"Watching for us to fail?" Jackson drawled and Trey kicked him under the table. Shook his head. Jackson threw him a startled look which wasn’t surprising since he didn’t have clue who he was dealing with. Gage just smiled.
"No. Let's just say I have a vested interest in your success."
Trey changed the subject before anyone could think about that too much, and the conversation turned neutral, with Jackson catching them up on gossip and news of people in the home pack. Darius shared some news of their own and Trey was preparing to claim his woman and leave when the bar’s door opened again.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jackson stiffen and slowly turn to see the woman whose scent drifted through the door. They all blinked when she walked through. Short, but projecting a tall and stately image, she carried an aura of power. Black hair hung straight to her hips, and her face carried the unmistakable stamp of a Native American.
She stopped still and slowly turned her head to look at them. Trey had the impression she memorized all their features before moving on to the group of women in the back. She pulled Tara aside and spoke to her heatedly for a couple of minutes before striding out of the bar. Her exit broke the spell that held Jackson in place.
“Who is she?” he asked Trey.
“I don’t know,” he answered, shaking his head. “But she knows your woman.”
“Yeah,” he answered, rising as Tara approached, a quizzical expression on her face.
“Hey, baby.” He caught her lips in a quick kiss before she pulled away. Trey quickly introduced her to Jackson and Gage.
“What brings you over here? You didn’t tell me you were going to be here today,” he gently reprimanded.
She raised an eyebrow in response, eyes laughing, but she shook that off before answering with a question of her own.
“I was just wondering what has my cousin warning me against you,” she said blandly.
“Cousin?” Jackson jumped in.
“Yes, my cousin,” she answered dryly. “I’m sure you noticed her. No one ever fails to unless she wants to blend in.”
Jackson grinned, throwing on the charm. Trey’s hackles rose but he fought it down. It was obvious from Jackson’s response to her the woman was his mate.
“You’re lovely yourself, but taken my friend, Trey, here assures me. He’d get testy if I tried to steal his woman.”
She shook her head and relaxed enough for a low laugh. Trey pulled her close to his side and made a show of glowering at Jackson.
“So. You were telling me about your cousin,” Jackson said, smiling at her again.
“No. I wasn’t.” She smiled back. It had a touch of a bite in it. “But since you asked so nicely, what was it you wanted to know?”
“Her name would be a good start. Marital status. Address. Blood type. You know, the usual stuff,” he joked. None of it was really a joke though.
Tara didn’t know that and laughed again.
“Her name is Summer. She’s a zoologist and forget the rest. I’m not telling.”
“Does she live here?”
“Some of the time. She goes where the research grants are.”
“But she’s living here now,” Jackson persisted.
Tara cocked her head to the side and looked him up and down. Trey saw the moment she decided she’d had enough. Her eyes narrowed and her gaze swept over the entire group.
“She’ll be back in few days. What I’d like to know is what is it about the five of you that made her so nervous. She’s not the anxious type.”
“What did she say?” Trey asked.
“She said not to get too close and to watch my back.” She smiled sweetly at him.
“You can trust me,” he responded.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” he asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “How am I supposed to convince you?”
“Time.” She shrugged and walked away.
“Wait!” Jackson called. She stopped, and looked over her shoulder, eyebrow raised in question. “She’s a zoologist?”
Tara nodded.
“What does she study?”
“Wolves.”
Chapter Seven
Tara woke to bright sunlight sneaking through the bedroom’s blinds and rolled over to snuggle back into Trey. He wasn’t there. She listened to the quietness in the house and she realized he’d already gone. He’d said something last night about finishing some work early and spending her day off with her. Maybe he’d be back soon.
She frowned. She was getting too attached too quickly, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She wanted to blame it all on the sex. It was unbelievable. Heady and powerful and fucking irresistible. She stretched, little aches zinging through her body to places that hadn’t been so well used in, well, ever. She grinned. Yep, she was totally blaming this on the sex.
Imagine her surprise when Mr. Taciturn turned out to be fascinating, even if she did have to drag information out of him. He’d been everywhere investigating whatever it was he investigated. She frowned again. That was apparently off limits. She understood client confidentiality and all that, but surely he could talk about it in general terms. He looked for missing people. Couldn’t he talk about the ones he’d found? He claimed to always locate whoever he went looking for, too. With that kind of track record he should be a cop or as famous as Sherlock Holmes.
The air conditioner blasted on and she burrowed deep under the covers. His smell, woodsy and masculine, seemed to embrace her and her heartbeat kicked up. Amazing. A man’s lingering scent had her revved up. She glanced at the clock and groaned. Nine a.m. He wouldn’t be back for hours. She’d be a desperate, begging ball of need by the time he showed up.
What the hell was that about? She never reacted to anyone like this. She lightly trailed her fingertips around her nipples, imagining his tongue on the same path. Giving into temptation, she pinched them and imagined his sharp teeth nipping at her. Who knew a little pain went so far? Her pussy creamed. One hand worked her nipples, spreading the cream around her clit, aching for a touch, but drawing out the torment. Finally panting, she reached for the hard nub, and imagining it was Trey’s mouth on her, and finished herself off with a few hard strokes. She came with long sweet ripples and relaxed, sighing, back into the bed.
