What A Wolf Dares (Lux Catena Series Book 2)

by Amy Pennza

  A smile touched her mouth. He wasn’t lying about loving the show. His voice had held genuine enthusiasm. Besides, he’d watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer in the kitchen.

  A werewolf who loved vampire shows? Why the hell not?

  She checked the lock on the door. Not that she worried about him barging in on her. But Asher had…

  She shoved him from her mind. Max had given her sanctuary. She was safe. Dwelling on the past would only stop her from taking advantage of whatever the future held in store.

  The shower head was one of those fancy kind embedded in the wall in a vertical line. A second one mounted in the ceiling sprayed a steady, gentle mist. Within seconds, the water was piping hot. She stripped and stepped inside.

  How did Remy deal with the giant window? Maybe it was some kind of special shower window that kept people on the outside from seeing in. She crept toward it, the water hitting her front and quickly soaking her hair. The forest stretched below, the tops of the trees a thousand points stretching into the distance. Water puddled at her feet, and she wriggled her toes against the small black tiles of the shower’s floor. She put her fingertips against the window as rivulets ran down the glass.

  There was something almost…liberating about the window. It wasn’t so much that any random passerby could see her. The cabin was far too isolated for that. Besides, werewolves were fairly passive about nudity. Shapeshifting meant shedding clothing on a regular basis. She’d been naked around just about every member of her father’s pack.

  No, this was more of a freedom of the soul. One story up from the ground, with nothing but clear glass between her and the outside world, the shower felt suspended in some kind of otherworld framed in blue sky and green, verdant ground.

  Hot water pelted her back and shoulders where Lizette’s healing had transformed her skin from broken to whole.

  Maybe that’s what she felt now—a transformation. Like she was on the edge of a change, and it was up to her to decide what came next. In the bedroom today, as she’d told her story to Max and the others, their pity had crowded her, making the room feel stuffy and close.

  The only cool spot had been Remy, standing tall and resolute by the door, his blond head lowered.

  What would those curls feel like under her hands? Was his hair as soft as his mouth? He’d met her gaze, his green eyes letting her know he remembered the kiss, too. She’d blushed and forced her attention back to Max’s questions.

  “My gut tells me you’re not a woman who’s content with flings.” Max’s voice echoed low and deep in her mind.

  She wasn’t—or at least she hadn’t been. In that, she was almost unique. In a species that didn’t divorce, it was important to be absolutely certain about someone before mating them. It wasn’t unusual for wolves to have dozens of partners before entering into the lux catena. Parents even encouraged their children to experiment. It was better to play the field than to end up with a bad match.

  She was living proof of that, wasn’t she?

  The water grew tepid, and she nudged the tap farther to the left where a tiny sun was etched into one of the tiles. Dom had said she had two or three days before her father and Hamish showed up, assuming they intended to challenge the sanctuary.

  Despite the warmer water, she shivered. Of course they would come. Her father wasn’t going to let her go without a fight. She hadn’t spent too much time around Hamish, but she knew he was proud. A runaway daughter-in-law wouldn’t sit well with him. It wouldn’t sit well with Asher, either.

  She bowed her head and let the water beat against her nape. A knot formed in her stomach, and faint tendrils of panic crept low in her gut. She shivered again. Her heart rate sped up. Throat tight, she braced her palms against the tiles and dragged in a breath.

  Not now…

  The faint scent of popcorn teased her nose, the buttery smell mingling with the shower’s mist. She lifted her head just as his deep voice drifted through her mind.

  “Hey, bathing beauty. I’ve got movie theater popcorn and extra butter. Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

  Her heart rate slowed, and warmth spread through her belly, banishing the icy panic.

  True to his word, he’d made her popcorn. It was a small thing, but it felt so damn good to be with a man who looked after her.

  “You’re not with him, though,” said a little voice in her head.

  She straightened and reached for the bottle of body wash perched on a built-in shelf. Maybe she wasn’t with him in any meaningful sense, but she was with him right now.

