Eyes big, Nash stops moving.
“As I’ve told you, she doesn’t want to see you.” Facing Nash, Enrique positions himself between us.
“You’re okay?” Brows drawn tightly together, Nash murmurs to me. “You’re safe?”
“Safer than I’ve ever been.” I lower my weapon and stand next to Enrique.
Nash’s eyes narrow. “I need to question you, Shavone, for Denver PD.” He uses that soft tone of voice when he’s trying to appease me. Not going to happen. Not this time, maybe not ever.
I stare at the man I used to trust more than anyone in this world.
“We need your official statement about what happened,” he continues, his tone ending flat.
Chin up and spine straight, I look him in the eye. “For the official record, my statement about what happened is the same as before. You’re a dirty rotten fucking liar.”
His demeanor cools further. “Your statement about the kidnapping. We need to find them, Shav. What’s to say they won’t try to hurt you, again?”
Enrique pivots to face me, tilting and lowering his head to look into my face. “He’s right.” The wolf shimmering in his eyes, he takes the poker from my hand and lifts my chin. “In addition to punishing those responsible, it could put us one step closer to getting your necklace back.”
My hand instinctively reaches for it. Yes. I want it back.
Several cars pulling up outside draw our attentions to the front windows.
Enrique smiles. “However, that will wait.” Watching my face, he steps to the door and swings it open. “I thought you might like to see some trusted familiar faces.”
“S!” My bestie, Cherie Valentine, is the first one over the threshold. She hugs me so tight I can barely breathe. Behind her are two more of my best friends. Just seeing them floods me with such intense comfort that I tear up.
“We were so worried about you.” Lauralynn Taylor hugs me next.
Over her shoulder is Enrique. The morning sun streaming through the door envelops him in rays of light. It’s the man who locks eyes with me. And I can’t look away from him anymore than I can from his wolf.
How did he know that my friends were exactly what I needed? I didn’t even know it.
Thank you, I mouth. With a blink, he acknowledges my silent words.
As Gabriela Santana moves in for a hug, she eyes Enrique. “Grandmother is on her way back from Telluride,” she murmurs near my ear. “She wants you to call her when you have some privacy.”
“Okay.”
Enrique may be the Native nation Prime, but it’s Gab’s grandmother, Maria Santana, who unofficially reigns over the Native wolves.
Gabs abruptly stands back and looks me up and down. “You need us to go shopping for you?”
“No.” I tuck the towel and roll my eyes in Nash’s direction. “There was some drama just as I was about to get dressed.”
“We can see that.” Cherie indicates the walls and the tattered shirts on the men.
“Ladies.” Enrique motions to the dining room. “Help yourself to coffee in here. We’ll have breakfast as soon as Shavone is ready.”
“I’ll hurry.” I head for the stairs. At the first step, I wobble and have to grip the bannister with both hands.
Dropping the poker, Enrique rushes to hold my waist at the same time that Nash grips my arm.
“Don’t touch her!” Enrique shoves him away.
Nash snarls and threatens to advance on Enrique, again. I grip Enrique’s forearm, moving into his embrace and raise my chin at Nash.
You fight Enrique, you fight me.
Nash’s eyes widen, but he stops.
My vision blurs, again. I blink in an effort to clear it.
Cherie’s brow creases. “Shavone, are you sure you’re okay?”
“It’s just the drug still affecting me.”
“Bullshit,” Nash murmurs.
“What do you mean?” Lauralynn cocks her head.
“The kidnappers used a small dose of ketamine.” Nash turns to look at me.
“He’s right,” Enrique says. “It should be out of your blood stream by now.”
Cherie narrows her eyes at Enrique. “How the hell do you know?”
“Simple inquiry.” He shrugs.
Nash sighs. “Denver PD leak no doubt.”
“Who cares!” Gab's wolf growls at Nash. “You were supposed to protect her.” Nash, a French and Gabriela, a Native, have a wolven dislike for one another.
“I fucking tried,” he roars.
