“Some of the people in this bar will also be out there tonight,” Abby said meaningfully.
How much could she give away with Sam looking on?
“Guys who aren’t cops, but have a similar agenda.”
Had Cameron understood her cryptic remark? He glanced at the crowd over his shoulder.
“Possibly more of them than you know,” Abby cautioned. “For reasons other than the reasons you might expect.”
A secret in return for a secret. He’d go away and avoid the park tonight, and she’d only have to live in private with the fact of what she had done the night before, with him.
Did this veiled warning to him about the danger in this room fall under the category of helpful werewolf hints?
“You’re not talking about yourself, I hope.” An edge of concern returned to Cameron’s voice as he turned back to her. “You wouldn’t go outside on a night like this?”
“Nope. I’m not in need of another good lay, since the last one was decent enough to last me awhile.”
Cameron Mitchell studied her openly, blatantly, not caring if anyone noticed. His face showed no emotion. His tone was carefully managed. “Meet me in an hour.”
“No.” Abby slammed a glass down on the bar. With all the noise going on, no one in the crowded room paid attention. Each successive round of drinks meant that voices got louder. More people had come in, blocking Sam’s view of her flushed face.
She couldn’t breathe.
“Meet me,” Cameron Mitchell repeated.
“Bite me,” Abby whispered. “Oh, wait, you did that already, plus a whole lot more.”
He seemed to think over her remark. She expected a growling reply that didn’t come, and let loose a sigh of exasperation. She was sweating, a sign of her body rebelling against this test of her willpower. She fielded the urge to hurdle the bar and either jump into this Were’s talented lap, or sprint for the door. High drama either way. Endless trouble.
He wasn’t helping. He caused her internal chaos.
No. That wasn’t exactly true. She had brought this on herself, by being unable to resist him last night.
No way she was going to find out what he would be like tonight when moonlight hit him, though—the same moonlight she had always detested for its role in twisting monsters out of their napping places. Moonlight that also had the power to affect her in strangely personal ways that she would not dare mention to the wolf across from her.
Nor would she be clearer about the danger awaiting this Were tonight. Sam had a lot of friends, a couple of them nearing where she stood transfixed by a creature they had hard-ons to hunt.
Her lips moved, though she wasn’t sure what she’d say until she heard it. “It’s quite ironic, you know, that you’ve come to the one bar in Miami that you should have avoided at all costs.”
As Cameron Mitchell searched her face in a replay of his riveted attention of the night before, Abby counted her heartbeats without having to press a finger to her neck. The suspense of this meeting mounted. Emotions flowed as if a tap had been left open. She felt anger, fear, love, hate, longing and lust—all there at once as this man’s eyes continued to hold her hostage. His gaze was both fire and ice, disconcerting and suggestive, taunting and sympathetic. His golden eyes were equally strange, and utterly familiar.
“I know what you are,” she said.
That surprised him. The mouth that had pleasured her so completely and adeptly nearly twenty-four hours earlier opened. But he didn’t speak. Instead, he carefully scanned the room before returning his attention to her. Then he raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“I knew last night what you are,” Abby said. “I knew what followed us out there, and what those gangbangers who killed your friend really were.”
The room seemed to darken once she’d gotten that out. Movement slowed. Voices dulled to a background murmur. None of that was real, though, and only the effect of meeting this wolf again so soon, and in less than stellar circumstances.
Did she want to speak to him of things beyond this terse confession? Yes. In another minute, though, her father would come over to see why she hadn’t filled orders, and who this guy was. If luck was with her, after one look at his daughter—at the pink face and the visible quakes—Sam might merely assume her to be ill, and cut her some slack.
Or else he might put two and two together and come up with wolf.
Swiping at the trickle of perspiration sliding down the side of her face, Abby wondered what would happen until then. Possibly another standoff between Cameron Mitchell and herself?
She felt so damn hot. And the wolf who was a badge-carrying member of the Miami PD had gone mute.
More than any of that, the thing she feared more than all the guns in Miami lay just past that doorway, up in the sky. Like a giant magnet, the moon whispered to her as though she were one of the moon’s cult, and as though that light ruled what flowed in her veins to some minor degree.
“Abby.”
She tossed her hair, unwilling to listen to anything her one-night stand had to say. The dilemma of what to do next was an excruciating one. If she stayed still, the hammer would fall. Being near to this Were made it too difficult to keep herself in line.
She felt jazzed, wired up—not all of that due to the fact that she had toyed with a wolf and was dealing with the consequences. The bigger fact here was that she had been scouting for Weres for so long, she might have started to feel like a wolf herself.
“All right,” Cameron said, his voice low, his tone inquisitive. “You know I’m a cop. I should have told you last night. The circumstances were...”
Abby interrupted, shaking her head, meeting his eyes. “Wolf,” she whispered.
His eyes widened. A frown creased his brow.
“You are a goddamn werewolf, Officer Mitchell,” she said. “How’s that for insight?”
Chapter 8
The way his expression changed gave Abby no pleasure.
It made her sicker.
