by Amy Green
She pushed his image away and sat back down next to Scott. “Look,” she said. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. We broke up a year ago.”
He nodded, then watched her as she sipped her soda. She didn’t like the way he stared at her mouth. “Yeah, I know,” he said. “But I needed to do some growing up. I think I’m a different person than you remember.” He glanced past her at the shifters sitting at their tables. “Can we talk somewhere more private? I don’t like the way those guys are looking at me.”
Tessa sipped her drink again. Something was wrong about this, but she couldn’t figure out what. “How do you know I don’t have another boyfriend after all this time?” she asked him.
Scott shrugged. “Well, you work in a shifter bar.” He frowned. “You can’t possibly be… into these guys, can you? Shifters? Wolves and bears and such? I mean, come on, Tessa.”
That made her mad, even though nine months ago she would have said exactly the same thing, with exactly the same attitude. “I’m not into shifters,” she snapped, wondering why she felt weird saying it. Her head was starting to pound. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Tessa, let’s just talk.” Scott reached out and put his hand over hers, and she stared at it bewildered, not sure why she didn’t pull away. “Without these animals staring at us. This is private business. Come on.” He slid off his stool, his hand still on hers, and tugged gently. She got off her stool.
She followed him. She wanted to protest, but she followed. Dimly, she thought this was a stupid idea. She didn’t want Scott back. She didn’t want anyone. She wanted to be alone. She was done with men. Men just hurt her and made her feel bad about herself, and life was too short for that.
Scott led her down the hallway, toward the back door. The noise of the bar receded behind them. Tessa wanted to pull her hand away from his and walk away. In her mind, she saw herself do it. And yet she didn’t.
She only watched in dull surprise as he dragged her straight to the back door that led to the alley. He pushed it open, swung her outside in one harsh movement, and slammed her back against the wall so hard she felt her head crack against the brick.
“What do you know about the Martells?” he said in her face. “Tell me everything. Now.”
Tessa stared at him in shock.
Scott leaned closer to her. He smelled like aftershave, and in the weird panic of the moment, Tessa realized she hadn’t smelled aftershave in almost a year. Shifters never used it. “We don’t have much time, Tessa,” he said. “Tell me about the Martells.”
She should have been livid, alarmed, pissed off. Instead, Tessa felt like she was in a dream, watching herself, and she’d wake up any minute. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she managed to say.
Scott grabbed her shoulders and shook her again, thumping her back against the wall a second time. “You have no fucking idea, do you?” he said, spit flying. “Absolutely none. Jesus, Tessa. You always pretend to be such a smart girl. But you’re too stupid to know who you really are.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” The Tessa in the dream was near tears, which was strange, because Tessa never cried. “You’re hurting me!”
“Okay, fine.” Scott sounded angry, with an undercurrent of something else she couldn’t determine—maybe fear. “We’re done talking. Come with me.”
She didn’t want to go with him. She didn’t. But he grabbed her hand again and pulled her from the wall, and she opened her mouth to say something, except her mouth seemed to be filled with cotton. And before she could think anything else, Heath Donovan was there.
His tall figure sliced the shadows of the alley, and his long arm snapped out and grabbed Scott by the neck, the tendons flexing. Scott dropped his grip on Tessa and made a strangled sound.
Heath looked into Scott’s face, and in the light his cheekbones were sharp as blades. His eyes were silver with pure fury. He was terrifying, but the last thing Tessa felt was fear. She had never been so happy to see anyone in her life.
“Little boy,” Heath said to Scott, low and dangerous, his voice a sinuous promise of pain. “Who have we here?”
Scott made another choked sound. A wave of dizziness swept Tessa, and she leaned back against the wall, propping herself up against the scratchy brick. Heath’s gaze left Scott and moved to her.
“Tessa,” he said.
“I’m fine,” she said. Or maybe she just thought it—she was no longer sure. The last thing she saw was Heath dropping Scott, who ran away into the shadows, and coming toward her. He had just put his hands on her when everything went dark.
5
Her head ached. Tessa rolled over in bed and buried her face in the pillow. God, what had she been drinking? She almost never drank, except after a bad breakup. Had she broken up with someone?
For a second, she couldn’t remember. And then she did.
Scott. The visit. The alley. Heath.
The pillow smelled like Heath Donovan.
As if summoned from her thoughts, a familiar voice, smooth as whiskey, spoke from somewhere above the bed. “Drink this.”
Tessa rolled over and blinked up at him. He was wearing worn jeans and a white button-down shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and rolled up to the elbows. His hair was tousled, his gray eyes sharp. He held out a glass of water in a hand adorned with two silver rings and a leather bracelet.
“What the hell happened?” she said to him, her voice a croak.
“He drugged you,” Heath said. “That ridiculous excuse of an ex-boyfriend of yours. You have terrible taste in men, Tessa.”
That made her angry, and she sat up. Her head throbbed, and Heath held out his other hand, which had two aspirin in it. She snatched the aspirin first, then the water. “You’re an asshole,” she said, but the words had no sting. Scott had drugged her. He must have slipped it into her soda water while her back was turned at the bar. He had never done anything like that before. She felt disoriented, which made her scared.
