by L. A. Banks
“Oh, my God! What size do you wear? You make me crazy!”
“Thirty-four, but check the inseams, get the longest ones they have.”
She walked away from the shadows without comment. How was it that the night before she’d entered a bar happily single and now she was buying jeans for a man whose dick, literally, wouldn’t stay in his pants? Something was so wrong about this.
After a moment she found several pairs and stalked back to where he’d last been. “Here,” she said, holding out the pile to him.
She’d expected to watch them disappear, but hadn’t expected him to pull her into a shadow with him. Eyes wide, she glanced around as he took off his pants. “I . . . you . . . my wolf body-heat wasn’t even—”
“It didn’t have to be, because it’s finally nightfall and the moon is up.” He looked at her like she was dinner. “A couple of these dressing rooms have really great shadows in them . . . would you like to see?”
“Put your pants on, man.”
He grudgingly obliged but the half-smile never left his face.
“Do we, uh, get a little crazy during the full moon, too?” She raked her hair, feeling very much like a lost Alice in Wonderland.
He broke the alarm off the black jeans he’d selected and zipped them with a loud rip, then handed her the tag off them so she could pay for them at the register. “What do you think?” he asked in a low, sexy rumble, and then walked into the light.
THERE WAS SO much to ponder that talking simply hurt her brain. Sasha watched the scenery pass as a muscle pulsed in Hunter’s jaw. He’d just have to get over it. Mrs. Baker was a doll, and she’d made a mental promise long before she’d met him that she would see to it the woman had groceries the next day no matter what. Plus with a storm on the way within the week, and her future whereabouts being a very unsure thing, she had to be sure Mrs. Baker was taken care of.
Men. They didn’t get it. And all that bull about having a bad feeling about going to her house. Fact was, Hunter probably just didn’t want to deal with an old lady. But enough weirdness had already overtaken her life. Doing for an elderly neighbor was normal. She needed many more normal things to surround her.
Hunter pulled the truck up to the end of Sasha’s block and glanced around. She hated to admit it but her gut was jumping again.
“I’ll say this one last time, do as you like . . . but someone with serious authority and technology has had you under surveillance—even your contact, Doc, said so. You hit three residences where police activity followed. I’m sure that showing yourself is foolhardy. The police, or whoever bugged your home, car, and clothes, could have a sharpshooter out there with orders to shoot to kill. They don’t understand that you aren’t a demon wolf.”
Her shoulders sagged; she hated that he was probably right. But pride made her look out the passenger’s side window and consider her chances. “There’s plenty of shadows.”
He studied her hard and then his gaze softened. The pull to her was immediate as he caressed her forlorn cheek with the back of his hand. “Let me leave the bag on her step . . . you call her by cell phone . . . we’ll watch her collect it to be sure she’s safe. But be careful to disconnect the call before it can be traced, just in case they also tapped her phones, since she’s your closest neighbor and she goes in and out of your apartment. We’ll have to pick you up another prepaid phone at a 7–11 after that, too, because they’ll have your new number on her caller ID.”
The compromise was acceptable. Sasha nodded, wondering how she and Hunter had become a veritable shadow wolf Bonnie and Clyde.
“All right,” Sasha finally conceded and handed Hunter the bag. She had to admit that she liked watching him negotiate the night, blend into the darkness. There was something so seductive about it, something that she knew she had to learn to do quickly and efficiently very, very soon.
Unsurprisingly, the car door opened and closed without a sound. Sasha counted to thirty beats, and then as though her eyes were playing tricks on her, there was a bag suddenly leaning against the door on Mrs. Baker’s top step under the porch light. Another thirty-second count and the door to the truck quietly opened again, the seat depressed, and a familiar scent and warmth neared her. A kiss pulled her face into the light and she could then see him.
“You have got to show me your kung fu in the moonlight, Hunter,” she murmured against his mouth, truly impressed.
“Any time, any night,” he said, tracing her cheek with his finger. “There’s so much to show you but so little time . . .”