  And right now was all she had. The next two days could bring a whole mess of problems. But at this moment, she was in this beautiful cabin with a man who loved vampire shows and popcorn.

  What else had Max said? “Remy takes his pleasure where he can find it.”

  She squirted soap into her hand and lathered her arms and legs. The bruise on her hip was gone. Lizette’s Gift had worked its magic, erasing the last evidence of her ordeal.

  The last physical evidence, at least. She wasn’t going to kid herself that she was over the emotional baggage.

  She shut off the water, leaned out of the shower, and grabbed a towel. The thick cotton smelled of fabric softener and…lemon. Remy. She wrapped the towel around her body and stepped to the window. Outside, a blue jay swooped from the sky and landed in the upper branches of an evergreen. As a girl, she’d learned the brightly colored bird didn’t fly south for the winter.

  It stood its ground, enduring whatever the winter brought.

  Thriving in spite of the snow.

  Max told her an Alpha’s daughter couldn’t afford to ignore consequences. But she’d been down that path before. She’d done everything her father asked, and the consequences had been dire.

  The blue jay hopped to another branch, its small body a shock of azure blue against the duller browns and greens.

  Takes his pleasure where he can find it.

  If the rumors about him were true, he certainly did. She pressed her wet forehead against the glass. In a way, Remy’s reputation was a source of comfort. There were no strings in a relationship with him.

  A fling.

  Max’s assumption about her had been right. She was her father’s daughter. A good girl. Responsible and obedient.

  Those things had landed her in bed with a monster, with his fangs in her back and his threats hissed in her ear.

  Her sigh fogged the glass, obscuring the forest outside the window in a pale haze.

  Max said Remy wouldn’t use her…only that it might feel that way.

  But what if she wanted to be used? Why not take her pleasure where she could find it? He didn’t love her. She wasn’t naive enough to believe that. It was obvious what he wanted. And, for some reason she couldn’t figure out, he wanted it with her—at least for a little while.

  Beneath the towel, her nipples tightened. Yeah, she wanted it, too. What sane, red-blooded female wouldn’t want Remy Arsenault?

  She couldn’t run away again. There was no escaping the storm gathering on Max’s borders. But she could enjoy right now. Remy hadn’t faked that kiss. He might be unburdened by consequences, but his desire was real enough. More importantly, it was real right now.

  If now was all she had, she was damn sure going to enjoy it.

  * * *

  Remy crouched and threw another log on the fire. The blaze snapped and crackled. Heat seared his skin.

  Good. Hopefully the fire would hide the blood pumping into his cheeks…and other places. He’d spent the past forty-five minutes clearing the dining room table, loading dirty plates into the dishwasher, and making popcorn—anything to keep his mind off the fact that a very naked Sophie was standing in his shower.

  The distractions hadn’t helped much. When he’d pictured her stripping off his shirt, her bare breasts bouncing with her movements, he’d groaned out loud…then grabbed a sponge and started scrubbing the shit out of the countertops.

  His kitchen was freaking sp
otless now.

  A log snapped. The fire swelled, throwing shadows around the room. Dusk came early this time of year, and he’d already lowered all the shades on the first floor—an easy enough chore, since the cabin’s blinds operated by remote control. He didn’t usually bother closing any upstairs. With Sophie here, though, he’d have to remember to take care of it before bed.

  He cocked an ear toward the stairs. What was she doing up there? The water had shut off twenty minutes ago.

  He wasn’t about to go check on her. The mental image of a damp Sophie, her creamy skin pink from the shower, near his bed was hard enough to endure in his living room.

  Emphasis on hard.

  A soft sound on the stairs made him stand and turn.

  Sophie stood on the upstairs landing, one hand on the railing.

  And heaven help him, she looked about a hundred times better than anything his mind could have conjured up. Her hair was damp, the long strands just beginning to wave around her face and over her shoulders. He’d given her another pair of sweats, green ones this time. They hugged her thighs and tapered down her long, long legs. Thinking to offer her a little more modesty, he’d added one of his old college sweatshirts to the mix.

