Soft Shatter (Wolven Moon Book 1)

by Dany Rae Miller

  Her jaw drops open for a second, but only a second. Rage in her eyes, she picks up her purse. “Fuck you, Nash. I’ll find her myself.”

  “You don’t make a move without me. You got that?” Hands on my hips, I growl in frustration. Every time we talk these days, it’s a damn fight.

  “What-the-fuck-ever.” She turns toward the door.

  As she steps away from me, I grab her upper arm. Too tight, because she winces. Fuck. I ease my grip and caress her soft skin with my other hand.

  “I’m sorry, Shav. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Moisture fills her eyes.

  “Baby, don’t cry, please.” I need to mollify her. “Look. I’ll send a scout, okay?”

  Her bottom lashes coated with wetness, she looks at me. “You will?”

  “Yeah.” I lie through my teeth with the softest voice I can come up with.

  Despite her best efforts to hold it together, a big fat tear rolls down her gorgeous face. “I need you to help me find her. Please, Nash, you’re the only one I” — she chokes on a sob and collapses to the chair, holding her head in her hands.

  “Don’t cry, Shavone. Jesus. I can’t handle your tears.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s my stress mechanism.” She wipes under her eyes. “I need to be able to count on you. I need that more than anything.”

  “You can.” I kneel and take one of her little hands in mine. “You gotta know that.”

  Before I can stop her, she throws herself at me so hard I have to sit back on my heels to catch her.

  “I’m here, Shav. Always. No matter what.” For a moment, I just hold her.

  You mean everything to me.

  Damn. She smells delicious. I bury my nose in her hair at her throat and suck in her scent. My beast stirs, loving how tight she holds on to me. Her softness feels good. Too good. My cock tightens. I unwrap my arms, then hers and set her back in the chair.

  She sniffles and wipes her nose with the back of her hand.

  Rifling through my gym bag, I find a clean towel and shove it into her hands. “Dry your tears and while you’re at it wipe that shit off your face.”

  This much makeup looks ridiculous. Don’t know why women do this to themselves. On Shav, I hate it even more. Always have.

  “I’ll ruin it with eyeliner and mascara.”

  “I’ll live.” I stand.

  She looks up at me with her wet lashes. “Will you let me know when the scout gets there?”

  “Yeah. I’ll contact Lowell in Durango, have him send the best from his pack.” It’s not a total lie. I already asked and several of his best are already in Houston.

  Abruptly, Shavone stands and hugs me — catching me off guard, again. Tentatively, I hug her back, smoothing a hand over her back. She’s so soft. She wedges her sweet little head under my chin — just like she used to when she was a kid.

  “I’m scared, Nash,” she mumbles.

  “Aw, baby.” My voice thick with emotion, I clear my throat. “Don’t be. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

  She pulls back. “Me? Don’t worry about me. Worry about Val.”

  Val’s being a bitch.

  “Can’t I worry about the both of you?” I try a small smile.

  She smiles back and tilts her head the way she does when she’s feeling better. There’s my girl. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t resist, I pull her back in my arms, and, cradling her sweet smelling head, kiss the top of it. That’s it. A split second is all I can take. I straighten and set her away from me.

  She frowns. “It’s too bad you don’t enjoy hugs, because you’re really good at them.”

  Hugging isn’t all I’m great at, baby. I’d love to show you what I can do with my tongue.

  Where’s her gym bag? “Did you bring workout clothes?”

  She shakes her head. “I came straight here from — after I got the call from Bank West.”

  I narrow my eyes. Liars hesitate. “Straight here from where?”

  “Visiting a girlfriend.” She’s got a rotten poker face.

  “And before that?” I press her.

  “Job interview.” She licks her lips, guilty as hell about something.

  I snort derisively. “You’re not working anywhere that makes you dress like this.”

  She smiles, almost laughs. “They have uniforms.”

  Something tells me the uniforms are worse than this dress. No way in hell will I let that happen. Another reason to get her into the mansion as quickly as possible. She won’t feel the need to work. She can spend most of her time studying and the rest in my bed.

