by Amy Pennza
And that wasn’t her only advantage. Hell no.
She was put together like a Rubens painting, with long, long legs that tapered from thick thighs to slender calves. Her breasts were high but voluptuous—something the shapeless, cotton shirt she’d worn hadn’t been able to hide.
Long hair the color of honey cascaded down her back, the ends curling in the sweet dip in the middle of her spine. She hadn’t noticed his approach at first, and she’d swiveled her body toward the cars as he neared.
That’s when the sight of her backside had nearly taken him to his knees. Though it had been encased in frumpy, ill-fitting jeans, her ass was full and sweetly rounded. The generous, heart-shaped curves begged a man to look his fill.
And he had.
Lust had ridden him like a Fury, and blood had pounded so hard in his cock he’d felt dizzy.
Or maybe that was just her.
Like a satellite trapped in a planet’s gravity, he’d walked away from the New York wolves and straight toward the gorgeous creature standing like a lush island in an asphalt sea.
Venus in a parking lot. The thought had shot through his head, followed by another: Why does she smell like sadness?
He was no Tracker to ferret out emotion through scent alone. But anyone with a nose could have smelled the despair pouring off her. When she’d finally sensed him, her shoulders tightened, and she spun around.
That’s when he’d noticed the second and third most important things about Sophie Gregory.
She had the softest brown eyes he’d ever seen, and she didn’t want to marry Asher Benton.
You’ll be all right, chère. He’d said the first thing that popped into his brain.
A mix of surprise and recognition had flared in her eyes.
She worried he’d read her mind.
Really, he’d just read the little worry lines between her eyes and the way she hugged her arms around her middle.
He’d wanted to tug them away, to admonish her for hiding her beauty, but that would have been the wrong way to go. If he knew anything about anything, it was women. Oh, he knew all the rumors. He was a man-whore, a Lothario, a love ’em and leave ’em scoundrel. Like all rumors, some of things people said about him were overblown. Other things were true. Either way, the talk had never bothered him before.
Until that little flare of recognition in Sophie’s eyes. For some reason, he hadn’t wanted her to think the worst of him.
He’d been ready to do just about anything to keep talking to her, even if it was just a silent, stolen conversation on the way to her wedding.
She’d been nervous in the car. As Dom had pulled onto the highway, she’d faced forward, hands folded tightly in her lap. The sun had limned her profile in gold, highlighting her pert nose and full lips. Dark eyelashes had made half-moons on her cheeks. The rich, warm scent of vanilla had drifted around her.
“Okay, blink once for yes and twice for no.”
Her lips twitched.
Ah, what a wonder that little smile was. He leaned against the window, arms folded, and made his inner voice stern. “Oh, you think this is a joke?”
One blink.
“I’ll have you know my telepathic gifts are very impressive, Miss Gregory.”
She snorted. Dom looked at them in the rearview mirror. She tucked her hair behind her ear, a pink blush blooming on her cheeks. The scent of vanilla grew stronger.
“Don’t mind him. He didn’t eat breakfast, so he’s cranky.”
The smile teased her lips again. Good.
“Is this your first time in New York?”
One blink.
Of course it was. That was a stupid question. If she’d been in his territory before, she would have come to the Lodge—and he sure as hell would have noticed her.
“What’s your favorite color?”
She furrowed her brow, and her lips parted.
“Wait. Shit. You can’t answer that by blinking.” He looked at her shirt. “Blue?”
Two blinks.
“Pink.”
Two hard blinks.
“Not a girlie girl, then.” He dropped his telepathic voice to a purr. “I like that.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Don’t tell me it’s something ridiculous like heather or persimmon.”
She started to shake her head, caught herself, then blinked twice.
“Red. It’s red.”
Her shoulders shook, and she gave him an exasperated look, a laugh threatening to spill from her mouth.
God, he wanted to hear her laugh. As it was, he had to be satisfied with seeing her smile.
He held her gaze. “I think I know it, Sophie.”