“And failed miserably.” Enrique steps away from me to pick up the poker.
In one large step, Nash has Enrique by the collar and throws him, making another dent in the wall. “She was taken from the Dollhouse — under your watch, asshole.”
Enrique’s claws come out and Nash’s fangs drop. Cherie’s eyes widen and Lauralynn’s jaw hangs. They have extremely limited experience with shifting wolves.
Gabs purses her lips and rolls her eyes. “Alphas,” she mumbles to me.
The two wolves grapple with one another — shoving and growling. When they come to rest in the corner nearest me, I slide an arm between them. “Stop it.”
“Goddamn it, Shav. You’re gonna get yourself killed. When wolves fight, back the fuck away!”
“You don’t intimidate me anymore, Nash.”
His nostrils flare in ever rising anger.
What-the-fuck-ever.
I shove at his chest. Of course he doesn’t move, he’s so huge.
I walk to the door and throw it open. “Goodbye, Nash.”
“Shavone,” Nash’s wolf murmurs.
“Get out!”
His teeth retract, but the hulk of a man doesn’t move. For long seconds, he and I have a stare down. I trusted him since I was a little girl and he was a boy. In the blink of an eye — with one lie, he destroyed that relationship. I can’t take anymore and look away.
I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.
“I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe.”
Deceptively calm, Enrique speaks. “I understand how this can be emotional for you, detective. However, I assure you that she is safe with me.”
“Can you now? She was drugged, kidnapped and set up to be raped the last time she was with you,” Nash snarls.
“That wasn’t his fault,” I say.
Nash snorts.
“It won’t happen again. I won’t let her out of my sight,” Enrique vows.
I indicate the open door and that Nash should walk through it. Instead of leaving, he grips the edge of the door. “Training today” — he starts.
“There won’t be any more training between us,” I say.
“It’s my duty as a French wolf to protect you. That hasn’t changed.”
“I’ve had a taste of your duty. I’d just as soon not subject myself to it again.”
His caramel colored eyes crinkle with hurt.
I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.
I blink rapidly to wick away the moisture. Why the hell do I care about his feelings?
He reaches out to touch my cheek. I dodge him, stepping back. If he touches me like that, I will melt into a pool of emotion.
Dropping his hand, he sighs. “You were able to fight back, because I taught you how. Don’t let your personal feelings for me get in the way of your safety.”
“I can find another Krav Maga trainer.”
Lips in a flat line, Nash stares at me for a beat longer, then his eyes flick to Enrique. “Anything happens to her, I’m coming for you, Cruz.” Nash gives me a final pleading glance. I harden my expression the best I can. Finally, he turns and stalks away.
Closing the door, I rest my forehead on it for a moment. Oh, this hurts so much.
“Shav.” Lauralynn rubs my arm.
“I’ll be okay, Ells.” I force brightness into my voice. “I’m going to get dressed.”
chapter 7
Shavone’s pain is my pain. Not only do I s
ee it, I feel it to my marrow. If killing LaFontaine would give her relief, I wouldn’t hesitate. I wouldn’t give a damn if it caused a wolf war.
After the rejection of her adoptive sister and discovering the lies told by the LaFontaine cousins, I expected tears and sobbing. As of yet, there have been neither. The little witch has completely dammed up those emotions, the anguish tightly wound around her heart. Whether or not it’s the cause of her sleepiness, that pain needs to unravel for her to heal. Though the crack in her armor just now hurts, the sooner she grieves, the sooner she will be whole, again.
As I retrieve the fireplace tool, I keep my eyes on Shavone as she ascends the stairs, poised to dash and catch her should she stumble.
“Ladies.” I indicate the dining room and take a step toward the stairs to follow Shavone.
The Santana girl moves in front of me.
“I know you’re my Prime, Mr. Cruz, but hear me.” Her green eyes glitter with determination. “If you hurt Shavone or allow her to be hurt, again, I’ll make sure Grandmother brings the entire Santana pack down on you.”