“What did he use on me?” she asked when she’d gulped down most of the water.
“I don’t know,” Heath said. “Most likely Rohypnol.”
“The date rape drug?” Another wave of fear came over her, mixed with nausea, and she pulled up her knees, pressing her hand to her mouth.
“He didn’t touch you,” Heath said easily. “No one touched you.”
Tessa looked around. Now that she was fully awake, she realized she was in Heath Donovan’s bedroom. In Heath Donovan’s bed. This was the apartment above the Black Wolf, where he lived, where he brought women home. The bedroom was sparse, with a dresser and two small nightstands. There were clothes piled on the floor—Heath’s jeans, his t-shirts that she’d seen so often. The bed was huge—king sized—and cozy, the mattress soft and deep, the blankets fragrant and piled high. And it smelled like him. His skin, that wolfish scent of his. Tessa lifted the covers and looked down at herself. She was wearing only a t-shirt and panties. “If no one touched me, why do I have no pants?”
“They’re right there,” Heath said, motioning to the dresser, which had her jeans draped over it. He grabbed a chair from the corner and pulled it up. “You can have them back.”
“Heath, I have no bra on.”
“Well, honestly,” he said, his voice calm. He dropped into the chair. “Can you say you wish you had that thing on right now?”
She hugged herself. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“I didn’t see anything, and I didn’t touch anything,” he said, crossing one ankle over the other knee. His legs were long, lithe, and muscled in his jeans. “I have mastered the art of bra removal beneath the shirt, if you must know.”
Of course he had. Heath had removed most of the bras in Shifter Falls at one time or another.
The crazy thing was, she believed him. Heath Donovan may be a womanizer, but he wasn’t the kind of man to take advantage of an unconscious woman. She supposed that came from the fact that he had plenty of willi
ng, fully conscious women waiting in line.
She looked at Heath. He was sprawled in his chair, his big body relaxed and easy, but she could see it was a ruse. His shoulders were tense, his jaw was tight, and his eyes were steely. He tapped his long, elegant fingers on one knee.
“Tell me,” he said, “what he said to you. Tell me what he wanted.”
Tessa gulped the last of the water, trying to get her fuzzy, confused thoughts in line. “His name is Scott,” she said. “We dated a while ago.”
“Scott Kraemer,” Heath supplied. “Age twenty-six, lives at 118 Ninth Street at his parents’ house, occupation seemingly none. Am I close?”
Tessa gaped at him. “How do you know that?”
“You’ve been asleep for nearly five hours,” he replied, the fingers tapping again. “I’ve been busy. He was seen in the bar, and you said his name. I’m a Donovan. I have many, many resources to tell me what I need to know.”
Tessa scrubbed a hand over her face. “Did you find him?”
“Not yet. He hasn’t been home in nearly three days. No one can quite pinpoint where he is.” His voice went cold. “But I will.”
“I don’t know what he wanted,” Tessa said. “It was so strange.”
“Just tell me what you remember,” Heath said. “Tell me what he said. When I came up that alley, he was saying something that upset you. I want to know what it was.”
Again, Tessa tried to put her thoughts in order. It was hard, but the aspirin and the glass of water were helping. She tried to forget about the fact that she was in Heath’s bed, in her underwear, in the spot where he slept every night. Probably naked. Heath seemed like the sleep-naked type.
“He came into the bar,” she said, trying to concentrate, trying not to picture the man sitting a foot away from her sleeping naked. “It was out of the blue. We broke up a year ago, and we haven’t talked since. He said he wanted to talk to me.”
“You said no at first,” Heath supplied, “and then you agreed.”
She nodded. He’d likely gotten this part of the story from the witnesses at the bar. “He said I looked good, that he’d changed. That he wanted to get back together.”
A muscle in Heath’s jaw seemed to twitch. “And is that something you want?”
“No! God, no.” Tessa ran a hand through her hair, which was mussed from the pillow. “It was never serious. We didn’t even date for very long before I dumped him.”
“Did you dump him because he was possessive? Violent?”
“No. Never. That was what makes this so strange. Scott wasn’t the violent type.”
“Was he a criminal?”
“Not that I know of, unless you count pot smoking as a crime.”
“Okay then,” Heath said. “Why did you dump him?”
It was a little like a police interrogation, except she was half naked in Heath’s bed. Even in her fuzzy state, Tessa decided that this was much better than a police interrogation. Her skin was tingling. “I don’t know,” she said. She’d never said anything this personal to Heath before, but the words spilled out and it felt good, to just say things instead of bottling them up. “The same reason I’ve dumped any other guy I’ve dated. We had nothing in common, and there was no excitement. No spark. Scott isn’t very smart or interesting. And the sex was terrible.”
The minute the words were out, she wanted to cringe in embarrassment. Heath only twitched an eyebrow and nodded his head. “Humans,” he tutted. “They don’t deserve their women. I swear I don’t know why any woman dates one.”
Tessa put her hands over her eyes. “Please forget I said that.”
“Fine,” Heath said. “So you dated him, then dumped him because he’s boring and a lousy lay. A year later he turns up to beg for you back. That sounds straightforward—except what? What happened?”