She gave him an expectant look, the smile still curving her lips.
“It’s green.”
Her smile faded, replaced with…longing. Gaze never leaving his, she gave a single blink.
Dom’s voice burst into his memories. “I just want to make sure you’re not going to do anything foolish.”
Great. It was lecture time. “I already promised I wouldn’t,” Remy said. “Right after you slammed me into a wall.”
“Someone had to knock some sense into you.”
A week after they’d delivered Sophie to the Vermont Territory, Dom had caught Remy close to the New York-Vermont border. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have been an issue. Remy was a senior Hunter, and the pack patrolled the territory’s borders all the time.
But Dom knew what had passed between Remy and Sophie in that car.
He’d ordered Remy back to the Lodge. Remy had responded with a curse or two.
Okay, maybe several curses.
At the Lodge, the situation had deteriorated. It wasn’t the first time one of their disagreements had turned violent, but Remy had come perilously close to issuing a formal challenge—something that had surprised them both.
Even better, Lizette had witnessed the whole thing, and now rumors were flying all over the Lodge.
Remy gave Dom a mock salute. “I’m pretty sure you dented Max’s drywall with my head, so mission accomplished.”
“Just tell me you’re not thinking of seeking her out.”
“I’m not thinking of seeking her out.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie. Because he didn’t really want to seek Sophie. He wanted to find her…and then take her some place far away from Vermont and the husband she didn’t want and find out if her body was as succulent as it looked—if the terrain under those frumpy clothes was as verdant and intoxicating as he suspected.
If he could fuck her out of his system and get his goddamn life back.
The pressure rose in his chest again. He was a rotten bastard for even thinking of seeing her, let alone sleeping with her. She’d been Asher’s wife for two months, which was plenty of time to complete the lux catena. It took three strands to form the chain: sex, a blood exchange, and a vow.
Love didn’t have to be part of the equation. And it wasn’t in Sophie’s case. He didn’t need to see her blink twice to know that.
Had that changed since September?
Doesn’t matter. She might not love her husband, but her bond would make it almost impossible for her to betray him. The lux catena couldn’t force couples to fall in love, but it gave them an innate need to protect and care for each other. If the ritual had changed the way Sophie felt toward Asher, showing up on her doorstep wouldn’t solve any of his problems. It would only create new ones—for both of them.
It didn’t help that Remy’s obsession had driven him to dig up everything he could find on Benton. The Vermont Territory wasn’t particularly powerful, but its proximity to New York made it a strategic player in werewolf politics. Sophie’s father had made a savvy move by marrying his daughter to the Vermont heir. Now, Max was penned in on two sides by territories that weren’t exactly hostile but weren’t friendly, either. By allying with Asher’s father, Samuel Gregory had contained—as much as possible—his intimidating neighbor.
But Remy wasn’t interested in politics. That sort of n
onsense was Dom’s domain.
Remy wanted to know what kind of man Sophie’s father had saddled her with. Was he kind? Strong enough to protect her? Would he cherish her the way she deserved to be cherished?
And that’s where Remy’s research had hit a dead end. There was plenty of information about Asher’s father, the Vermont Alpha. Hamish Benton was known to be something of a hard-ass, but he was well-respected in werewolf society.
But his son and heir? It was like he lived on the other side of the planet. Aside from a few scant details, no one seemed to know anything.
The music in the club switched to a techno-country beat. On the dance floor, people whooped and quickly formed into three long lines. After a few stumbles and false starts, they fell into a repetitive dance. Every few steps, they clapped their hands and jumped backwards.
Humans.
At the bar, the redhead twisted sideways on her chair, her gaze on the crowd. After a second, she lifted her gaze to the balcony, making eye contact. A red ringlet slipped over her shoulder and curled around her breast. He followed its path. Under his gaze, her nipple pressed hard against the tight dress.
She was exactly what he needed. He should go down there, grab her hand, and take her back to his place for the night. He’d stretch her sleek little body out on his bed and play connect the dots with those charming freckles.