She clasped her cell phone in one hand, kissed him slowly, and pulled back to allow her thumb to glide over the seam of his lips. “I know.”
“I DON’T KNOW when she came, sir,” Mrs. Baker said nervously into the telephone. “She kept the call to twenty seconds and claimed her signal broke up and that she’d call me back. But I don’t think a werewolf would have left a bag of food for an elderly woman.” The senior agent checked the magazine on her weapon and peered out the front window.
“Could have been bait,” a stern voice on the other end of the line argued. “Eleanor, don’t go soft just because the target has a pretty face.”
“I’ve been doing this a lot of years, sir, and everything in me says the girl is running scared after what she saw in Butler’s place. If she was at Wal-Mart, then she’s local, rational, able to function like a normal person . . . thinking about things, maybe even trying to piece together clues about what happened to Butler and where her team is. If she doesn’t show up on Monday, then we worry, sir, is my assessment.”
“Well, you’d better pray that you’re right.”
SO MANY QUESTIONS hammered through her mind that a tension headache made her temples throb. Oddly, Hunter had taken her hand into his and threaded his fingers through hers, while driving with one hand. Oddly, she thought, because it was such a natural gesture, so tender, so unlike anything she’d experienced. This man knew how to make the simplest gesture feel intimate. And although she couldn’t deny the chemical attraction to him, there was something else, something deeper. Friendship, yes, but that didn’t wholly define it.
In an extremely shortly space of time, she’d seen the man angry, laughing, annoyed, patient, teasing, fun, on guard . . . passionate, joyous—naked. She knew practically nothing about him, but felt like she knew everything about him, which made no sense. And how could she know him when she hardly knew herself?
Sasha toyed with the amber piece about her neck, allowing her thumb to rub over the elaborate Ute etchings as she glimpsed Hunter from the corner of her eye, then returned her attention to the blue-black horizon beyond the passenger’s window.
“Thanks for stopping before we left,” she finally said as the quiet of the cab wore on her.
“She is an elder . . . you had made a promise. That I do understand, you know.”
Silence enveloped them again, only their breathing and heartbeats and muffled exterior sounds from the road could be heard. She wondered what kind of music he listened to, what his childhood was like . . . whether he had siblings, where he grew up—on Native American lands or in a city. And while it made sense to get away from the surveillance to learn more, was she going with the right person? Doc hadn’t answered her calls. Still, there was so much about this shadow thing she needed to learn. Then, again, she had to admit that spending a couple of days with this Hunter guy sure beat spending forty-eight hours freaked out, going down blind alleys and following leads to nowhere. If anybody could help, it was most likely him. Why she thought that was yet another unanswered question; she wasn’t sure.
“If you don’t mind me saying, all of a sudden you seem like you’re about to jump out of your skin.” Hunter’s delivery was calm; he spoke matter-of-factly.
Even though what he’d said was somewhat of an affront, she had nothing to hide, really, and shrugged, opting for directness.
“Yeah. I’m pretty freaked out.” Sasha let her breath out hard. “Lemme see. In the last twe
nty-four hours, I find out that my alpha and pack brother went full-blown demon wolf. I can’t find the rest of my guys. Then I find out that I’m this new species, a shadow wolf . . . or have it in me, whatever. Then I find out all my gear and whatever is under surveillance, not sure by who, but can guess it’s the same people who gave me and Rod and the squad meds.”
She sat back against the seat for a moment and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m military, Special Forces . . . if the project team bugged my apartment and Rod’s . . . oh.” She covered her face with her hands and slid her palms down it, then sent her gaze out the window. “We talked about everything—he was like my brother.” She closed her mouth, pursing her lips. It wasn’t appropriate and was no longer relevant how much they’d confided over the years. Yeah . . . her relationship with Rod had been on a collision course with intimacy. Sasha finished her sentence with care, opting for the neutral. “But if I ever hear those recordings of me and Rod before he got sick on playback over a loudspeaker . . .” She closed her eyes again as the reality of the violation swept through her.