I’m impressed with the girl’s courage to threaten me. The dark haired young woman is nothing more than an apprentice, albeit a Santana apprentice. The Santana pack is powerful and their vengeance legendary. But so is Cruz wrath. I allow my wolf to surface in my eyes.
Immediately, she develops a scent of fear at the sight of him, yet she does not back away. That the diminutive she-wolf is willing to go toe to toe with an alpha male for her friend earns her my respect.
“Rest assured, Miss Santana. We’re on the same side.”
“And her coven.” Miss Valentine steps forward. “We’re not opposed to using our hereditary power to punish our enemies.” The girl’s blue eyes flash. She doesn’t like me. Judging from the dark looks she leveled at the detective, she doesn’t like him either.
Miss Taylor joins the Valentine girl and nods her agreement.
The young witches don’t exaggerate the strength of their coven anymore than the Santana girl does her family. The Alliance purposely chose Mademoiselle Gentil as Shavone’s guardian based on the potent magick the coven possessed and were passing on to their daughters.
“I am not your enemy.” I smile broadly, pleased that Shavone has such courageous girlfriends. “As I’ve said, we’re on the same side. When I find the people who abducted my mate, they will suffer. From here forward, anyone who even thinks of harming Shavone dies and quite painfully at that.”
“Wait. What?” Miss Santana gasps. “You mated her?”
“Not yet.” I nod my head. “When she’s ready.”
All three girls gape at me.
“Now excuse me.”
The Santana girl moves aside. I take the steps two at a time.
In the corridor to the master wing, I perk my Lycan ears. I hear no tears or sniffles, only a zipper and rustling. I admire Shavone’s strength, but the girl needs to mourn her losses.
I knock lightly and go in.
Dressed in nothing except tiny lace scraps, she rifles through her suitcase lying open on my bed. The feral beast in me drools at the sexy sight of her, memorizing every curve, deciding where to begin tasting her when the moment is right.
I close the door. “How are you feeling?”
She raises an eyebrow, her attention remaining on the contents of the luggage. “You’re waiting for me to fall apart.”
“You’ve been through a lot the last few days.”
Unrolling a pair of jeans, she bends to pull them on. “You and I have seen worse.”
“True enough.”
Distracted by denim sliding over lace decorated buttocks, I miss the tool rack and the iron poker clatters to the stone hearth. I pick it up again with a revelation. I twist the tool around in my hand. “What were you going to do with this?”
Her brow creases in question.
“When you came downstairs with it?”
“You were groaning and howling.” She presses her lips together. “I thought you were in trouble.”
“And you were going to save me with this?” I smirk.
Her pants zipped and buttoned, she steps over to me. The thin fabric of the bra cradles her tits, framing the lovely mounds. While I stare, she takes the poker from me.
“It’d make an excellent spear.” She grips it like a javelin and rocks her arm in a mock throw.
“You are incredibly brave.” I take the iron, set it in its place on the rack. “However, LaFontaine is correct.”
She shakes her head and looks away. I cup her face and turn it back.
“Listen to me, Niña. When we are wolves, we function on pure instinct. Had he and I been fighting for survival, our beasts could have mistaken your touch as a hostile threat and turned our rage on you.” The thought of harming her is unthinkable. “One swipe of a claw” — I can’t finish the sentence, the very idea of her delicate throat shredded and bleeding causing a lump in my chest.
“I only wanted to help you.”
“I know.” Shavone, in nothing but a towel, wielding the instrument as a sword is an image I will never forget. “However, if I have to worry about hurting you when I fight, I won’t be able to concentrate and I’ll lose. Do you understand?”
She closes her eyes and nods. “I do.”
“You could’ve used witchcraft to force us apart. Why didn’t you?”
She blinks at the question, as though she’s never considered it. “I haven’t used magick like that since” — her voice falters.
Since she used it as a child to bludgeon the witch hunter.
“You have no reason to feel guilty for what you did.”
“I killed him, Enrique,” she whispers.
Angry with her self recrimination, I grip her hair to tilt her head back. “That man wanted to kill you. It was self-defense.”