  He should have known nothing could conceal Sophie Gregory’s charms. The material was soft from hundreds of trips through the washer and dryer. As a result, the cotton molded to her curves, draping gently over the swells of her breasts.

  “I got your message,” she said as she descended the stairs.

  Huh? His brain was like molasses.

  She tapped the side of her head. “About the popcorn?” She reached the bottom and stopped, one hand on the railing.

  Popcorn. Right. He gestured toward the sectional sofa, which faced an ornate TV cabinet. “Grab a seat. I’ll get it.”

  “I can help you—”

  “Not tonight,” he said firmly, then he smiled so she’d know he was teasing. “Just sit and relax. I’ve got Season 4 cued up.” He headed toward the kitchen, adding over his shoulder, “I’m a sucker for the Alcide storyline, no pun intended.”

  Her laugh followed him, and a rush of contentment rose in his chest. That laugh was the best sound he’d heard all day. He sprinkled salt over the popcorn and carried the bowl into the living room.

  She looked up from the sofa, where she’d settled in a corner, her legs tucked under her. “I can’t let you keep feeding me like this.”

  He set the bowl on the ottoman and plopped next to her. “Why not?”

  Her expression changed, but only for a second—almost as if she’d said something she hadn’t intended to share. “I just…” She made a dismissive gesture. “You know how women are always watching their calories.”

  Ah. Someone had told her she needed to. That person was a moron. He raised an eyebrow. “Did you know in some cultures it’s a grave insult to refuse a host’s food?”

  “It is?”

  “Mmmm.” He snagged the bowl from the ottoman and tucked it between them. “So unless you intend to insult me, Miss Gregory, you will eat my popcorn and enjoy TV time with me.”

  She laughed. “TV time?”

  Oh, he had to do whatever he could to keep that laugh coming. Unlike a lot of women, she didn’t giggle. No, hers was a low, rich chuckle that made the little hairs on his nape stand up and beg for attention. He picked out a piece of popcorn, launched it into the air, and caught it with his mouth. “TV time,” he said around his bite, “that’s what I call it. Live with Dom long enough, and you find that regular television watching becomes important for retaining your sanity.”

  She scooped a handful of popcorn. “How long did you foster with his family?”

  “From the time my Gift manifested at thirteen until we moved to the Lodge to train.”

  “As Hunters?”

  “Yeah. Most Alphas wouldn’t accept Telepaths as Hunters, but Max isn’t most Alphas.”

  She shook her head. “It’s wrong, the way our species treats your Gift.”

  “It has its advantages,” he said into her mind. “For one thing, wolves always underestimate us in a fight.”

  She looked down. “A trait among wolves in general, I think.”

  His heart squeezed. She’d once asked if he was a mind reader. It didn’t take any special mental prowess to figure out she’d been underestimated her whole life.

  The fire popped, and she jumped, her gaze flying to the hearth.

  “Sorry,” he said, glancing at it. “There’s a lot of sap in those logs. It’s going to sound like Rice Krispies in here for a while.”

  “It’s okay.”

  They smiled at each other over the bowl between them as the fire sparked and crackled. A soft blush stained her cheeks. Was she grateful for the fire, too? After a second, she dropped her gaze, her fingers on the edge of her sweatshirt. “Thanks for the clothes, by the way.”

  “You’re very welcome. Sorry for giving you sweats again. Tomorrow, we can send someone into town to buy clothes in your size.”

  She smoothed the material over her thighs. “I don’t mind it. Do you like Syracuse?”

  It took him a second to realize she referred to the sweatshirt, where the faded block letters were barely visible. “Ah, well, I went to college there.”

  “You did?”

  Her surprise was so adorable, he had to laugh. “Yeah. What, you can’t picture me in a collegiate setting?”

  “No! I mean yes.” Her blush deepened. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know, chère.” He set the bowl on the ottoman. “I’m teasing.”