But he wouldn’t.
Because he didn’t want the redheaded human. The female he wanted was in Vermont.
He studied the redhead’s breasts, even as riper, heavier curves filled his mind.
Sophie had possessed him, and by god he was determined to exorcise her from his mind. Dom might have forbidden him from crossing the border, but that didn’t mean Sophie had to stay put. If Remy issued the invitation, she might just accept it. No one had ever turned him down before…
“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” Dom said, “but I don’t like it.”
Remy kept his gaze on the redhead. “Then it’s a good thing you don’t know what I’m thinking, isn’t it?”
“Remy.”
Before Dom finished saying his name, a second voice screamed in his head. “REMY!”
White-hot pain sizzled through his brain, and nausea roiled his stomach. He gasped and squeezed his eyes shut. Every noise in the club—the music, the clink of glass, the jumble of voices—faded as his name echoed around and inside his skull. Little ice picks pummeled the backs of his eyeballs. The pain threatened to blast his eyes from their sockets, but he ignored it.
Because he knew that voice. Sophie had just screamed his name telepathically—and wherever she was, she was terrified.
He forced his eyes open and lurched to his feet, even as pain throbbed in aftershocks like a stone skipped across a pond. Where the hell was she? And how had she spoken inside his head? More nausea crashed over him, and he gripped the edge of the table to keep his knees from buckling. His heart pounded in his ears.
It took him a minute to realize Dom stood next to him, his face etched with concern.
“Remy? What is it?”
Dom’s words in his head were muffled, as though he’d spoken under water. Every syllable sent pain forking through his skull. Bile burned his throat. He threw out a hand toward Dom. “Don’t transmit.”
Dom hesitated, and Remy could almost feel his confusion before he leaned closer. “Why not?” he said in a low voice. “What’s wrong?”
“I…” A wild urgency rose in Remy’s chest. Deep in his mind, his wolf paced and snarled. It couldn’t speak in words, but its directives were clear. Go. Hurry. Now.
He let go of the table and stumbled backwards.
Dom steadied him, then glanced at the tables around them. He lowered his voice. “Remy, we can’t afford to make a spectacle.”
Hurry. Go.
Remy shook off Dom’s hand and walked toward the stairs. The floor didn’t rise up to meet him, which was good. Passing out in a club filled with humans was a bad idea.
Dom blocked his path. “What are you doing? You’re on duty.” His expression said he was rapidly losing patience.
“I have to go,” Remy said. In his mind, the wolf threw back its head and howled its commands. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry. Remy tried to sidestep, but Dom blocked him again.
“Go where?”
“Sophie needs me.” The ice picks twisted behind his eyes, and nausea rolled over and over again like an ocean. The urgent feeling buffeted him, making his chest tight. None of it mattered. Sophie needed him now. He searched the edges of the club for an exit sign. Music pounded, beating in time to the pulses of agony in his head.
“Remy.” Dom’s voice held the sharp edge of anger. “We just talked about this. You can’t get involved with her.”
“She called out to me. Mind-to-mind.”
Dom’s gaze widened. “Just now?”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I know what I heard.” Impatience shoved at him. God, if Dom didn’t get out of his way, he was going to have to punch his best friend and the pack’s Beta in the face. That could land him in the Pit for six months or more, but he didn’t have a choice.
He dragged in a breath. “She screamed my name. She’s scared, Dom. I’m going to her, and I’m not going to let you stop me.”
A sheen of electric blue rolled over Dom’s eyes, and a low growl rumbled from his throat. No human could have heard it, but Remy’s sensitive ears picked it up just fine. It was a warning. Remy was bigger and stronger, but Dom was Beta. No one but Max ordered him to do anything.
“I’m sorry,” Remy said. “But I have to do this. I don’t have time to explain. I’m not even sure I can.”