“You have to get out of here,” she said, following up on her announcement. “Not all of these guys are your friends. This bar also hosts people who hope to be your executioners. Hunters. Werewolf hunters.”
Cameron didn’t blink, grin or laugh outright. Neither did he protest what might have seemed to ninety-eight percent of the people in Miami like an outlandishly ridiculous statement. Instead, he rested his hand on hers, on the bar, and the shock of his touch ripped through Abby all over again.
She was going to drown in that touch.
“Yes. Okay.” She drew her hand away. “Part of this is my fault. You tried to push me away. I know that. My resistance was low because I’d been looking for you for a very long time.”
“Looking for me?” he said.
“Someone like you.”
“What do you think you know, Abby?”
“Plenty. So do the hunters.”
He had to know what effect he had on women, and what they would want from him, she thought. Going through life looking the way he did had to attract women in droves. Factor the hidden wolf vibe into the rest of his molded perfection, and no female in heat would stand a chance.
This cop was trouble, and she had opened her legs to let it in. But she had come to her senses. This, for obvious reasons, would never work out.
People in the room had shifted position. Meeting her father’s sideways glance, Abby tried to smile back. Her elevated body temperature had become a nuisance. Her sleeveless shirt felt damp. Sam had a keen eye for those kinds of reactions in her. If this continued, she’d have no recourse but to either escape or give this wolf up to the team.
Yet if she ran, and this particular cop followed her, Cameron Mitchell’s human semblance, his recognizable outline, would burn away—fried to a crisp and turned inside out
before coagulating into a new creation. What then? she longed to demand of Cameron. Will you remain a gentleman?
This was irony at its best. Her will wanted one thing, and her body another. One dangerous dalliance in the night, and this werewolf had rendered her permanently under his spell.
What could be worse? They were surrounded by officers in this bar who had no idea what went on beyond the realms of their imagination, and were in close proximity to her father, who might have been a hair away from realizing what stood under his roof. For Sam Stark, having a daughter lust after a wolf would be the ultimate sacrilege. Mind-blowing stuff.
What she needed was a dark hole to crawl into.
“Officer Cameron Mitchell.” Testing her voice, Abby looked up at him. “Not only one of Miami’s finest, but one of the city’s best-kept secrets.”
The next sound she made came perilously close to being a gasp of despair.
“We need that talk, Abby.” His comment seemed devoid of the emotion tearing her apart. “Agree to meet me in an hour. You pick the place.”
Officer Mitchell, king of beasts, again rested his hand close to the one she used to brace herself against the bar. Abby counted the inches between their fingers. Hers were shaking. Any second now, she’d fail at this terrible calmness game. If he touched her again, it would be over.
“Abby, look at me. Who knows? Who else knows what you think you know?”
She couldn’t have answered if she’d wanted to. She was all choked up.
He persisted. “Which of the men present tonight know about what you called me? Who did you tell?”
“I can’t say anything else.”
Cameron was too close, too hot, too wolf. She desired all of those things, all over again. Mostly, though, she wanted him to live.
Forget him. Escape. Run.
Those were useless thoughts, since she couldn’t escape from herself and her feelings.
Sensing her father watching, waves of chills rolled through her heat. Abby sucked in a lungful of the bar’s stale air and blinked to get her bearings. As she saw it, there was only one way out of this.
Raising her hand, she slapped Cameron’s lovely face hard with her open palm. With the same hand, she shoved aside the glasses lined up in front of her and said loudly, “I don’t think so, but thanks all the same, Officer Mitchell. I’m taking my break.”
Unable to think about what she was leaving behind, hoping her father would chock this little scene up to a rebuffed attempt for a drunken stranger to get to know her better, Abby rounded the bar, waited until her father had turned away, then ran for the door.
* * *
Cameron started after her with his heart in his throat.
The little idiot had left the pub and had run right into the street. Cars rushed past. Tourists strolled by. She didn’t seem to care.
A big hand stopped him before he got to the sidewalk. The hand belonged to a detective he didn’t know, one he’d missed in the crowd since he hadn’t been paying attention to anything other than Abby.
How the hell had he missed this, though?
“You’re not leaving?”
Wolf vibe reverberated through his arm from his shoulder on down, and so fiercely, Cameron checked a rising growl. His insides immediately scrambled. Like loaded switchblades, his claws sliced through his balled-up fingertips until he forced his wolf down.
This detective stopping him was Were.
Jesus, there were others like him on the force.
Rather than easing up, the detective kept hold of Cameron’s arm with a grip like steel. Each second that passed as they faced each other transferred a dizzying array of indecipherable wolf messages to Cameron’s confused brain.
Not only Were, his senses told him; this guy had known the word Were for a while, and wore that species easily.
The detective was tall, with brown hair that curled over his ears and a pair of intense, deep-set eyes. He had a deceptively lean build, and wore a black T-shirt, jeans that had seen better days, a beat-up leather jacket, in spite of the heat, and had a shiny gold badge pinned to his belt.
A werewolf detective. Cameron hadn’t imagined this. It’s what he had been looking for, hoping for. Like him, there were other good guys.