  “Maybe one of the female recruits has something you can borrow for today.”

  Training with Shavone is like foreplay without the fucking. Bouncing around on the mats, she’s always playful and laughing at training. I have the perfect excuse for wrapping my arms around her — skimming her tits whenever I can. They’re a glorious shape with nipples that pebble at the slightest touch.

  Four minutes into our first training session, I got a boner the size of a California redwood. I faked a police call and got out of there as fast as I could. From then on, I’ve worn a cup to hide what she does to me.

  Training is pure torture, but it’s got to be done. The time is coming when she’ll need to know how to defend herself physically. That sobering thought and ice cold showers afterward are what allow me to be a gentleman through every session.

  chapter seven

  NASH AND I are in the fitness center of choice for the Denver metro’s finest in uniform — a lot of police and fire personnel frequent this gym. The owners, French wolves, offer half-price memberships to the men and women who serve the community. Criminals and thugs, therefore, don’t come within three city blocks of this place.

  In the locker room, I use wet paper towels on my raccoon eyes — wiping away more of the black from under my eyes.

  The withdrawal in Houston is the first real lead I’ve had. Maybe I should go by myself.

  Val’s friends keep telling me they’ve heard from her and insist that she’s fine. I need to see for myself. Shit. Why won’t she contact me? I’m her sister.

  Harper, a lady firefighter I’ve come to know and like, loans me shorts and a t-shirt. They’re both too big, but I tie the drawstring super tight on the shorts and knot the hem of the t-shirt at my back. No shoes, but that’s okay. We work on a mat anyway.

  I watch Nash stretch his impressive muscles. The crush I’ve had on him since junior high has morphed to a more grown-up appreciation — which is good since our relationship has never been a romantic one. Nash is like a big brother to me.

  “Can we go over the U-maneuver?” I ask as we warm up. I bend to touch my toes.

  “Sure.” Nash answers, grinning at the crazy huge shorts I’m wearing.

  Not what you’d call classically handsome, Nash is good looking in a roughed way — and built like a rock. He’s six feet eight inches in his stocking feet and every bit of him is sinewy muscle. Rough and tough, inside and out, most people — thugs especially — get out of his way in a hurry.

  “Can I show you what I need help with?” I ask.

  He nods with a curious expression.

  “What should I do if my opponent does this?” I manipulate his torso and mine to re-enact how Cruz trapped my arm.

  “Use your knee,” Nash says.

  “What if I can’t? What if your legs are between mine? Like this.” I position my legs outside of his.

  “Okay, if you don’t have use of arms or legs, then, work a head butt.”

  “And if your hair was being pulled so you couldn’t move your head?”

  Nash narrows his eyes. “This is an awfully precise what-if scenario.”

  I pretend to fix the drawstring on the shorts. “It happened to a friend.”

  “A friend.” He isn’t convinced. “Look at me.”

  I swallow and look up through my lashes.

  “Has someone hurt you?” Nash’s e
xpression turns menacing.

  “No.” Not really.

  Nash doesn’t relax, his gaze still penetrating. “Was your friend” — he does air quotes on the word friend — “attacked by a man recently?”

  “Sort of.” I mumble.

  “Fuck. So help me god.” Nash’s nostrils flare and his eyes flicker as though he’s shifting to wolf. He’s fit to kill someone.

  “It’s okay. I’m — she’s okay. Just tell me what to do if it happens again.”

  “If this happens, again, to your friend” — Nash knows I’m lying — “and she can’t move her limbs or her head, she should flirt. Hate to tell any girl to do this, but rub your pelvis against his. Get his blood flowing to his cock and hope like hell that the guy is straight, loses focus and eases his grip.”

  I nod.

  “Once he does, twist into the U and try again. Keep struggling and wear him down. Never quit fighting. Understand?”

  I nod. “Yes. Never.”

  Watching me closely, he fists his hands at his side. “You’d come to me? If someone were harassing you?”

  “You’re the only person I’d go to, Nash.” That is the truth.

