by Gwen Knight
“Why are you doing this?” she asked in a hushed whisper, low enough that he hoped the others couldn’t hear.
He gritted his teeth. “It’s my job to protect you. To protect any wolf that’s in trouble. I may not be the nicest guy in the world, but I take my responsibilities seriously.”
With her anger spent, the color drained from her cheeks until she stood ashen faced before him. Her expression had him questioning his response. Had he said something wrong? Was her cooperation such a difficult thing to promise?
“Seems I don’t have a choice.”
Wyatt cursed. “Why do I feel like I kicked a puppy?”
She offered a wan smile that punched him in the heart, and then she slipped out from under him and went to fetch her bag. “There are some things I would like from my room. But your illustrious leader over there won’t let me upstairs. Would someone be willing to grab some things for me?”
His jaw tightened. Every inch of her screamed meek and vulnerable. And he hated it. What happened to the spitfire that had head butted him? “I’ll go.” Like hell he was going to let anyone else paw through her belongings.
She nodded and listed off a few belongings before snatching up the phone and dialing her boss’ number.
“Stay vigilant,” he reminded his wolves before he trudged up the stairs.
Chapter 7
Sky all but flew off the bike the moment Wyatt geared down. Pulse all a-flutter, she stalked clear across the garage and analyzed her surroundings. Nothing spectacular, just a man parking his motorcycle in his uncluttered shop. Everything seemed to have its place. Everything except her. She so didn’t belong here, didn’t belong on any pack turf. Her former alpha had made the terms rather clear when he’d exiled her nearly six years ago.
“Got a thing for wood?”
She sucked in a sharp breath and whirled around, loose strands of hair snaking around her neck. “Excuse me?”
He rose from his bike, his denim-clad legs straddling the chopper. Sky’s mouth dried, her heart giving a kick when her traitorous mind replayed the scene from her house. With a deep breath, she forced the image away. The last thing she needed to think about right now was that smoldering kiss that would have scorched her panties, had she been wearing any.
Wyatt removed his helmet, the movement distracting her from such thoughts. He jerked his chin toward the shelving. “You’ve been staring at those shelves since we pulled in.”
She turned back to the shelves in question. Truthfully, she had barely noticed them in her need to escape his overwhelming presence. An eternity had passed since he’d ordered her to mount the bike behind him—and hell, if her cheeks hadn’t burned when he’d uttered that word. The long ride had been torturous, feeling his every muscle shift beneath her as he flawlessly controlled his motorcycle, not to mention the heat his body put off. The worst had been the sharp turns that had forced her to clutch at him. Her damned palm still burned from the feel of his hard chest beneath it. And just like that, the lightbulb flicked on above her head. The bastard had purposely taken the turns hard, forcing her to scramble and grab for him so as not to fall off the bike.
Her mouth twisted. Of course he had.
“Listen, darling, now that we have a minute alone, we need to talk about what happened back there.”
She blinked, and, with a harsh breath, pushed her bangs back from her face. She hated this. How did he look so fine when she felt as though she’d been raked over coals? “Believe me, there’s nothing to discuss. The next time you feel the need to shove your tongue down my throat, don’t.”
Wyatt pushed away from his bike, his face inscrutable as he studied her. “You saying you didn’t enjoy it?”
Her cheeks flushed. For crying out loud, of course he had to ask that. “No one enjoys being slobbered on.”
A look of true insult crossed his face. “Sweetheart, I’ve never slobbered on a woman in my entire life.”
“Men,” she said with a disgusted scoff.
“Like women are any better,” he muttered. “But that’s not what I was talking about.”
“I don’t want to talk about that either, all right? I’m not looking for a mate. So, let’s forget it.” Her wolf snarled in her head.
“I’m not exactly jumping up and down for joy either, darling.”
“Don’t call me that.” Frustrated, she ripped the elastic out of her hair and shook out her platinum mane.
The darkness in his eyes abated for a moment as he watched her sweep it back once more and secure it into a quick knot. “As much as I enjoy the sexy librarian fantasy you’ve got going for you right now, I much prefer your hair down. Don’t tie it back on my account.”
