Last Wolf Standing

by Rhyannon Byrd

  She heard Mason whispering soft, husky, urgent words into her hair, but before she could answer, she drifted into sleep, wrapped in his arms…her cheek pressed to the heavy, violent pounding of his heart.

  Chapter 8

  “Mmm. I thought I smelled coffee.”

  Jeremy turned away from the bay window, where he’d been staring out at the forest, clearly lost in thought, and grinned at the sound of her voice. “You’re so easy, Torry,” he teased, those hazel eyes moving over her freshly scrubbed face in a slow, thorough look of male appreciation. “All it takes is the promise of a little caffeine, and you come running.”

  “You’ve found my weakness,” she sighed, making him laugh as he moved to pour her a cup.

  When she’d awakened, alone in the bed, she’d found three suitcases and four boxes full of her personal things stacked in a corner of the bedroom. Glad that her stuff had made it there so quickly, she’d pulled out a pair of faded jeans and a dark blue sweater, gotten dressed and decided to venture out of the bedroom.

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee coming from the kitchen had lured her like the promise of honey to a ravenous bear.

  “You take cream and sugar?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

  Feeling chilled, she curled her sock-covered toes against the warm tiles of the kitchen floor. “A little of both would be great, please.”

  “Ya know, I’m thinking I won’t mention this caffeine addiction of yours to Mason,” he told her as he pulled the cream out of the fridge. “Not that I don’t love him like a brother, but it’ll be more fun watching him figure out his way to your heart all on his own.”

  Torrance winced at the mention of the man’s heart, thankful that Jeremy’s back was to her as he moved around the kitchen. She recalled all too clearly Mason’s earlier explanation of how things would work between them. He’d made it perfectly clear that he’d share his body…and nothing more.

  God, she’d been so stupid.

  If she’d listened to the voice of reason whispering in her head last night, she’d have realized that with such a powerful connection between them, she wouldn’t be able to separate her emotions from the physical hunger. Having his hands and mouth on her body had only intensified her feelings—and now her lust had already evolved into something deeper.

  “Is he here?” she asked, trying to keep her tone neutral as Jeremy handed over a heavy mug and she took a seat at the table.

  “Yeah, Mason’s in his office,” he told her, while he went about putting on a fresh pot of coffee, since they’d emptied the old one, “checking to see if we’ve had any leads come in from Covington. We’ve got a whole network of informants who’re keeping an eye out for Simmons.”

  She asked about the boy, and Jeremy filled her in while he finished with the coffee. “He’s been coming around slowly, so we’re keeping a close eye on him. Mason’s desperate as hell to get something out of the kid. Something that we can go on.” Taking in her troubled expression as he sat down across from her at the gleaming pine breakfast table, he sent her a gentle smile. “Not to be a jerk and stick my nose where it doesn’t belong, honey, but I can’t help but notice the look on your face every time I mention Mase’s name. Why do I get the feeling that things didn’t go all that well last night?”

  “No, everything’s fine,” she started to lie, but something in his earnest expression made her say, “That is, I asked him about us being…about that whole mate thing you mentioned. And he explained how it works.” Before blowing my mind with the most breathtaking orgasm I’ve ever experienced.

  “I’ll just bet he did,” the blond snorted, shaking his head. “God knows if anyone could butcher a talk like that, it’s Mason. I’m not sure I even want to know what he said.”

  “He actually didn’t say much,” she admitted with a small smile, finding the laid-back Runner amazingly easy to talk to. “I think the gist of his explanation was that he intends for us to share a physical connection, but I shouldn’t go getting my hopes up that he’ll ever fall in love with me. According to Mason, he’s not wired that way.”

  “Oh, shit,” he groaned, flashing her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, honey, but only Mason could screw that speech up so bad. I love the guy like a brother, but he can be such a bullheaded ass.”

