by Kathy Lyons
His hand shot out to cup her elbow and she closed her eyes.
“Too soon?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry.”
“Give me the chocolate and you’re forgiven.”
He pressed the morsel against her lips, but she pulled back without eating. It was too intimate to eat from his fingertips, so she used her free hand to take it from him.
“I, um…I can do it. Thanks.”
She watched his expression tighten, but he didn’t fight her. He released the chocolate morsel into her hand and then a second later gave her the full bar. She could see that he didn’t like it. In fact, she suspected he was hurt by the barrier—however tiny—that she put up between them. It was like he expected their one explosive night together to have cemented an entire relationship, but she barely knew him. Plus, she was a neophyte in this world of shifters. She had to get her bearings before she started eating out of a man’s hands. Or, um, did it anymore.
She swallowed expensive chocolate and espresso beans, breakfast of champions. Then she broke of another bit and offered it to him. She thought he’d take it from her hand, but before she could change her mind, he leaned down and wrapped his tongue around it and her fingers.
Wet. Hot. Sensuous. She felt his tongue caress her knuckle and the skin before her nail. Then his lips pressed down as his tongue slipped between her thumb and forefinger, and he sucked the chocolate free.
Her breath caught, and memories flooded her mental landscape. Suddenly she wasn’t sitting here mostly dressed with a gorgeous guy and chocolate. She was naked and writhing as his tongue swirled everywhere between her thighs. She felt it delve inside her before sweeping up and around her clit. She felt the suction on her fingers the same way she’d felt it last night.
Too much. Too intense. She was not a physical woman. Or at least not until last night. And certainly not first thing in the morning. She wasn’t used to this wet, clutching in her womb or the throbbing in her clit. Not when she was trying to wake up and werewolves were on the way. Werewolves! And damn her nether parts were doing nether things that they weren’t supposed to. Not first thing in the morning.
“Cecilia?”
She’d pulled her hand back, and now her head was tilted away with her eyes shut. She was trying to get a hold of herself, and he was too present in her mind. In her mind, her body and in everything.
“Dr. Lu?”
She swallowed. She heard the withdrawal in his tone and knew for sure that she’d hurt him. But damn it, she couldn’t worry about his feelings right then. She had to get her own equilibrium back. Which meant she had to focus on the important stuff. Facts. Situation. Science, if possible.
“Tell me about the werewolves,” she said.
She waited without looking at him. And when the silence got too strained, she pulled the mug of tea up to drink more. Then their eyes met over the rim of her cup. She couldn’t help it. He drew her gaze no matter what her brain told her to do. And once she’d met them, she couldn’t look away.
Just like last night. He had brown eyes, slightly narrowed to give them a nearly almond shape. They sat above strong cheekbones in a broad face. Last night they’d seemed to swirl with emotions she barely understood. This morning, she was the one swirling and he looked at her quietly. How could eyes be gentle? How could they hold her safe with steady compassion?
She wanted to look away. She’d always found her balance on her own, usually in a science textbook or a computer screen. But she didn’t. She held his gaze and in the quiet, she felt a kinship build between them. Like a tiny note ringing softly but with increasing power. Too quiet to hear, but yet strong enough to feel. It connected them both and she was as terrified of it as she was comforted by its strength.
She wasn’t alone anymore, she thought. Not when he was a tangible presence in her…what? Mind? No. She didn’t need to think of him to feel him. Spirit maybe, and now she had to believe in that along with shifters and magic.
That terrified her most of all because her entire life was built on science. She worshipped the tangible, not the invisible. And yet here he was, a part of her though he didn’t speak, they didn’t touch, and she was about to walk away from him.
“It’s okay, Hank. I’ll just go downstairs and find out.” She pushed to her feet and he backed up to give her room. She spotted her bra on the floor and grabbed it. There was a bathroom close by. She wanted to use that and a hairbrush if she could find it. And—
“We’ll talk later,” he said.