She froze with her fingers at the back of her neck. With a withering glare, she yanked it back tighter. “I don’t recall asking your opinion.”
“Don’t recall caring,” Wyatt shot back before he ascended the stairs. “You coming or what?”
After a long ten hours on the plane, not to mention the lovely adventure at her house, then the time it’d taken to arrive here, she was about ready to drop. At this point, all she longed for was somewhere to rest her head, even if that place was a hard floor.
“Boss, glad to see you two made it one piece.” Axel sidled up to them, his gaze flicking between them. “Everything all right?”
Sky bit her tongue. She had to remember that she was on his turf now. Speaking out of turn could earn her a one-way ticket to death row. And no matter how independent she’d grown in the past years, she knew well enough to avoid that.
“Right as rain,” Wyatt assured him before striding through the house.
Axel and Sky shared a hesitant glance. Unsure whether or not to follow, Sky eased away from the wall and drifted forward. Her eyes roamed the expansive interior. Holy hell, the last thing she’d expected was a bloody mansion. Mouth agape, she circled the first room she stumbled upon. From the look of the large television perched before the couch, she guessed it to be the living room.
At first glance, this house seemed ill-fitted to Wyatt. Everything about him screamed hard-ass, but this house…it appeared well-cared for. As though it possessed a woman’s touch. Delicate wall hangings and a lovely carpet that ran the length of the floor welcomed her. The furniture was a touch worn but both the supple couch and matching armchair possessed an air of comfort. Between them sat a cooler teeming with beer, and to the left was the start of what appeared to be a beer can fortress, towers included. The entire house was a mess of contrasts, one she couldn’t wrap her head around; yet, instantly, she knew she liked it. There was a warm aura to the place, quite unlike hers, thanks to her stalker.
She turned, her gaze landing upon a group of three men that hovered around a prized pool table made of lush green felt and cherry mahogany wood. She watched as the cue ball banked off the side of the table, then darted toward the small cluster of gleaming billiard balls. And when a striped ball rebounded into the nearest pocket, two of the men roared their enjoyment and high-fived one another. She hadn’t seen such camaraderie in ages, even among the humans. With a job like hers—public advocacy for werewolves—the humans knew she wasn’t one of them. It had made for some lonely Saturday nights. Though she loathed the circumstances in which Shane had entered her life, she at least appreciated the friend. And a true friend he was.
“Welcome to our little abode,” Axel murmured in his delightful accent.
She did another turnabout, noting the larger group that lingered near a dart board. The chalkboard next to them was covered with cramped scribbles, but at first count, the side with Wyatt’s name appeared to be in the lead.
“Alpha!” a boisterous voice boomed through the house.
She stumbled into Axel when yet another giant-sized man rushed by her. What the hell was Wyatt feeding them? Even the women she spotted were immense.
“Easy, chère,” Axel chuckled. “Wouldn’t do for you to get run over, now would it?”
“What is this place?” She wa
tched, astounded, as two smaller-framed females raced to the couch, breathlessly laughing as they tussled over the one red console controller.
“Home,” Axel said with a half-shrug. “We don’t all live here. The house can lodge ten of us at any time. There are currently eight of us—nine if you include the alpha—who live here permanently. The rest have their own lodgings spread throughout the community.” Axel stepped forward with her bag in hand. “Come, Sky. Let’s get you settled into a room.”
Now that she could support.
“One hour,” Wyatt called as he strode toward the dart board.
“Oui, mon ami.”
Sky ignored Wyatt’s vague words until she and Axel were upstairs and out of sight. Once he pointed her toward the only remaining empty room, she turned and inquired about the stated time limit with an arched brow.
“Your police friend will be here by then,” Axel informed her as he lowered her bag down onto the bed then set about snapping the curtains shut. “To keep out prying eyes,” he said when he caught her arched brow.
Her blood turned to ice, reminding her that her life had taken yet another skewed turn to Shittyville.