  “Oh.” She gave a weak smile. “I didn’t want you to think I was insulting you.”

  “It’s okay. That’s another way wolves underestimate me. Well, underestimate the pack, I guess.”

  She tilted her head. “How so?”

  “I’m an accountant…a CPA, to be exact.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You’re an accountant.” The way she said it, he might as well have announced he was an astronaut or the lead singer of a rock band.

  “It’s not very glamorous, I admit, but it keeps me busy. I handle the pack’s financial portfolio, along with everyone’s taxes.” He settled back against the cushions. “You’d be surprised how often werewolves screw up itemized deductions.”

  “I…had no idea.”

  “Neither does the IRS.” He winked at her. “Half my job is keeping the feds out of our business. The last thing we need are a bunch of suspicious humans poking their noses into our affairs.”

  She seemed to recover from her shock at his revelation. “My father would agree with you there.”

  “I have a feeling that’s the only thing he and I would agree on.”

  Firelight played over her hair, which was almost dry now. The soft waves framed her face. Her eyes grew sad, and her voice was soft when she asked, “Do you agree with Max? That my father will cross your borders without permission?”

  He couldn’t lie to her. Even if she didn’t use her nose enough to scent a falsehood, he wasn’t going to mislead her that way. As unfair as it was, she needed to be strong for whatever confrontation was coming their way. Her father was as power hungry as any other Alpha in the country, and the alliance with Vermont was too important an opportunity to squander. “Yes,” he said. “But you’re safe here.”

  “Max said that, too.”

  “What else did he say when he talked to you alone?” Not that he really needed to ask. Max had seen their kiss.

  She hesitated.

  Shit. He shouldn’t have pressed her. He started to apologize for asking, but then she said, “He told me not to get involved with you.”

  Of course he did, the bastard. “That sounds like him.”

  “He also said an Alpha’s daughter can’t afford to ignore the consequences of…” She looked away. “Of a fling.”

  Anger flared in Remy’s gut. Since when was Max the morality police? More to the point, what business did he have telling Sophie how to live her life
? For all his talk of diversity and equality, he sounded exactly like her father.

  Remy touched her chin, bringing her gaze back to him. “You’re much more than an Alpha’s daughter, Sophie.”

  She gave him a trembling smile. “For a while now, it’s seemed like that’s the only part of me that matters.”

  He had to keep touching her. It wasn’t even a choice, really. He smoothed the pad of his thumb over her full lower lip. “It’s part of who you are, but it’s not everything. You’re un trésor. Your father should want to protect you, not give you away.”

  Her lips parted. “Trésor. What does that mean?” she whispered.

  “Treasure, sweetheart.” He smoothed a fingertip along the curve of one small ear. “Your father’s only daughter. The treasure of his pack.”

  “I…” Her voice was breathless, almost hoarse. “He doesn’t think of me that way.”

  “Then he’s a fool.”

  She made a dismissive sound and lowered her gaze.

  He tipped her chin up. “A fool,” he said, more firmly this time.

  Twin flames leaped in her eyes, reflections from the fire at his back. Ah, that’s what it was like being next to Sophie—trapped between one kind of blaze and another.

  He lowered his mouth until their lips were almost touching and their breaths mingled. Her long lashes swept her cheeks as she blinked, her chin quivering in his grasp.

  “A fool,” he whispered and then lowered his mouth to hers.

  Gentil…gentle. French and English tangled together in his mind—something that only happened when he was drunk. And maybe he was right now. He was intoxicated by Sophie, and he wanted to drink her down. After two months of biding his time, the women who had haunted his thoughts and dominated his dreams was finally in front of him.

  And she wanted him every much as he wanted her. That heady knowledge sent blood pumping to all the right places.

  Gentle. Yes, that was the right word. There was no place for aggression with her. Not right now, not yet. Someday, he could lead her down that path. Right now, she needed the softest caresses. She deserved to feel protected and cherished.