She paused, but didn’t turn around. “That’s not a euphemism, is it.” Not a question. “You really do mean we’re going to have a…” What? “A relationship conversation.”
“Yes.”
Oh hell.
“Werewolves, first. Okay?”
“Okay.”
She nodded and fled. And when had werewolves become less scary than Hank?
Chapter 11
Hank watched her rush to the bathroom. His gaze held on the way her bottom twitched as she moved. He inhaled her scent and listened to the sounds of water as she washed. And he had to fight his bear to remain still in the bedroom, simply absorbing Dr. Cecilia Lu through all his senses without actively stalking her.
He waited an extra long time. He held himself still and breathed, hoping the desperate need to be with her would fade. It didn’t. And that was how he knew he was well and truly fucked.
His bear had bound itself to her.
Why her, when she was a scientist, the one person guaranteed to fight everything he was? Not just his bear, but the fact that he was a poor man with little education. She was a good girl with a PhD and a string of specialties behind her name. Words he hadn’t even known before he’d looked her up on the Internet. What exactly did an epidemiologist do? He hadn’t a clue. Virology, he guessed, was about viruses. But then he’d linked over to one of her papers. He hadn’t been able to understand the title, much less the contents of the paper.
And he was a big black army medic turned muscle for a Detroit grizzly clan.
He blew out a breath and closed his eyes. He needed to find his balance point. Some way to settle into a Zen calm that would allow him to sort through his feelings dispassionately. Instead, he thought of her white lab coat that hid a wild tunic of blinding colors underneath. He thought of the way she’d fought him in his truck, screaming and kicking when most others would have given up. And then the way she’d lit up with excitement at the idea of examining the hybrid bodies. She was smart, fought like a demon though she had no training, and rolled with the punches like a regular street kid.
He liked her. If they had met in the normal course of life, he would have enjoyed her company while they shared a burger or went to a movie. He would probably have asked her out for a date and allowed things to progress in the normal way.
But he wasn’t normal in any sense of the word. “Muscle for the Griz” wasn’t exactly something to put on a tax return. And he sure as hell couldn’t tell that to a woman with multiple PhDs. The two of them didn’t fit and they weren’t going to have a future after the crisis was over.
So why in the hell was his bear determined to have her? Her and no other? Because no matter what Simon had said, Hank had bonded to Cecilia. He would pursue her, watch her, dream about her, and most likely stalk her for the rest of his life. It wasn’t something he could control, and it wasn’t something she could stop.
She was about to come out of the bathroom, so he straightened and went into the hallway. He ordered himself to leave. She was coming downstairs to see the werewolves. He could wait for her there.
He didn’t. He leaned against the wall until she emerged. Her face was pink and wet from a fresh scrubbing. Her hair was pulled back in a ruthless ponytail, and her colorful tunic over black leggings was smooth as if she’d just gotten it from a laundromat. Her lab coat was back in the bedroom, and he wondered if she wanted it. It would please his bear to give it to her, though he preferred this brighte
r, less professional attire.
She pulled up short as she saw him waiting for her. He guessed she would nod at him and rush past. It’s what most women did in his presence. Instead, she gestured to him.
“Are you going to put on a shirt?”
He shook his head. He didn’t bother explaining that it was downstairs, and she was upstairs. He hadn’t been able to force himself to grab it despite the fact that he’d walked right past it to get her tea.
She folded her arms and mimicked his pose as she leaned against the frame of the bathroom door. “You just like standing there looking all big, bad, and hot?”
Yes. If she thought he looked hot.
Then she frowned. “Wait. The werewolves are coming. You don’t want another piece of clothing interfering if you have to go grizzly. Right?”
He shook his head. “I went bear last night. Won’t be able to shift again until tomorrow.” And that was assuming he got some more rest.
“Really?” Her eyes brightened, and she straightened up. “Is that normal? How often can others shift? Are bears different? What about the wolves? And the hybrids?”
His lips twitched. She was like a kid in a video game store with her questions. Which character can do what and how often?