  “Why is he so dead set against caring for someone?” she asked, folding her cold hands around the sturdy mug to capture its warmth. She wanted—no, needed—to understand. Needed to understand what was going on in his head, so that maybe it could help her get a grip on her own jumbled, chaotic emotions.

  Jeremy’s usually carefree grin bled into a small frown at her question, the splash of sunshine beyond the window casting his shaggy hair in a pale-golden glow, his hazel eyes turning thoughtful beneath his straight, tawny brows. “I think a lot of it comes from how we grew up. God knows it affected us all, some in the same ways, some different. I guess we all thumb our noses at the pack for their refusal to accept us for who we are, and that’s bled into how we live. We’re always on guard. Always wary. Knowing Mase the way I do, I think he’s terrified of what he could feel for you, if he gave himself the chance. And that’s before you take into account what happened to his brother.”

  A cold knot of dread settled in the pit of her stomach at his words. “What happened to his brother?”

  “Dean committed suicide eight years ago,” Jeremy admitted quietly, staring into his coffee.

  “Wh-why?”

  The Runner blew out a harsh breath, then leaned back in his chair, tipping it back so that he balanced on the rear legs, his hands folded over his hard stomach, the wounds in his throat already showing remarkable signs of healing. “Dean had been mated and married for almost three years when his wife was killed in an accident. When one half of a bonded mating pair is killed, the sudden severing of the connection can drag their mate into a living hell. Usually they simply lose the will to live and slowly fade away—but in some cases, the rage over their loss consumes them, destroying who they were. When Dean lost Lori, he found himself so filled with fury that he worried over what he might become. To keep it from happening, he took his own life.”

  “He was worried that the grief could turn him, making him go rogue, wasn’t he?” she asked, her voice quiet, her head and her heart hurting for what Mason and his family must have gone through. “He didn’t want to harm anyone, and he didn’t want Mason to have to track him down and kill him.”

  “Yeah,” Jeremy rasped, shaking his head. “And Mason was the one who found him. Since that day, he’s sworn that he’ll never end up like Dean did.”

  “So that’s why he’s so determined to keep his emotions under lockdown,” she said shakily, thankful that Jeremy had shared the story. It made it easier to understand where Mason was coming from, though it was still hard to accept. Especially when she feared she was already falling in love with him. “No matter what, after going through something like that, he’ll keep his distance to protect himself.”

  The same as she intended to do. God, they were such a pair.

  “He can try, but it ain’t gonna work,” Jeremy argued with a husky chuckle. “I have a feeling that if anyone can get under Mason’s skin, it’s you, Torry. The guy can’t keep his eyes or his mind off you. You’re just going to have to trust him and give the big dolt some time to sort it all out in his head.”

  “That may be easier said than done.”

  His smile was crooked as he tilted his head. “But unfortunately true. You just need to be patient with the man.”

  “Well, I guess we’ll have to see,” she said quickly, needing to change the subject before the understanding in those smoky hazel eyes broke her down. She took a slow sip of her coffee, then asked, “So how many Runners live here in the Alley?”

  “Including me and Mase, we have six right now. We’re a tight group, so you’ll get to know everyone really well.”

  If I’m here long enough. “You sound close, like a family.”

  �
�Yeah, I guess we are. God knows we fight like one,” he laughed. “You’ll like the others when you meet them, but you had better watch out for Hennessey. That womanizing Irishman has worked hard to earn his sordid reputation.”

  Torrance smiled off his playful warning, finding it hard to believe that all their reputations weren’t sordid when it came to the ladies. “Don’t you have any female Runners?”

  “We only have one right now, but she’s down in Covington. In fact, she’s working with her partner, keeping an eye on your friends.”

  “Pallaton?” she asked, remembering Mason mentioning that name during their conversation in the parking lot. Was that only yesterday? It seemed impossible, a world away, a lifetime ago.

  Jeremy shook his head. “Carla Reyes. We’ve had others, but they’ve all mated and settled down.”

  Torrance took another sip of her coffee, but despite the caffeine hitting her system, she had to cover her mouth when she yawned. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Coffee usually wakes me right up.”

