by Vivian Wood
Then Lucy deliberately broke eye contact and looked up to the dolt who was foolish enough to be flirting with her. She laughed at something he said, really playing it up, and put her hand on the man's chest for a brief moment. Wyatt watched as the man's chest puffed up; he'd taken her aggressive flirting just the way she meant it, as a signal of definite interest.
Meanwhile Wyatt was watching, unable to look away, clenching his glass in his fist. He couldn't do anything about her flirting, of course. She might be his intended mate, but Wyatt didn't plan to ever take things further with her. He was a guardian, a watch dog, nothing more. No matter how much he wanted to storm over to Lucy and drag her out of the bar, to kiss her and touch her and make her moan his name, to banish every last memory she had of any other man...
"Quit being an idiot," he mumbled to himself. He turned on his stool, keeping Lucy in his peripheral vision while staring up at some meaningless college football game on the screen behind the bar. He let his body do the talking, the lying perhaps, telling Lucy that he was merely here to protect and serve, not to ruin her would-be date.
No matter that he was absolutely dying inside, especially when the ginger oaf leaned down and whispered something in Lucy's ear, brushing back a lock of her hair. Wyatt groaned aloud, literally biting the tip of his tongue to keep himself in check.
This was not going as well as he'd planned. No surprise there, really. Though people usually saw Wyatt's life as one of ease, assumed that everything came to him without his really trying, it wasn't true. He cultivated that image, worked his ass off for it, even. It made him a formidable business foe, and a desirable Berserker ally.
Here, though, in this crummy shifter bar, it got him nothing but a stack of crinkled white cocktail napkins, smeared phone numbers scrawled on them by clumsy, drunken patrons. He'd just started piling them on the bar, and when someone came up and tried to slip him another phone number, he just pointed at the accumulated stack, his face expressionless.
"Are you just gonna stare at her all night?"
Wyatt looked over to find Lucy's stunning friend sitting on the stool beside his, smirking.
"Excuse me?" Wyatt asked.
"You heard me," she said, arching a brow. "I'm Lexie."
She stuck out a hand, and Wyatt shook it.
"Wyatt."
"Nice. Name like a cowboy, dressed like a city slicker," Lexie said, her gaze traveling up and down Wyatt's body a few times. "I can see why my friend has been staring at you all night."
Wyatt cocked his head, but didn't answer.
"Buy a girl a drink?" Lexie asked, swiveling on her stool so that they both faced the bar, giving Lucy their backs.
"Alright," Wyatt said with a shrug. He signaled the bartender, ordering two more Bulleits on the rocks. "Hope you like bourbon."
Lexie pursed her lips, a rueful smile blooming on her face.
"Too bad Lucy got to you first. You're pretty fucking hot, and you have good taste in whiskey," Lexie lamented.
"Nobody got to anybody," Wyatt said, pulling out a few twenties and handing them to the bartender in exchange for the drinks.
"Seriously? You two have been eye fucking each other all night. If it's that dude you're worried about," Lexie said, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the redheaded man next to Lucy, "Don't worry. She doesn't know him from Adam."
Wyatt raised a brow.
"You're pretty chatty," he noted.
Lexie beamed up at him, picking up her tumbler of whiskey and leaning close.
"I'm just pretending to flirt with you to make Lucy jealous. I thought, the way you two were making eyes, that this might inspire her to get her ass in gear."
Wyatt gave her a long look, then sipped his bourbon.
"What does it matter to you?" he asked, keeping his tone casual.
"She's been working really fucking hard, and not taking care of herself. She deserves to let loose a little, and it seems like you've caught her eye. I don't mind telling you that I think she's going to take someone home tonight. You look cleaner that that other guy, and after talking to you, I'm certain that you're more intelligent."
"Does that even matter in a one night stand?" Wyatt asked.
"It does to Princess Lucy," Lexie said with a smirk.
"Mmm," Wyatt said.
"Seriously, though. I'm leaving with that tall, dark, and handsome piece of beefcake behind us in..." Lexie looked at her watch. "Seventeen minutes. So you'd better make your move soon, Chief. That, or watch her go home with that soulless caveman back there."