“Faster than normal, some as little as once a year. Wolves can go more often, though that might be hype. Cats won’t tell anyone shit, though we think they’re similar to wolves. As for the hybrids?” He shrugged. “Looks like they can do it whenever they want. One of their advantages.” He quirked a brow. “The smell being a distinct disadvantage. At least from Vic’s perspective.”
She took a step forward. He loved that. All he had to do was answer some questions, and she went from running away to eagerly standing beside him. “Who’s Vic?”
“Simon’s beta. He’s a hybrid. One of the few who stayed sane. Alan’s another. He’s with the Gladwins.”
“That’s because the change seems to destroy the frontal cortex. But not for this Vic? Or Alan? Can I meet them?”
“Yes—” he began, but then he cut off his words, holding up his hand to quiet her as he sniffed the air. “They’re coming,” he said in a low voice.
Her eyes widened, and she started to head downstairs. He stopped her by pressing his hand into her belly in a quick block. It wasn’t meant to be anything more than a gesture to stop her, but the moment his hand connected, his mind was flooded by sensations. The softness he felt there, the joy of being able to freely caress a place so vulnerable, the sweetness of her gasp, and the visceral memories of what they’d done the night before. It all surged through him, hard and fast. His nostrils flared and his dick throbbed.
But that’s all that he did. And when she turned to quirk an eyebrow at him, he shook his head. “Stay behind me.”
She nodded slowly. “Werewolves not so tame?”
“No shifter is tame. Don’t ever forget that.”
He watched the information sink in. He saw her swallow as she squared her shoulders. And then suddenly, her brows narrowed. “Neither is the Hong Kong B virus, but I handled that just fine, thank you very much.” Her expression shifted into a grin. “Surprised you, didn’t I?”
Yes.
“You thought you could spout some B movie lines and I’d be all aflutter.”
“Most people would be on the floor drooling after what you saw last night.”
Her face paled and he regretted reminding her of the uglier parts of last night.
“Well, I’m not most people,” she said.
No kidding.
“And besides, this is an answer to my prayer, so I can hardly look a gift horse in the mouth, can I?”
He frowned. “I have no idea what that means.”
She blew out a breath. “For the last three days I’ve been praying—actually praying—for a clue. Some way to get a handle on the Detroit Flu. And then, bam, you kidnap me and suddenly I’ve got more clues than I can follow. So, I’ve set this down to divine intervention. You want me to handle werewolves with care? You got it. You want to be my big scary bodyguard? Whatever floats your boat. But if you keep me from following any one of my divinely given clues, then I will find a way to…to pinch you in a way that hurts. A lot.”
A laugh burst out of him. A single, wild bark of sound that he hadn’t made in years. Not since being forced into the Griz and becoming the muscle for Nanook, the asshole that Simon defeated a very short two days ago. And now suddenly, this little spitfire threatens to pinch him, and he was choking back humor.
Balance.
Well, hell. There it was. That balance point of calm that he’d lost last night. He felt as if all the world had settled, which allowed him to smile at her and nod.
“If you stay behind me while the wolves are here, then you can pursue any clue you want.”
She snorted. “The wolves are the clue, but for the moment I’ll bow to your greater wisdom. I’ll just think of you like protective gloves or a fume hood.”
Not images he liked, but he’d take it. Especially as he heard the wolves enter with heavy tread and that very particular dog scent. Pissed-off canine. Gah.
“Just remember, they’re touchy, aggressive, and don’t like insults to their manhood. Treat them like unstable TNT. With fangs.”
He saw her eyes widen at that. Secure that she had gotten his message, he started down the stairs. The scene spread out before him as quickly as the smell. Five werewolves in their human form had come in the front door. Three others stood as wolves outside the broken window looking in. Simon stood next to Mother, facing them. It was her house, so he allowed her to stand beside him, but Hank could see that the alpha was in position to protect her if needed. And way back behind all three dead bodies—one werewolf, two hybrids—stood Alyssa with tablet in one hand, gun in another. Sammy was probably still sound asleep downstairs.