Dom clenched his jaw. He must have seen the desperation in Remy’s gaze because his wolf faded from his eyes. He blew out a heavy breath. “Okay, but I’m going with you.”
“No, that’s—”
“Nonnegotiable.” He looked at the dance floor. “I’ll call someone to take the girls home.” He faced Remy. “And I’m driving,” he added, pulling a phone from his jacket. “You look like shit.”
4
Remy drummed his fingers on the leather armrest of Dom’s SUV which cruised down the darkened highway like a bullet. The road between Albany and Burlington was mostly two lanes, with stretches of three in busier areas. Over the past two hours, they’d seen only a handful of cars.
Which was a good thing. If they’d hit traffic, Remy might have bailed from the car, Turned, and gone the rest of the way on four legs.
Dom glanced at him. “Anything?”
Remy shook his head. As soon as they’d stepped outside the club, the same overpowering urgency he’d felt at the table had pushed him toward Burlington. Just as he’d known Sophie needed him, he’d known which way to go. Later, he’d have time to analyze what the hell happened to him and why he suddenly had a freaking compass stashed inside his skull. Right now, he just wanted to get to Sophie. The restless, clawing need to reach her had settled down once they hit the road, but it still buzzed under his skin.
“Feeling better?”
Remy took an inventory of his body. The headache lingered, but the nausea was gone. He patted the console between the seats. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to puke in your car.”
“You think her telepathic call caused the burnout?” Dom asked.
“Yeah.” It was the most logical explanation for his reaction in the club. The brain could only take so much before it got overloaded and the circuits shorted out. Burnout was something that happened to every Telepath from time to time, although it had been a while for him, since he was rarely in danger of overusing his Gift. Dom was the only other Telepath at the Lodge, and they tried to keep their conversations audible—sort of like refraining from speaking a foreign language around non-speakers. Most wolves were suspicious of Telepaths as it was. He wasn’t about to give his brethren an excuse for nailing the “sneaky” moniker on those with his Gift.
He’d heard it en
ough from his parents to last a lifetime.
“And you’re sure it was her?” Dom asked.
Remy couldn’t fault him for having doubts. Sophie was a Finder—a strong one, if pack gossip was correct. After he’d delivered her to Asher’s territory, Remy had done a little digging into her background. Most territories kept detailed genealogical records, which helped wolves match with prospective mates who shared their Gifts. There were no Telepaths in Sophie’s bloodline.
“I’m sure,” Remy said.
Dom seemed thoughtful for a second, then he said, “This could be your Gift opening up more. Maybe you can receive from anyone now.”
Now there was a terrifying thought. Remy put his elbow against the window and squeezed the bridge of his nose. “God, I hope not. I haven’t had burnout like this since I was a kid. The last thing I need is a bunch of amateurs aiming their inner thoughts at my head all day.” The average age of the Hunters at the Lodge was twenty. It didn’t take much imagination to guess which subjects dominated their thoughts.
He shuddered.
“This could be useful, though,” Dom said, clearly oblivious to Remy’s nightmare. “Imagine how much more effective we’d be on patrol if you could transmit back and forth with any Hunter at the Lodge.”
“You’re forgetting the very negative reaction people had when we found out I could transmit one-way to non-Telepaths.” It had happened by accident, in pretty much the same scenario Dom described. The Hunters did regular patrols around the territory, usually in groups of two or four. One night, he and Dom had taken a pair of new recruits on a training exercise, with Dom and his recruit in the lead on two feet and Remy and his bringing up the rear on four. As Dom and his trainee had passed under a tree, a large branch had cracked and separated from the bark.
In wolf form, Remy had used the only voice available to him. “Watch out!” he’d called to Dom, adding a mental push to break through any other thoughts in Dom’s head. The push was nothing to Dom. For him, speaking mind-to-mind was as natural as breathing.
But the recruit at his side had heard, too.
It had taken Max two hours to talk the kid out of packing his bags and running home. He’d been convinced Remy could break into his mind and control his movements.