He wanted to clap the guy on the back, and shake his hand. A hundred questions needed answers, and this detective probably had some of them. But his attention went to the door Abby had run out of as if she’d left a trail of breadcrumbs impossible for his hunger to resist.
The compulsion to go after her tore at him, stronger than any bond he needed to make with a like-minded wolf. And though he had no idea why, or what it meant, he knew his need for wolf company had to be put on hold, at least temporarily, until he found Abby again.
Affixing a wary smile on his face, Cameron shrugged. “I’ve got a date. Something nice after all this.”
“Ah.” The detective’s eyes brightened as if he understood completely. “Now that is a worthy excuse for leaving the party.”
“Nothing else could tempt me away.”
“Well, then go to it, man. And give her a kiss for me.”
Cameron’s grin had already slipped. The emotions tied to seeing Abby again, right that minute, were making his senses go haywire. Being so close to another male Were doubled the current dilemma.
“Mitchell,” he said to the detective eyeing him closely. “Name’s Cameron Mitchell.”
The detective nodded and responded in kind. “Matt Wilson. Homicide.”
“I have to go,” Cameron said.
“I can see that,” Matt Wilson remarked. “I assume we will meet again soon. Until then, you will take care? We wouldn’t want any more trouble tonight.”
“I’ll be sure to do that. And, Detective?”
“Yes?”
“Watch yourself in here. I’m told that, besides us, other things in this bar aren’t what they seem.”
The detective’s eyes reflected his acceptance of that piece of information as Cameron pushed past him.
On the street, just outside the building’s front door, moonlight hit Cameron in the face, sending shudders of anxiousness through his system. Grimly, he dived for the shade of the awning, fighting the urge to rip off the clothes that would be a hindrance to a much larger shape.
Catching sight of Abby in the distance, he muttered a choice, official, police-regulation well-accepted four-letter word. Setting off at a brisk pace, weaving in and out of the people lining the sidewalks while keeping beneath overhead cover, he followed Abby, waiting until he reached an old line of trees before daring to unbutton his shirt.
I know what you are. Her words rang in his mind. I knew last night.
Moonlight slanted through branches, adhering to his bare chest and burning like gelled fire. After the first loud crack of overstretched sinew, his vision began to narrow. But he held on to his human shape with every ounce of willpower he possessed, knowing this would be what Abby needed to see.
Half a block ahead and moving west, Abby appeared as no more than a dark outline. Gaining on her, Cameron called out, “Abby. Stop. Wait.”
By refusing to look back or slow down, she made it quite clear that she wasn’t going to listen. Cameron prayed that he’d be able to hold off on the imminent shift a while longer, but running felt good, and chasing Abby felt even better. Wolf was in the air and in his throat, coating his insides, seeking to be free.
He tried again to reach Abby. “Talk to me, damn it!”
She turned a corner. When he reached the old stucco wall near that intersection, Cameron saw a puddle of black draped on an open trash can. It was her shirt. Farther down the alley, he found her shoes—sandals, covered in an animal print.
Abby, what are you thinking? What are you doing?
Upping his pace,
Cameron’s anger began to simmer. He’d barely had the time to properly handle his own problems, let alone taking on hers, and it was obvious that she not only had her own issues, but didn’t want anything to do with him.
Well, all right. If she preferred things this way, so be it. He’d leave her alone. He would go back and find that damn detective. Clearly, what she’d said in the bar bothered him in a way he just didn’t get. She had known about him all along...and had been intimate with him, anyway?
Did that make her nuts? Completely off her rocker?
Maybe she had made up all that stuff about the other people in the bar.
Werewolf hunters. There actually were such things? And with two Weres present in the crowd, plus a room full of Miami’s finest?
It was possible, he supposed, for that place to be a hangout for another kind of criminal, one he hadn’t anticipated. Hell, killing werewolves wasn’t illegal, since hardly anyone knew of their existence.
“Abby, how are you involved with those kinds of people?”
Remembering the streak of wildness he’d seen in her, picturing the short-handled silver knife strapped to her leg, Cameron again swore out loud. “You’re a wolf hunter, and that’s why you were in the park.”
The realization kicked at his stomach, impossibly painful.
He added aloud, “That’s ridiculous. If you knew about me, for real, you wouldn’t have met me out there. You wouldn’t have dared to...”
Cameron couldn’t finish that statement. Logical thinking had flown out the window, pushed along by questions that swirled so fast he couldn’t pick one out of the bunch. But it was no wonder that Abby didn’t want him to catch up with her. Having sex with a Were had to be the biggest mistake of her life. A seriously unforgivable faux pas for a hunter.
“So, why did you do it?”
Let her go, you idiot. You can smell trouble, and she’s at the epicenter.
His wolf pressed against him with a fierce rebuttal. One sharp claw sprang from his index finger, and this time Cameron didn’t bother to tuck it back. He wasn’t fooling anyone with the would-should-could-haves. He had to catch Abby. For whatever reason, and despite solid arguments to the contrary, he had to see her again. He had to kiss her again.
Harlequin Nocturne May 2015 Box Set: Wolf HunterPossessed by a Wolf Page 7