  Satisfied, Nash’s lips quirk into a small smile with a touch of pride in his eyes. I smile back.

  I can’t tell him about Cruz yet. I will eventually when I’ve got something solid to go on. And Cruz didn’t really hurt me. He only grabbed my arm. Nash did, too, in the same place. I rub that spot on my bicep. It’ll bruise, I’m sure.

  Watching my movements, Nash grimaces guiltily.

  I drop my hand. “It’s fine.” I smile. “So, what’s today’s lesson?”

  Nash is training me in self-defense using Krav Maga techniques. It isn’t a pretty martial art, certainly not the most elegant, but more effective, much more useful for hand-to-hand self defense. Krav Maga is about fighting for your life with everything you’ve got, dirty tricks encouraged.

  “How to defend against a bear grab from behind.”

  “What’s a bear grab?”

  “Turn around.”

  When I do, Nash wraps his huge arms around me, locking them around my ribs and trapping my arms at my side.

  “Oooff.” I gasp.

  He loosens his grip a little, but not by much.

  “What are you going to do, Shavone? What does your instinct tell you?”

  “Head butt?” I tilt my head back only slightly. I don’t want to actually butt Nash in the nose.

  “Nope. My head is to the side.”

  I feel his breath on my neck.

  “Heel to the balls? Or instep?”

  “Close. Going for a guy’s balls is always a best practice. But lifting your foot in this position is a bad move. You’ll be on the ground before you can connect. So, the first thing you want to do is lean forward. It puts your attacker off balance and makes it harder for him to pick you up and throw you down.”

  I do it.

  “Good. Now twist your torso slightly for leverage.”

  I do it, reaching up to grip his massive forearms underhanded.

  “Uh, uh. Don’t even try to break my grip. Little thing like you will never have that kind of strength. You want to move within my grip.”

  What?

  “Let go of my arms,” he murmurs near my ear. “That’s wasted energy and is not going to help you. Think how you can go around my arms to get my balls.”

  I release his forearms and drop my arms to my side.

  “Oh,” I exclaim, excited that I may have figured it out. “I can reach down and around to karate chop you in the groin.”

  “Excellent. You are correct and get an A. Use your fist and you get an A-plus.”

  I do the movement, tapping lightly between his legs.

  He gasps. “Watch it.”

  I laugh. He doesn’t. I enjoy training. When else does a girl get to beat up on a giant wolf?

  “After you get my balls, then what?”

  “Break your grip using my elbows.” I pump my arms front to back as though I’m running full-tilt, my elbows hitting him in the ribs. “Then, I turn and kick your groin, knee your face, kick-hit-knee, kick-hit-knee until you’re down. And I run screaming for the hills.”

  Nash smiles proudly. “Good girl.” Wow. I get an actual smile from alpha extraordinaire Nashton LaFontaine.

  “Let’s practice,” he murmurs.

  Standing behind me, he wraps his arms around me again — tight this time for a more accurate simulation of a real attack.

  Shit.

  The man is made of corded steel. If he tightened the squeeze even slightly, I’m certain he’d crush the humerus in both my arms and crack every rib.

  For twenty minutes, I work the movements adding screaming and yelling as I would on the street to disorient an attacker. Most of the patrons in the gym are used to us by now, but a few of the women stop what they’re doing to watch and learn. As they should. This is good shit to know.

  “Okay, that’s enough. Hit the bags.” Nash indicates the punching bags.

  I choose one mounted on a stand — my favorite. Attempting to make the rig move as I pound the hell out of it is a personal challenge. For today, I picture Cruz’s smug smirk on the canvas and whack away at him.

  Nash moves to the free weight area on the other side of the room to do his thing while I punch and kick as fast as I can until I’m sweaty and breathless. From the back of my mind come Cruz’s remarks about me being too skinny. I usually do twenty minutes of this. I decide on ten for today.

  For Val. If putting on a little weight will make Cruz like me and perhaps share some info on Francisco’s whereabouts, I’ll do it.