“That’s just the thing.” Tessa reluctantly dropped her hands from her eyes, pushing her embarrassment away. “He didn’t really want me back. It was like I knew that, even though that’s what he was saying. Am I making any sense?”
“Yes, you are,” Heath said. “You’re talking to a wolf, not a human. We live on instinct and intuition. Your instinct told you he was lying.”
“Exactly. But I let him talk, and I sipped my drink—God, like an idiot. And he said he wanted to talk privately, and he took me to the back of the bar, and I didn’t resist. I’m such an stupid fool.”
“You’re not.” His voice was harsh. His fingers went still on his thigh. “You were drugged, and it was starting to kick in. Go on.”
“He pulled me out the back door, and it was like he was a different person. He asked me about the Martells. He told me to tell him everything.” She looked at him. “Who are the Martells?”
Heath was quiet for a second. She had surprised him. “The Martells are a werewolf pack,” he said. “Their base is Northern California.”
“That makes no sense at all,” Tessa said. “Why would Scott think I know something about a werewolf pack in California?”
“You’d better believe I’m going to ask him that when I find him,” Heath said. “Was that all he said? He wanted you to tell him about the Martells?”
“I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about, and he said I was stupid,” she replied, making the muscle in Heath’s jaw twitch again. “He said I have no idea who I am.”
Heath was quiet for a moment. Below them, Tessa could hear the faint sounds of the bar, muffled through the floor. She realized she had no idea what time it was. If Heath was right, and she had been out for five hours, it was sometime around ten o’clock at night.
“Tessa,” Heath said softly. “Do you have anything to tell me about yourself?”
“No,” she said. “I’m not hiding anything. The only thing I can think of that he’s talking about is… I’m adopted. I don’t know who my birth parents are. So in a way, Scott is right. I don’t know exactly who I am.”
She watched as Heath’s long fingers tapped again. “Well, then,” he said finally. “Let’s find out exactly where you came from.”
6
Until recently, Heath had known nothing about regret. He had lived as he liked, and anyone who disapproved could be damned. But now, he found he had many, many regrets. And right now his top one was letting Scott Kraemer get away.
In normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have. He’d had the man by the neck, sweating and scared. Heath had assumed he was just some creep making a move, because Tessa was gorgeous, and he’d planned to teach him a lesson about coming anywhere near her again. But then he’d turned and seen her eyes roll back in her head, her knees buckle. Everything had shut down—his thoughts, his emotions, his capacity for logic. There was only the wolf, and its instinct. Protect her.
That had never happened to him before. It had been so sudden, so strong, that it was minutes later, when he was already carrying her up the stairs to his apartment, that he realized he’d let the man go.
He regretted that deeply now. It sat on the top of the pile of all his other regrets.
He stood in his living room, looking out the window at the darkened street. She was on the other side of the closed bedroom door, getting dressed. She had looked very good in his bed. Very right. Not that he was about to admit that to her.
She opened the door. She had her jeans back on, and—regrettably—her bra was back on beneath her shirt. She’d tied her hair back in its no-nonsense ponytail, though there was no way to completely contain the blonde curls that spilled down her back. Even without makeup—she was partial to dark eyeliner that contrasted with her perfect white skin—her face was naturally beautiful, her eyes dark-lashed, her mouth sultry with a twist of attitude. She’d shed the glimpse of softness, of vulnerability she’d let him see while she was in the bedroom, and her usual Tessa armor was back up. She’d just been through a traumatic experience, one that had yet to be explained, and her expression still said Don’t mess with me.
Heath wanted to mess with her. And his wolf want
ed it even more.
But he had to be careful with Tessa. If there was one thing Heath was an expert in, it was reading women. If he made a move before she wanted it—if he acted even remotely like the losers she’d dated in the past—she’d be gone from his life like a puff of smoke, never to be seen again. So, yes, this particular woman would require a little strategy.
That didn’t mean he was giving up, though. Far from it. He was an alpha wolf, and an alpha wolf always got what he wanted.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said to her. “This information about the Martells is new. We need to go see Brody.”
“Wrong,” Tessa said, picking up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. “I’m going home.”
Her defenses were back up, then, and higher than ever. “Tessa, this is important.”
“To you, maybe, but not to me.” She shrugged. “I don’t care about some wolf pack.”
He felt his eyebrows rise. “Not even if you’re one of them?”
Her expression went hard. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He picked up his brown leather jacket and shrugged it on. “There’s only one conclusion that I can see,” he said. “Scott was trying to tell you that you were born into the Martell pack before you were given up for adoption. Which means you’re connected to them somehow.”
“And how would Scott know that?” She turned to him. “He knows nothing about me. Nothing at all.”
“Because someone told him,” Heath said. “Someone sent him to take you. Maybe the Martells themselves. Don’t you want to know?”
“No.” She turned to leave. “I don’t want to know anything. I want all of this to go away.”
God, she could be infuriatingly stubborn. “You’re being unreasonable,” he said, following her to the door. “It isn’t like you. Just think for a minute. You’re much smarter than this, Tessa.”
She yanked the door open, then looked at him. “What are you doing?”
“Coming with you.”