Hank should be beside his alpha, acting as protection and support. Simon hadn’t called for it, but it was Hank’s place and he itched to go there. But his job was to protect Cecilia. No one had said that, but his bear was adamant on this point. It was what happened with bonded males, and so he accepted it with a grim sense of fate.
At least he could get to a compromise location. He gestured Cecilia to stand with Alyssa as he moved to a halfway point in the room. And he waited while everyone pretended to like each other. The wolf alpha started. He looked to be a man in his fifties with pale silver eyes, distinguished in his expensive suit.
“Mother, we’ve come for our dead.”
“Where’s Miriam? She okay?”
“She’s resting. It’s been a long night of corralling hallucinating normals. Antwone was our only casualty.”
“And them.” She gestured to the hybrids. “Do you know who they were?”
The man barely gave them a glance. “They’re gone now.” His eyes narrowed on Simon. “But you have a hybrid beta. How did you manage to control him?”
“Vic controls himself,” Simon responded. “How many hybrids in your territory? Have you told everyone not to drink the water?”
“We have control, but you are well out of your territory.”
It was like watching two men play completely different video games while in the same room. It looked like they were talking to each other, but neither seemed to be interested in the same thing. And even Mother’s interest was somewhere else. For her, each of the three dead shifters used to be a person. Someone’s child, someone’s friend. She wanted to know if the families had been notified, if those who grieved had been comforted. It was why she was able to stay so neutral while sitting on the bad side of the wolf lands.
Sadly, everyone ignored her.
“I’m here for Sammy,” Simon said. “She matured last night.”
“Then why are you—”
“And I stayed to protect Mother from attack. Isn’t she favored by your pack?”
The alpha—named Emory Wolf—didn’t like being interrupted, but he didn’t quarrel. Instead, his gaze landed on Cecil
ia. Hank tried not to react. He really did. But the moment the guy’s eyes lingered too damn long on her bright, beautiful form, Hank felt his hackles rise and his hands shift into claws.
Wolf noticed. The bastard saw everything and he chose to poke at Hank by moving the conversation to Cecilia.
“I don’t remember this woman in my territory.”
Cecilia opened her mouth to speak, but Hank shot her a warning look. He hadn’t needed to. Simon spoke, his tone level and with the exact same amount of steel underneath as he always used.
“Dr. Cecilia Lu is from the CDC. We’ve brought her into the clan so she can help.”
Wolf’s brows rose. “Help what? There is a poison in the water. You said as much. The weak ones die, the strong ones evolve. She cannot help that.”
Cecilia snorted. “Pull that attitude out of the dark ages handbook?”
Well, it had been too much to hope that she could keep silent when someone—even as cold and powerful a man as the werewolf alpha—challenged the benefit of science. And just as Hank feared, the man bared his teeth at her, showing his elongated canines.
Instead of being frightened, the insane woman took an eager step forward. “Is that normal for you? I mean in your human form? Those canines are at least forty percent longer than typical for a human male. Are you able to partially change into a wolf? If so, then perhaps the hybrids are more wolf than—”
“I am a full shifter!” the man snapped. “And the hybrids are nothing but rabid dogs.”
The venom in his words was clear and Hank wouldn’t have been surprised if he whipped out his dick and urinated on the bodies as proof of his contempt. Meanwhile, Cecilia would not shut up.
“I get that. It’s their frontal cortex. Deteriorates for some reason. But if you can partially change, then that’s important. That’s…oh my.”
“Oh my” was right. The alpha’s eyes had gone yellow-green and fur popped out along his arms. His jaws elongated, and his teeth looked sharp and white as he growled at her. But he didn’t strip out of his clothes and he certainly didn’t shift the whole way. It made him look like the big bad wolf of Disney cartoons. A beast in human form. Except his hands stayed human, though they extended slightly as if he wanted to change but was holding himself back.