was gone?
He nudged me, and I sat up. His gaze held a predatory glint. My bare breasts had become his prey. Even though I craved his touch, I stayed back. Kept my chest still. Would he hold them like a teenager, uncertain of their purpose? Or attack them with a starving mouth, hurrying me toward my climax with eager flicks of his tongue?
He reached out, hesitated, and cupped my breasts like two prized trophies.