Wyatt had no response for that. Lexie chuckled and shot the rest of the bourbon, slapping the glass down on the bar.
"Thanks for the drink," she said with a wink. She sauntered back to her group, stopping to murmur something to Lucy, who blushed furiously and ducked behind the redheaded clown.
Wyatt watched for a few more minutes. True to her word, Lexie headed out a few minutes later, leaving Lucy at the bar with several hungry-looking wolves. The ginger put his hand on her waist, trying to pull her closer, and Wyatt bristled. His bear rose to the surface, ready and eager to fight for his mate.
He was half out of his seat when Lucy rebuffed the man, pushing him back a step. With a nervous glance between Wyatt and the redhead, Lucy finished the last of her drink and fled. At first Wyatt thought she was leaving, but Lucy just threaded her way onto the dance floor, vanishing in the crowd of bodies, all gyrating to the pulsing music.
The redhead was two steps ahead, but Wyatt was on him in a second flat.
"Leave her be," Wyatt growled. "She's taken."
The big wolf instantly backed down, as Wyatt had known he would. Wolves took claiming very seriously, even outside their own kind. Wyatt's word was enough to kill the man's desire to pursue Lucy, even though Wyatt was lying through his teeth.
With one last warning glance at the big man, Wyatt turned and pushed into the crowd, looking for Lucy. It took him a minute to find her in the far corner of the dance floor, already surrounded by three eager men. None had moved in close enough to touch her yet, but Wyatt wasn't about to let them gather the courage.
He sidled up behind her, scattering her new set of admirers with a single glare. He moved closer, closer, until he was only a hand's breadth from where Lucy stood, writhing and moving with abandon, hands sliding up and down her body, hips twitching to the music.
She'd pulled her long hair up, exposing her neck and shoulders. Wyatt was so close, his senses so attuned to her that he actually saw goosebumps break out over her skin when she sensed his nearness.
Whipping around, Lucy nearly tipped over into his arms, her head tipped back to peer up into his face. Wyatt steadied her with a hand at her waist, a smile playing on his lips. She really was beautiful like this. How had her friend Lexie put it? A little loose?
"I got you," he said, pulling her a hair closer.
Lucy just arched a brow and shrugged, then started dancing again. When Wyatt moved with her, she bit her lip and edged closer, her body brushing his, her dance moves becoming more sultry, more suggestive.
God damn, but she was killing him right now. Two inches closer, and she'd be writhing right on the full length of his cock. Wyatt was hard for her, had been since he'd spotted her at the bar. Or maybe since she'd climbed on the back of his bike. In truth, he'd been obsessing over her for months now, ever since his first vision of them lying together in bed.
If sweet little Lucy knew that he'd jerked off, thinking of her doing the dirtiest imaginable things with him, to him... She had no idea, but she was definitely playing with fire. Just being this close made his hands itch, and he couldn't help but reach out and skim them over her hips, her lower back.
She responded, of course. Lucy was pure white flame, burning him as he touched her, her breath hitching, her breasts rising to strain against her dress, her lips parting as she moved, watching him...
Wyatt tensed his jaw, even as he moved in time with Lucy, their bodies in perfect sync. He knew this
was wrong. Lucy was a fucking doctor, had her shit together, deserved someone good and decent and stable. Wyatt couldn't even commit to owning an apartment for more than a few years at a time, couldn't stick to one city. He had an impressive business, but mostly because he kept getting bored and expanding into newer, more interesting fields as it occurred to him. He was a notorious asshole, a womanizer, and derelict in almost every quality that a mate would require.
Simply put, Wyatt and Lucy didn't belong in the same plane of existence. More to the point, Wyatt had already foreseen just what happened if he took things any further with Lucy. He'd have the great, all-consuming love of a lifetime, yes... but only for as long as he lived. Judging by his age in the visions, they would have months together at best.
And then one of them died.