She drifted between waking and sleep before her early-riser’s brain finally nudged her up. She never slept in, but it was a luxury she might adjust too. Especially if it came with great sex. She winced when she stepped under the showerhead and adjusted the temperature down from scalding to a more comfortable hot. She didn’t know how Trey could stand it. The masochist. She leaned against the wall and let the water sluice over her.
He wanted her to see his house today, and she suspected he wanted to switch their nights together to his place. Not that they’d had a night apart. She scowled. She loved her place, a 900 square foot restored shotgun house, but it definitely wasn't a Trey-sized house. No wonder he’d mentioned relocating to his place a couple of times. Okay, in all fairness, it may have been a few times. Problem was she got the impression if she spent one night there, she’d have spent her last night here.
She toweled off, unwilling to deal with the reality of his possessiveness yet and with the afternoon yawning before her. He’d left the coffee pot pre-set for her, and a note telling her he looked forward to the evening when he was free. At his house. She laughed, halfway accepting the inevitable. A part of her she could no longer deny really liked his persistence.
She poured a cup of coffee, lacing it with a liberal dose of French vanilla creamer, and sat on the sofa with her current romance book. Sometime later, she returned to the kitchen for more coffee and looked for something to munch on. She was surprised to see 12:00 flashing out at her from the oven’s digital display, and decided on a light lunch. Chicken salad sounded good and she started dragging out ingredients. She was reaching for the can opener for the chicken when a sound from out front caught her attention. She cocked her head to the
side. What was that?
She cautiously edged her way up the hall, straining to hear it again. Scratching? Odd. It was coming from the front door. She felt a tendril of apprehension as she went to look out the front window rather than open the door, and jumped back three feet when she did. Heart hammering, she crept back to for a second look. Yep, that was definitely a wolf out there.
She ran back to the kitchen for the phone, but it was dead when she picked it up, and she snorted with exasperation. It was out again. Reliable phone service was not a high priority on the local company’s list. She reached for her purse and her cell phone, but came up empty. Maybe she’d remembered to plug it in last night, but she didn’t find it in the bathroom or the living room in her usual “charge the phone” spots. Damn. She had a vague memory of dropping it in the side pocket of her car’s door yesterday.
She tiptoed back to the window and snuck a look out. No wolf. She eyed her car and decided not to risk it, instead hoping Trey would show up soon. Okay, so she was a wuss. She could live with that. She was not going to be one of those stupid “please kill me now” horror movie characters. No heroics here, thank you very much. Trey would be back soon. And in the meantime, maybe she’d just pack a bag for a couple of nights.
She was in the master bedroom stuffing her make-up bag when she heard the pop and shatter. Tossing the zipped bag on the bed, she slowly walked down the hall and paused at the living room entrance. Glass was everywhere, the popping sound without doubt that of a gun. Anger surged through her.
The hell with this.
Stalking back to her room, she dug into the back of her closet and pulled out her dad’s old shotgun. Good ole Dad even left her rounds too. She shoved one into the chamber as she jogged for the back door. She’d go to her neighbor’s and call the police. She stuck her head out and looked around before jumping off the back stoop and running next door where her neighbor was doing the same.
“Someone shot at my house,” she said darkly, stepping through his backdoor.
The police told her to wait there and she stayed until the sirens stopped out front. It wasn’t until she was arguing with an older officer about the wolf that she thought about calling Trey.
*
He was in the office he kept in town before dawn. After the hunter’s use of Jackson as a messenger service and Gage and Jackson showing up, he’d called in and provided his current address. There might be more news and he couldn’t afford any delays. There was nothing new that might help with the rogue hunt, so he settled behind his desk and dived into a back log paperwork. His routine had been disrupted since he’d started pursuing Tara. Instead of finding that bothersome however, he welcomed the change. She brought excitement back into his life. He'd been bored way too long.
By the time he typed his final report and paid the bills that had arrived during the last week, the sun was edging its way up the sky. His instinct was to go to Tara, but he had one more thing to check before he could indulge his body’s need for her. Grabbing his keys, he strode out to his SUV and made the short drive to his house.
Inside, the cleaning crew had been busy. Years of neglect had been scrubbed from the walls and floors, and the kitchen was somewhat presentable. More importantly, his furniture had arrived. He checked the downstairs library first, assuring his desk had been delivered and noted the boxes of books piled against one wall. Then he jogged up the stairs to the bedroom he’d decided to use.
His bed frame had arrived, along with the new mattress and box spring. It was the only thing in the room, in pieces leaned up against the wall, and was waiting for him to put together and in place. He walked in, studying the frame with a critical eye. It was old brass, his parents’ bed, and his grandparents’ before that. He’d slept uncomfortably in the king-sized four-poster for years. What would Tara think of it? He could see her in it, had a sudden vision of her stretched out like a feast for him on it. Oh yeah, he was right to ship the bed down. It would feel like his now.