  “You’re still exhausted,” he told her, grinning. “God knows yesterday was enough to wear anyone down. Why don’t you go and grab a bit more sleep, and then I’ll throw together an early lunch.”

  Since she was already yawning again, she didn’t argue. “I think that’s probably a good idea. And thanks for the talk. It’s a lot to take in, but it helps to understand.”

  “I’m here whenever you need me, sweetheart,” he drawled, sending her a teasing wink as she walked out of the room. Torrance shook her head at the guy’s irreverent flirting, knowing he didn’t mean anything by it. Walking past the room she assumed was the office, she could hear Mason’s low voice, probably on a phone call, and a flurry of butterflies took flight in her belly. Oh, man. Not good. For a split second she debated knocking on the door and just getting the embarrassing “morning after” confrontation out of the way, then decided against it as she headed toward the bedroom. She needed time to think over everything Jeremy had told her; but when she walked into the room and saw the massive sleigh bed, memories from the night before poured over her in a warm, breathtaking wave.

  She’d already made the bed earlier, so she crawled on top of the covers and laid her head against the pillows, recalling how she’d felt waking up that morning—a strange mixture of shock, worry and lingering pleasure that continued to pulse sweetly through her veins. God, the force of her reaction to him had been overwhelming, sweeping her away with a strength that was more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced.

  If she were to make love with him, that would be it. Her heart would be lost for good.

  Closing her eyes, Torrance snuggled her head into the pillow, knowing that if she was smart, she wouldn’t let this thing between them go any further than it already had. If she wanted to keep her heart in one piece, she had to take a step back—but even as she drifted into slumber, she knew it wasn’t going to be easy. None of the things that should have mattered seemed to make a difference where Mason Dillinger was concerned. Not the fact that he was a werewolf or how he felt about love and the chaos he’d caused in her life.

  Despite all of it—all the logical reasons for keeping her distance—she couldn’t deny that she still wanted him.

  * * *

  He shouldn’t have touched her.

  That was the painful truth pounding its way through his brain as Mason sat behind his desk, staring out his office window at the early-morning breeze blowing through the trees, scattering their leaves. The fragile bits of color performed a wild, glittering dance of chaos as they spiraled through the air, flashes of amber and rust and burnished gold, before settling softly to the forest floor. He’d always found a soothing, calming comfort in their flight, but all he could think of today was Torrance.

  Last night, for the first time in his life, he’d watched a woman sleep. Watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed—her features sleep soft and innocent. And it was a good thing she’d fallen asleep after shattering apart in his arms, because his beast had been just beneath the surface, prowling within the confines of his body, eager to claim its mate. Only, it wasn’t just sex that it wanted. Even now, his gums burned as his fangs struggled to break free, eager to make the blood bond that would intertwine their lives together until one couldn’t live without the other.

  Touching her, feeling her pleasure rushing through her with the primal intensity of a summer storm, had been the most satisfying moment of his life—despite the painful fact that he still ached for his own release. Before it happened again, he obviously needed to set some ground rules for himself. Mating with her was one thing, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let himself become some miserable jackass who couldn’t breathe without his woman by his side. No matter how badly he wanted it, he was not making that bond with her.

  And he refused to listen to the little voice in his head that continued to jeer at him, setting him on edge.

  You’re just afraid that she’ll refuse you, Dillinger. Afraid that she’ll run if she knows what you really want from her. Afraid of making yourself vulnerable…weak. Afraid of losing her forever—of ending up like your brother.

  Christ, he didn’t have time for this! He needed to keep his focus. Needed to keep his mind on the hunt for Simmons—and not the woman he’d left behind in his bed. And then maybe, once the threat to her life was removed, this driving urge to make a bond would recede. At least, he hoped it would. He just had to catch the bastard.