“Once you learn to use your shadow, you can go in and find the recordings and remove them . . . at least the sensitive data.”
Sasha glimpsed Hunter’s profile, wishing she hadn’t. The smile he fought just made it worse, even though what he’d said had definite merit. Hunter didn’t understand, and she didn’t feel like explaining, that they weren’t sex tapes, just stuff on there that was too private to blast in a war room before generals.
“Then, the one person I trust in the whole wide world doesn’t call me back, but confirms I’ve been low-jacked,” she said, skipping Hunter’s comment and venting out loud. She had to, her mind couldn’t hold the outrage. “Meanwhile, I meet this guy who seems on the up and up . . . and it gets a little out of control. I sleep with him, unprotected, on some shadow wolf theory. And then he takes me bungee jumping in the shadows from Canadian geese to semis on the highway. God, am I crazy?”
“I didn’t lie to you, though,” Hunter said, unable to conceal his good humor.
“And now I’m driving up into God’s country where people get lost until spring thaw with somebody who can disappear in the dark.”
She looked at him straight on, growing peevish as he tried to swallow another smile. “Yes. I am officially freaked out.”
“You still have a gun and a Bowie knife,” he said, gently teasing her.
“Yes, and that is the only thing keeping me from leaping from this moving truck and running screaming into the night. A person can only take so much, you know.”
He nodded, his mood pleasant. “That’s very true. I can relate.”
She released a sarcastic snort. His lopsided smile lengthened.
“Hmmm . . . let me see,” he said, removing his hand from hers and rubbing his jaw. “I guess I had no cause for worry while I was tracking the accomplice of, and possible paramour to, a known werewolf—one that went into a full transition in my backyard. My job is to keep demon doors closed, protect the general public, but this lady is all shadow wolf and my mission gets a little hazy. Now, after she fires on me with a Glock nine-millimeter then calls me out, Western-movie style, wielding a pump shotgun with silver shells in a vacant parking lot, I finally get her to calm down enough to talk.”
Hunter glanced at her from the corner of his eye and smiled. “Did I mention she is Special Forces and has enough strength and training to kill the average man in hand-to-hand combat? But I digress.” He drove a little while, saying nothing, allowing the silence to speak. “Oh, yeah, where was I?” he added after a long pause. “Somehow, my libido gets more than a little out of control while on an information-gathering mission . . . and, what the hell, I lose focus, started shadow dancing, and next thing you know I’m in Wal-Mart like a damned Joe regular buying sweaters and jeans. Freaked out?” He looked at Sasha without a smile now, as though the sudden reality was slowly entering his mind for the first time. “You have no idea.”
Again, silence filled the cab of the truck as their gazes sought refuge in the blacktop and white lines of the highway whirring past.
“Okay,” Sasha said after a moment. “We’re even.”
“You think?” Hunter said, his line of vision now affixed to the road. “I’m bringing you up into the mountains to my people and exposing them to someone who could lead a demon into the pack.”
He swerved the truck to a skidding stop on the emergency shoulder, turned quickly as the carriage bounced and lurched, and looked at her hard.
Sasha stared at him in surprise. Then she frowned. “If you tell me to get out of here I will—!”
Hunter rubbed his palms down his face. “You see what freaking out can do? It can make you act ridiculous!”
“Oh, well, then stop freaking out,” she said sarcastically.
“No, you stop freaking out! Stop acting like you’re the only one with something to lose!” He punched the dashboard, denting it.
She folded her arms over her chest and stared out the window. “Okay,” she said more evenly. “So we both have something to lose.”
“Yes, we do, don’t we?” he said, way too calmly for her liking.
She whirled on him. “You just did that to—”
“Show you what it felt like,” he said. “Stop doubting, turn on your shadow wolf instincts and feel me. Period.”
She had to avert her gaze from his intense stare.