The room was on the front of the house and had a big bay window facing the front yard. He pushed the bed to the opposite wall so the light of the sun and moon would stream across its occupants. He imagined Tara naked, bathed in moonlight and smiled. Perfect. The mental picture was interrupted by his cell phone’s voice message beep. Irritated, he pulled it out and listened with growing interest as he walked outside to his SUV.
He followed the real estate agent’s directions to a bungalow a few miles from his house. It was tucked in a tiny cove on the lake and looked abandoned. The rent was two months late and the leaseholder, Bradley Jones, had been unaccounted for and evicted, but had showed up in the rental office looking to catch up and move back in. Unfortunately, with the spurt of recent area purchases, the owners had decided to sell. The agent reported that Jones did not take the news well, but was convinced to take another house. Adrenalin surged through Trey. This was his guy. The story was too odd, too off—Jones went out of town for a couple months and forgot about his rent? Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time someone called Trey paranoid.
He parked and walked around the house. It was small, probably only one bedroom, and needed upkeep. The smell hit him on the back porch and excitement coursed through him. The scent was faded, but unmistakably that of the wolf who’d fought with Darius last month. Luck was with him and he didn’t have to pick the lock on the door. It was unlocked and human authorities were never going to hear about this. The scent was much stronger inside. Trey had found where the rogue lived.
Either the kitchen had been emptied, or Jones never ate at home. Trey found a few dishes in the cabinet and a broken coffee maker in the pantry. Moving on into the next room, a combination living/dining room, wasn’t any more enlightening. An old sagging sofa sat in the center in front an older model twenty inch television. There were no books, no magazines, no unpaid bills, no old newspapers, only a thick layer of dust. Hoping to hit pay dirt, he bypassed the bathroom and headed for the house’s last room, the bedroom.
The small space was dominated by an uncovered bed, which was flanked by a nightstand and a bureau. The closet was empty. He opened the dresser first and found it bare. The nightstand was next. The top drawer was as stripped as the dresser and he held his breath when he pulled on the lower knob. A piece of paper rested on its bottom with a list of names scrawled on it divided by a line.
He picked it up and scanned it quickly, a chill running down his spine when he reached the end. The first three names were well known to the hunters, all men high placed in the Society. The next group was every adult werewolf in his pack, followed by every mate. Meg and Tara brought up the end, circled in red.
Alarm surged through him. Claws pricked his fingers and his incisors sharpened as his wolf clawed for freedom to protect his mate. A growl rumbled in his throat. He wasted precious seconds regaining control, then punched out Darius’s number on his phone while racing for his car, and hurried to fill him in. Next he tried Tara. The line was busy and her cell went straight to voice mail. He left a clipped message telling her to call him as soon as possible and let no one in.
His world crashed when he reached her house after what seemed to be the longest drive of his life, and found the street full of police squad cars. He pushed his way past the crowd and cops and through the door. He found her trembling on the couch.
“Oh, thank God,” she said when he pulled her into his arms. “The weirdest thing happened. I heard scratching on the door and when I looked out the window, there was a wolf there, I swear to gawd. I used to do these retreat things with Summer so I know it was a wolf.” She shot a dirty look at the cops milling around. “They don’t believe me, but I know what I saw. Then, like ten minutes later, someone freaking shot my front window!”
He wasn’t sure who was shaking more, him or her. His wolf snarled with rage, wanting to howl and attack. He’d failed to protect her, and it would fucking be the last time. Like it or not, she was coming home with him and he would not let her out of his sight again.
One of the officers approached, an investigator Trey knew from some of his previous cases.
“Williams.” He nodded in greeting. “Miss, do you have any idea who would do this?”
Trey watched her struggle with the question and shake her head. Guiding her to the sofa, he pulled her down and kept his arm around her. The adrenalin rush had really knocked her for a loop. She was still shaking and goose bumps popped up on her flesh. Her breathing was fast and shallow.
He turned back to scowl at the officer. “Can’t you do this later, Browning?”
“No,” she whispered. “Let’s get it over with. I’ve already been through it a half dozen times.”
“Okay. One more time, baby.” His stared down Browning, the look making it clear one more statement was all he was getting.
She drew in a deep breath. “About noon I was sitting in here reading, and I decided to get something to eat. I heard something scratching at the door and went to check.” She glared at Browning. “I saw a wolf. I know y’all don’t believe me, but whatever. Anyway, that was weird. Really weird. Since there have been so many animal attacks in the area I figured I should call y’all but the phone was dead. Then I went looking for my cell phone, but remembered I had left it in the car.”
She took another deep breath and looked back and forth between the two of them. He squeezed her hand in reassurance and she gave him a weak smile that made his heart contract painfully. She was in way over her head and she knew it, despite not knowing what was going on.
“I decided I’d take Trey up on his offer to stay the weekend at his place.”
He raised an eyebrow. He’d certainly been thinking it, but hadn’t gone so far as to ask, afraid she’d bolt.
“When I was packing, I heard the shot and the window break. It pissed me off. I got Dad’s shotgun out of my closet, loaded it, and went out the back door to my neighbor’s to call the police. And that’s it.”
His wolf was howling for release again, and this time it wanted to turn her over his knee. She went outside? With a shotgun?
Bad Moon Rising (Lunar Mates Book 2) Page 4