Just as Wyatt was about to pull away, Lucy moved closer. She wound her hands around his neck, the surprise of her action pinning him in place. Her body pressed tightly against his, the softness of her body fitting perfectly against his torso. She looked up at him, eyes going wide when she discovered his aroused state.
Wyatt sucked in a breath, ready for her to retreat, but Lucy merely licked her lips, her pupils dilating a fraction. Her head tipped back another inch, lips parting, beckoning...
He couldn't resist. Just a taste, just once. Wyatt slid his fingers into her curls, slanting his mouth across hers, swiping his tongue over her lush lower lip. He could feel her make a noise, the sound vibrating against his lips, and that goaded him, pushed him further.
He worked his lips against hers until she opened for him. His tongue delved into her mouth, sweeping and possessing, exploring her sweet taste and moist heat. His free hand traveled up to graze her full breast, fingertips playing over the bare skin of her exposed collarbone, teasing down the top of her dress.
For her part, Lucy denied him nothing. Encouraged him, pulling at his neck, grinding her hips against his, tormenting him. Her tongue met his, demanding every bit as much as she gave. He could already tell that she would be a challenging lover, giving and taking in equal measure, driving him and draining him of everything he had to give.
A familiar sensation tickled at the edge of his mind, something like deja-vu. He pushed it away, gripping her curls a little tighter, curling his tongue against hers, sliding his thumb under the curve of her breast. He resisted everything that was not Lucy, pushed the world away, devoured her in this, his one chance to experience her firsthand, outside his dreams.
The vision rushed in, seizing his distraction and paralyzing his ability to think. His body was gone, the dance floor was gone. Lucy wasn't gone, but she wasn't in the bar anymore, either.
Lucy was in a small, cheerful, yellow-tiled bathroom, sitting on the edge of a clawfoot tub. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red, her chest heaving as sobs wracked her small frame. Wyatt tried to sense himself, the way he could in some of his visions, but he came up empty. There was just Lucy, hands shaking, holding a small piece of plastic. Wyatt watched her as she focused on the white plastic stick, perhaps a quarter on an inch by four inches.
As he watched, Lucy stared down at it. There was a little paper square at one end, perfectly white and blank. Then the paper rippled, producing a perfect blue +.
"Shit. Shit shit shit," Lucy mumbled shaking her head.
She hurled the piece of plastic into the corner, giving an angry grunt.
"Wyatt..." Lucy whispered, fresh tears overcoming her.
"Lucy, we have to go to the wake now," came a feminine voice. One Wyatt recognized now, because Lexie had introduced herself only an hour before.
There was a knock at the door, though Wyatt couldn't see the rest of the bathroom.
"Lucy, please come out, honey," Lexie called.
"Coming," Lucy said, wiping at her face.
She jumped up and grabbed the pregnancy test, stuffing it into the bathroom trash. Lucy stared at it for a long moment, then the vision dissolved.
"Wyatt," Lucy said, giving him a shake.
Wyatt blinked, and he was back on the dance floor, frozen in place.
"Hey. Wyatt," Lucy said, looking worried.
"We can't do this," Wyatt mumbled.
"Let's step outside, get some air," Lucy suggested.
"We're leaving," Wyatt said.
"We who?" Lucy said, giving him an odd look. "You're being super weird right now. Maybe you should catch a cab home."
"And leave you here to dance with a bunch of werewolves?" Wyatt asked with a grimace. "Not likely."
Lucy frowned.
"Go home, Wyatt."
She turned to head back to the bar. Wyatt grabbed her, turned her around, and scooped her up, laying her over his shoulder with ease.
"Wyatt!" she shrieked.
Wyatt snaked an arm around her body, holding her to his shoulder. He headed for the exit, amused at the way the crowd parted before him as he went. The second he was out the door, the bouncer caught up with him.
"Hey, we got a problem here?" the bouncer asked, sizing Wyatt up and then turning his head to the side to scope out Lucy.
When Lucy was silent, Wyatt gave the bouncer a long look. He had to repress a grin; it had been a gamble, guessing that Lucy would choose not to make a scene, but it had definitely paid off in Wyatt's favor.