“I realize that. I do. And I’d do it, again.” Her entire face scrunches in a tight grimace. “That doesn’t change the fact that I killed another being.”
I hold her head with both hands. “Open your eyes, little witch.”
Her eyes flutter open and scan my face. When she’s finally looking into my eyes, I speak. “Your power is a gift from your ancestors and Mother Earth. Not using the endowments bestowed upon you is disrespectful to them.”
Gray eyes narrow. “Point taken.” She shakes her head. “In all honesty, I didn’t know I could move things until I started remembering.” Tears finally flood her eyes. “I would’ve used it the night of the fire.” She blinks, forcing the tears away.
“Cry, Shavone. Feel your emotions. Feel. That is where your incredible power lies.”
The incessant blinking ceases. Glistening tears quickly follow and roll down her cheeks.
I smile. “Perfect.”
She grimaces playfully. “You like me crying?”
“I like you healthy.” Lost in her expressive eyes, I caress the wetness on her cheeks with my thumbs. “Processing emotions is healthier than stifling them.”
She snorts. “Just which of us is the psychology student?”
“Perhaps I’ll enroll. We can play doctor together.” I waggle my eyebrows.
She murmurs a laugh. Such a blissful sound.
“I want you to practice your craft daily, focusing on developing self-protection.”
“I’ll try.” She goes back to her suitcase, selecting a light blue t-shirt with a Telluride insignia. Pulling it on, she attempts to smooth the wrinkles.
“Come.” I take her hand, lead her through the bathroom to the walk-in closet and a steamer positioned in a corner. I strip the shirt off her.
“This is threadbare.”
“It’s vintage,” she says, hanging it on the machine.
Ancient is more like it. My dislike for LaFontaine ratchets up several notches. The French nation is extremely wealthy. He could’ve bought the girl some decent clothes. I switch on the machine.
“Thank you.”
I bow my head and leave her, returning with h
er suitcase. I clear a rack of old suits I never wear. “We’ll put your hanging things here.”
“Enrique.”
The sound of my name on her lips will never get old. “Hush. You’re staying right here with me.”
In the island cabinetry, I clear several drawers. I lift a pile of socks from her bag, put them away in a drawer. The next batch of items from the bag are delicate underthings, the soft texture of which causes my cock to twitch. The mixture of her essence and a light floral perfume elicits a internal howl of desire from my wolf.
“What perfume do you wear?” I place all but one of the feminine garments next to the socks.
Holding one silk panty, my beast claws for control.
“What perfume, Shavone?” He growls.
“It’s — ah.” Her eyelids flutter. “It’s probably the laundry rinse you’re smelling.”
I will buy a barrel of it. “What kind?”
“It’s homemade.” She leaves the steamer to take the confection from me. “Just a few drops of essential oil in vinegar.” She drops the panty in the drawer and closes it.
“Vinegar? I’m attracted to the smell of vinegar?”
Smiling, she nods. “And your wolf has a sense of humor.” She reaches up to touch my face.
I inhale and stand stock still. “Don’t toy with my beast, Shavone.”
“I’m not. I’m just” — she breathes softly — “I’m trying to understand how the two of you exist in the same body.”
“We’re the same person, mi dulce. Two sides of a personality.”
“Oh.” Both hands on my face now, fingers follow where her eyes roam. My jaw, brow bones and cheeks. I savor it and lean into her.
“Wolves talk about their beast like it’s a separate entity, like a Jekyll and Hyde.”
“That’s not accurate. Think of it as your subconscious and conscious.” As if concentrating with her so near weren’t difficult enough, the tender caress sets me ablaze with need. “The difference for wolves is that one is well aware of the other.”
“And neither are evil.” The pads of her fingers reach my mouth, trace my lips.
I grind my teeth and growl. “Don’t Shavone.”
“Why?” She whispers, her touch relentless.
I take the torturing hand in mine, kissing palm, wrist and arm.
Soft Fate (Wolven Moon Book 2) Page 3