  At the thought of the rogue, Mason’s hands clenched atop the padded leather armrests of his chair, the tips of his fingers burning as his claws pricked beneath the thin barrier of his skin. Simmons had learned how to dayshift, and his followers had learned, as well. Mason kept trying to get his head around it, but every thought led to a new bend in the road, a fresh twist that only led to more questions. How? Why? What was the purpose? Did the strange scent on Simmons connect him to the killings that Brody and Cian were investigating? And why the hell couldn’t they track the sharp, acrid aroma?

  Something bad was coming. Something ugly. He knew it, deep down in his gut. And he’d trusted that feeling enough times to have faith in his instincts when it came to Bloodrunning.

  When it came to Torrance…he was still at a loss.

  Damn, he thought, dropping his head back against the soft, supple leather of his desk chair, staring up at the ceiling, the blank nothingness of the sandstone-colored plaster blurring before his dry eyes. His head spun with nothing but a never-ending feed of chaos, looping over and over and over.

  A knock rattled the door, jerking him from his troubled thoughts, and Mason swiveled around in his chair to find Jeremy sticking his tawny head into the room. “Kid’s awake. His name is Elliot Connors, he’ll be eighteen next month, and he’s Silvercrest. That’s all he’s spilled. He’s pretty quiet, but I’d like to go ahead and see what we can get out of him.”

  “Yeah, me, too,” Mason answered, leaning over to shut down his laptop.

  From the doorway, Jeremy asked, “Did you get ahold of Dylan?”

  Mason shook his head. “I tried, but no luck.”

  Dylan Riggs was the youngest member of the League of Elders and one of the few pack members Mason considered a friend. With his warm brown eyes and kind smile, many had thought the Lycan too soft to serve in a leadership role after the passing of his father, until he’d proven them wrong by defeating a string of challengers. Beneath his boyish exterior lived a hard warrior willing to fight for what he believed in. He’d been an ally, as well as a friend to the Bloodrunners from the beginning—fighting for their cause when older members thought they could use the young half-breeds as little more than guard dogs for the pure-blooded members of the pack.

  Dylan had spent the past few weeks visiting his younger sister in a remote part of Alaska. She’d moved up the year before as part of some existentialist movement—which meant no telephone. There wasn’t even a cell phone tower within a hundred mile
s of the camp where she lived. Dylan was expected home anyday now, so Mason had given his cell a try—but there was still no answer. He hoped the Elder made it back soon, because he could use his insight, as well as Dylan’s close connection to the pack. Simmons’s ability to dayshift was worrying enough, but the fact that his followers possessed the ability, as well, struck a chord of terror deep in his gut.

  Something was coming all right. And it wasn’t good.

  “Come on,” he rasped, moving past Jeremy and into the hall, “let’s see what Elliot Connors has to say.”

  Minutes later, Mason sat on the edge of the downstairs sofa, his hands clasped loosely between his thighs, while Jeremy stood with his back against the wall, the teenager huddled on one of the beds, his left wrist handcuffed to the heavy wooden headboard. Being a Lycan, he could have smashed the sturdy bed to pieces if he’d wanted, but not without making enough noise to wake the dead.

  “You’re Dillinger,” the teenager stated in a flat, hard voice, his dark eyes cutting between him and Jeremy, as if he were waiting for one of them to attack. “I’ve heard about both of you. You’re like legends. They say you keep Bloodrunning because you like to kill.”

  “If someone deserves to die, we have no problem taking them down,” Mason answered honestly, scenting the fear on the boy; a cold, cruel sweat that covered the teenager’s skin. “But we’re not here to kill you, Elliot. We do need you to talk to us, though. Answer some questions.”

  Elliot’s dark gaze grew cautious, narrow with suspicion. “What do you wanna know?”

  “We need to know about Simmons. Anything you can tell us about him.”

  “Don’t you already know everything?” he hedged.

  “The dayshifting, Elliot.” Jeremy’s voice came hard with impatience, and the teenager seemed to curl in on himself. Worry and fear were too evident in the tight lines of his expression, making him look older…run-down.