"We're good, aren't we sweetheart?" Wyatt asked Lucy.
Lucy grunted, but it was enough to the bouncer. He shrugged and headed back inside.
"Put. Me. Down," Lucy growled.
"I will, in a second."
Wyatt strode over to his motorcycle, setting Lucy down on the seat.
"Slide back," he ordered.
Lucy crossed her arms, unwilling to budge now that they didn't have an audience.
"What happened back there on the dance floor? You went all blank, like someone having a tonic seizure. Do you have epilepsy?" she demanded to know, somehow managing to look concerned and furious all at once. "If you do, you should not be riding a motorcycle."
Wyatt shook his head.
"Nothing like that," he assured her.
"That doesn't reassure me. Have you been to a doctor? Had a CT or an MRI?" she asked.
Wyatt sighed.
"I can't explain it to you, but I'm not sick. I promise. Now slide back," he said, grabbing his helmet and stuffing it on her head before she could ask any more questions.
Leave it to the doctor to think his mythical, impossible visions were some kind of medical condition or brain tumor or something. If only he had a problem that could be solved like that, Wyatt thought. He'd gladly let Lucy cut the thing out of his damned skull.
He climbed onto his bike, grabbing Lucy's hands and wrapping them around his waist again. The selfish, demanding voice inside him needed to feel her touch, to know that she was close, that he could protect her from everything in this moment.
Another voice, soft and small, lurked in the back of his head, pointing out that with every touch, every flirtatious glance, every single personal detail he learned or shared with Lucy, he was actually pushing them both closer to that inevitable cliff, the fall from a height so high that no one could ever survive it...
Wyatt pulled out, keeping his speed in check as he drove toward Lucy's home. He spent the fifteen minute drive lashing himself for being such a fool, carefully building up his walls, promising himself that he wouldn't push things any further with her. He would protect. He would serve. He would absolutely, definitely not touch. Or kiss, or any of the hundred other things he desperately wanted to do to her.
By the time he pulled into Lucy's driveway, Wyatt had himself under control again. He cut the engine and waited, but Lucy didn't move. To his surprise, she'd managed to fall into a light drowse on the way home, no doubt lulled by tequila and the sound of his bike's engine.
With a great degree of difficulty, Wyatt managed to get her off the motorcycle and into the house without waking her up. He unlocked and carried her inside, moving carefully in the dark. It took him a minute to suss o
ut the location of her bedroom, but the second he stepped inside, he knew it for certain. Everything was soft, billowy, and white. The room smelled of her, neat though it was. It screamed of simplicity and comfort, and it was pure Lucy.
Wyatt laid her down on the bed, taking off her shoes. After a moment's worry, he unzipped and removed her pretty red dress, pulling the thick down comforter up around her and tucking her in. He left her bedroom, feeling indecisive. While he knew that staying in her room was completely out of the question, he wasn't sure exactly what to do with himself now.
He was already tired of living out of his car. Honestly, he was dying for a shower and a decent night's sleep. The only way that either of those things was happening would be if he did them here, in her house.
After turning it over in his mind for another moment, he decided that he could at least sleep in the house tonight. Taking a shower without her permission would be intrusive, but he could at least crash on the couch.
Grabbing his messenger bag and laptop from his car, he left his stuff on the couch and proceeded to do a long, thorough inspection of her house, finding her security measures well below the standards he'd hoped for.
She'd installed the new window locks, at least, but there were several other vulnerabilities. Her back door was flimsy, and the front door was framed in stained glass. There was attic access from three different places, and he'd seen an attic window earlier. The place was a security nightmare, essentially.
For a moment, Wyatt wondered whether Lucy would let him move her somewhere safer. A penthouse suite at his hotel, maybe. Or better, a safe house. He could get in touch with some FBI contacts, maybe even get her some personal security guards...
But for how long? That was the problem. Wyatt couldn't reveal how he knew she was in danger, and he didn't know how long it would take for Lucy to be safe again. Money aside, practicality said that he couldn't just lock her up for the next six months to a year.