A firm hand settled on her shoulder as gentle fingers guided her chin up. “You are strong, chère. You’ll get through this. But we’re here to protect you as well.”
“From Wyatt too?” Her voice warbled, but her mouth curved as she delivered the weak joke. Her entire life she’d prayed that she’d never come across her so-called destined mate. And now that she’d met him, she remembered why.
Axel joined in with a low chuckle of his own. “Nah, you’re screwed there.”
“Is he always such a dick?”
A strange glint appeared in Axel’s dark brown eyes. “He’s in a rough mood tonight. Things will seem better tomorrow.”
She blew out a heavy breath and nodded. “One hour, right?”
“Fear not,” he chuckled. “Someone will fetch you if your sheriff arrives before you’re ready.”
“Thanks.” She closed the door behind his retreating figure and set to unpacking.
Her attention drifted toward the bed. A plush eyelet quilt beckoned. She drifted closer and ran her hand over the soft material. An hour wasn’t much time, but at this point, she’d take anything. A moment later, she curled atop the bedspread and fell asleep with her head cradled between two plump pillows.
Chapter 8
“Where’s the girl?”
Wyatt’s head rose at the sound of Bale’s voice. His beta paced into the room and threw himself down into the nearest chair, leg hooked over the armrest. The man looked the picture of ease and grace, which only annoyed Wyatt further. For the past forty minutes, he’d been scouring the Web for any information regarding the three victims. Shane had warned him that they were keeping it quiet, and from the whole whopping squat he’d found, they’d succeeded.
At one point, he’d considered asking Sky, until he recalled the look of absolute shock when he’d mentioned the three victims. Seemed Shane had a lot to answer for, and he couldn’t imagine the sheriff was looking forward to that conversation.
“Earth to Wyatt.” Bale waved a hand in front of his face.
“I don’t know. She’s somewhere,” Wyatt muttered. He shifted in his chair and turned back to the computer, fingers clacking furiously against the keyboard as he ran yet another search.
“Ah, thanks, I gathered that much.”
Wyatt cast a tapered glance toward his beta. “Why do you care where she is?”
A low chuckle graced Bale’s lips. “Oh, you know, maybe because we’re supposed to be protecting her.”
“There are a dozen werewolves in this house at any given time. I’m sure she’s fine.”
“Yo.” Bale rapped his knuckles against Wyatt’s mahogany desk. “Have you forgotten that there’s some sick bastard out there gunning for her? Because I sure haven’t.”
Wyatt sighed and dropped his head into his hands. Of course he hadn’t forgotten—rather, didn’t want to think about it. It ate at him that she was in danger. “What do you want, Bale?”
“The girl’s on the news. Thought she might want to see, since her life is about to change dramatically.”
“What?” Wyatt’s head snapped up. “What do you mean she’s on the news?”
Bale’s mouth quirked. “I mean someone took some not-so-lovely pictures of her house, and they’re airing it live right now.”
With a mumbled curse, Wyatt snatched his remote off the desk and flicked on the television. He cranked up the volume and leaned forward on his desk, his gut twisting when an image of Sky’s house flashed across his screen.
A female reporter’s voice kicked in mid-sentence. “…the whereabouts of Werewolf Public Advocate Skylar Callahan are currently unknown—”
Wyatt blinked. Werewolf public advocate?
“Dios mío.” Bale straightened in his seat and leaned over, elbows perched between his knees. “I knew I recognized her. A man does not forget a woman like her,” he murmured, grinning when he caught Wyatt’s harsh glare. “Ah, I had wondered…”
“Wondered what, boyo?”
The corner of Bale’s mouth twitched. “When I saw the two of you together, snapping at each other like children, I had wondered if maybe—”
“Oh, hell no,” Wyatt hissed. “That’s a thought process you are not to encourage.” It was bad enough that his wolf craved her; he did not need his men introducing such thoughts to the pack.
“Is that so? You mean to tell me that we didn’t interrupt anything earlier—”
“Bale!”