  Nash sits up when he notices me leaving for the women’s locker room. Since I don’t have my workout gear, I have to use the dreadful gym soap and shampoo. Wishing I had some makeup remover, I scrub my eyes in an attempt to get off most of the dark eyeliner. The quick shower makes me feel better — more like me.

  Dressed and showered himself, Nash leans on the wall just outside the door. “That’s the fresh face I know and love.” He smiles and pushes himself upright. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” I return his smile.

  “You cut your workout short. Are you hurt?” He eyes my arm with concern.

  “No. It feels fine. I just have so much to do at home.” It’s a only a semi-lie. “I have to finish packing” — I smile broader hoping it’ll soften Nash’s reaction to what I say next — “and I’ve got a date tonight.”

  Just at the main door, he freezes with his hand on the handle. “You what?”

  “Yeah. Imagine. Someone wants to take me out.”

  “Who?” He barks.

  Geez. His big brother routine gets old. I’m a grown woman, mature enough to date.

  “Just a double date with Cherie and a couple of wolves.” Native wolves who might know the whereabouts of Val and Francisco.

  For a moment, Nash and I just stare at one another. I break eye contact first and move toward the other door. Nash blocks me.

  “Don’t you have to look for an apartment and pack?” He murmurs.

  “I can take a few hours off for drinks.” That’s all it should take for my fact-finding mission. “Either get the door or get out of the way, Nash.”

  Finally, he pushes through and holds it for me.

  I put on my sunglasses and carefully pick my way through the gravel parking lot in my stilettos.

  “What’s your date’s name? I’ll run a check on him.” Nash hurries after me. He’s in full-blown overprotective mode. Not good.

  “Geez. It’s just drinks, Nash. I’m not marrying him.”

  Stepping directly in front of me, Nash forces me to stop in my tracks.

  “It’s never just drinks with a wolf.” He bellows in the middle of the parking lot. Several heads swivel to look at us.

  I keep my voice soft. “Will you calm down?’

  Nash narrows his eyes.

  “I need to let loose a little. The stress of worryi
ng about Val is getting to me.” That is an understatement. “I mean, c’mon, you saw me break down into a sniveling crybaby earlier.” I look at the ground, kick a pebble with the toe of my shoe.

  “Hey.” With a finger, he lifts my chin to look into my eyes. I get a fluttery feeling in my stomach when he does things like this. He’s nice, this soft and caring Nash. I wish he’d show himself more often. “Stress release is good for you.”

  “Drinks and a night out will be excellent stress releasers.” I smile at him.

  He growls and frowns. “Ben’s in town. The three of us are going out for a nice dinner. I’ll buy you as many drinks as you want.”

  “Your cousin Ben?” I ignore the command about going to dinner.

  “Yep.”

  “Nice. I’ve always like him. How long will he be in town?”

  “It’s a permanent move. He’s taking on a leadership role in the French Nation.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case, we can do dinner another night.”

  “No. Tonight. Reschedule your date.”

  “Would you be reasonable? How would you like it if a girl cancelled on you at the last minute?” I turn to open my car door. Nash keeps it closed with a massive hand over the top stretching onto the roof.

  “Nash. Stop it. It’s my life and my time. I have a right to date.”

  Nostrils as flared as I’ve ever seen them, he glares at me.

  “Oh my gosh! Quit it. I am allowed to have a life!”

  I pull on the door. No way can I budge his hand. I spin to face him — our noses mere inches apart.

  “I’m a big girl and big girls date.”

  “Tell me who.”

  “Why? So you can harass him? No. It’s none of your business who I go out with.”

  “Like fucking hell it’s not.” The menacing tone is low and mean. His eyes bore into mine.

  Sometimes he is worse than an older brother. Gabby’s brother doesn’t give her as much grief. I roll my eyes and look at the sky.

  He cups my chin and pulls, making me look at him.

  For a split second, I feel like kissing him. That’ll get him to back off.

  As though he read my mind, he backs away and lifts the door handle. “Get in the fucking car.”