“If you do that, you’ll stay in control, Sasha, will trust the right people, will know which questions to ask, or which ones you already have the answers for.”
“Is that what you do with me?” she asked quietly, her gaze still on the horizon, not ready to meet his.
“Kind of.”
She looked at him and that lopsided smile was back. “Kind of?”
“I admit my gut wasn’t fully engaged . . . when I, uh, took certain risks.”
“I’ll bet I know what was engaged,” she muttered. “Risks . . .”
“Yes, Sasha, risks.”
“Like what? You said I wasn’t contagious, so . . . ?” She shook her head.
What was on the tip of his tongue slid back down his throat. Suddenly, being right, winning his point in the argument, was unimportant. It was clear she didn’t know . . . and telling her would be like a slap in the face, a hurtful and unnecessary thing. How could she understand that the natural-born shadow wolves would be hard-pressed to accept her? They didn’t give half-breeds with weak silver shadow auras respect. One without a silver aura at all would likely be shunned. He and his grandfather had discussed this issue at length . . . and this was why he had to bring her home to make an alpha declaration that she was to be granted safe harbor, if she ever had to run from the treaty-breakers.
Her luminous gray eyes held him captive. Hunter allowed his finger to trace her satin-smooth cheek. She’d spoken of a mother and father, but it was clear to his senses that she’d been genetically made . . . it was in her aura, or the lack thereof. And as such, it wasn’t until he’d joined his body to hers that he’d learned that she might even be susceptible to the werewolf virus. His blood was supposed to reject it, but did a lab-made shadow wolf have immunity? He didn’t know.
“Risk that you might shoot me,” he finally said after the long pause needed to gather his words. “Risk that I might just fall in love with you and forget some of what I’m destined to do.”
He allowed his palm to drop away from her face, and he gripped the steering wheel with both hands. She looked away slowly as though dazed. Good. He’d hoped what he’d said would turn the course of the conversation.
The thing that scared him shitless was that it was the truth.
CHAPTER 8
THEY RODE THE rest of the way in silence.
She watched Hunter turn off the primary forest road to an unpaved, gravel-pitted one covered by ice and snow that soon gave way to true four-by-four territory. After what seemed like forever, he brought the truck to a desolate area within a stand of tall trees
next to a tiny cabin. He said nothing as he studied the area for a moment and then drove slowly to what seemed like snow-covered underbrush, opened the door, and jumped down out of the truck. Thoroughly intrigued, she watched him uncover a blind large enough to hide the truck and then slowly return to drive them into the dark enclosure.
“You’ve done this before, I take it?” she said, getting out as he unloaded their backpacked supplies onto a snowmobile with a small carrier rack attached to it.
He didn’t respond, just continued to conceal the truck.
“Should I be worried?”
“Not if it snows good and hard before morning,” he said, bringing the snowmobile out to the bumpy road area.
“Why are we hiding?” She wrapped her arms around herself and waited.
“Why were you under surveillance?” He stared at her without blinking.
“I don’t know,” she finally said. “Maybe they think I’ve got what Rod has . . . had.”
“Then I don’t know why we’re hiding. But right now it feels like I’m traveling with a military fugitive. So taking precautionary measures seems prudent. Aren’t those the guys that have missiles, if pissed off?”
Unable to argue the point, she unfolded her arms and walked forward, climbing into the snowmobile beside him.
“I just have one question. How is this whole shadow group or whatever you call it funded?”
He placed his hand on the ignition key, but didn’t turn it, and glared at her. “The tribal casinos have a secret, off-the-books fund for this. Call it investment protection of their territories.”
“Oh.” She looked off into the woods.
“Any more questions?”
“Not right now,” she said, lifting her chin. “Just wanted to be sure that drugs or something like the illegal sale of arms or technology to other nations wasn’t funding this.” She turned to issue him a pointed look.
“Shouldn’t we be working together instead of fighting each other? We’re not that different, and our objectives are the same.”