“All right,” Bale mused as he dropped back into the chair. “So what if she and I…” His brow winged up.
A raw growl scraped past Wyatt’s lips.
His beta lifted his hands. “Tell me if she’s off-limits, boss.”
“She is absolutely, unequivocally off-limits.”
Bale ran his hand across his lips. “Because…?”
Wyatt sucked in a sharp breath and whipped the remote control across the room, his jaw setting when it shattered against the wall. “Because I said so. And this topic is closed.” He met his beta’s stare with one of his own, his lip curled back over his teeth.
“Ah, because that is a sane reaction.”
Wyatt’s eyes shuttered and he dropped his head into his hands. “Don’t push me, Bale.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, boss.”
His second’s sardonic voice rubbed him the wrong way. Massaging the tension out of his temples, he directed a sly glance back to his computer. Werewolf public advocate…he’d recognized Sky’s name when she’d first given it, but hadn’t been able to place exactly where he’d heard it. Now that he knew, he almost wished he didn’t. The last thing he wanted was a high-profile mate.
Turning his chair back to his computer, he pulled the keyboard closer and typed in her name. He shouldn’t have been surprised to find multiple pages focused on her. Seemed Skylar had established herself among the political and academic crowds. What the hell did a Master’s in Sociocultural Evolutionism with a specialization in werewolves entail, anyhow?
Multiple social media sites flashed her image. Hell, she even had her own website. Thumbing through the tabs, he brought up the images of her and his jaw dropped. Was it any wonder she’d attracted a stalker?
The creak of the chair across from him alerted him to Bale’s movement, and a moment later, a shadow dropped over him as his beta came for a look.
“Well, damn.” Bale released a low whistle. “Looks like our girl has been making quite the name for herself.”
Dancing at a presidential ball…no, Sky had already made a name for herself. And boy howdy, she looked stunning in a low-backed gold ball gown. Hell, he steered clear of the media, and even he’d seen this photo when it hit the newsstands. How could he have forgotten?
“Look here.” Bale tapped the screen. “Escorted by Senator Samuel Cohan.”
Sweet Lord, the woman had contacts.
So what the hell was she doing in Wolffe Peak, Colorado?
The sound of her name drew Wyatt’s and Bale’s attention away from the computer and back toward the television.
“Skylar Callahan was last spotted in Washington, D.C. not three days ago, campaigning for werewolf awareness, seen here.”
An image of Skylar flashed across the screen. Wyatt studied her length, noting how they’d hidden her curves beneath well-tailored suits, lending an air of professionalism to her otherwise feminine form. With one ear, he listened to her speech about equality between humans and werewolves. The other guided his attention to the office door, where Skylar had appeared.
It was quite the change, seeing her now in a plain white tank top and low-riding jeans. He much preferred this look compared to the expensive suits. Tank top and jeans, he could accommodate that sort of lifestyle. Ball gowns and fancy parties, not so much.
Her gaze shot across the room to the television, and she winced at the sight of her house lit up with flood lights. Police vehicles and professionals surrounded her home, clearly investigating the scene they’d discovered in her bedroom.
She entered the room with her chin lifted in a show of strength. “So, now you know who I am.”
Indeed. Now he knew. Not that it changed a damned thing. Stunning ball gowns, hideous suits, or down-to-earth jeans, he still wanted her. And Wyatt wasn’t in the business of denying himself something he wanted. Mate or not.
“Ah, welcome querida.” Bale rounded the desk and dropped back into the chair. With a rakish grin meant entirely for Wyatt, he hooked his foot around a second chair and pulled it flush against his before patting it lasciviously. “Have a seat.”
Snarling, Wyatt planted his foot against the edge of Bale’s chair and gave a strong push. He’d meant to shove him across the room, but with the wolf’s balance teetering toward the back of the seat, the extra weight sent the chair into a backward spiral. The sight of Bale’s wide eyes brought a harsh laugh to Wyatt’s lips, but it was nothing compared to the image of his second’s arms pin-wheeling moments before he tumbled backward to the floor, his long legs flipping over his head.