There was a slight tremor in her voice that she couldn’t disguise as she asked, “And what happened to your mother?”
He shrugged, careful to keep his eyes on the screws as he twisted them into place. “She lost too much blood from the punishment and the pack wouldn’t allow Jillian’s mother, who was Spirit Walker at the time, to do anything to help her. She died later the next day from her injuries, and the guy she’d been screwing around with abandoned his family and the pack. No one ever heard from him again.”
“Wh-what happened to you?”
“My dad’s mom took me in,” he grunted. “But she was a right old bitch. Didn’t want to be saddled with a kid any more than my mom had. She made sure I understood why she was stuck with me—because of my parents’ recklessness and stupidity. And she made it her mission in life to teach me the control they’d both lacked, making damn sure I’d never forget it.”
* * *
Control? What about love? Michaela thought, her heart breaking for the little boy who must have felt so alone, so unwanted. What about cuddles and bedtime stories and kisses on his skinned knees?
Deep, burning pain pierced her chest at the thought of all he’d missed as a child. Was that the lesson the women in his life had taught him, that he wasn’t wanted? Wasn’t worthy of their love and affection? Had the lessons from his past made it impossible for him to get close to any woman—to give them the chance to get close to him?
Rage for his mother and grandmother poured through her veins in a hard, rushing spill of anger and disbelief. How could any woman not cherish her child? Not do everything in her power to protect him from the world? Suddenly, despite her inability to read him, Michaela began to understand the complicated Runner, to see him in a clearer light. No wonder he was so wary of allowing others to get close to him.
“I’m sorry for what you went through,” she said gently, noticing the way he flinched when she stroked her hand across the firm curve of his shoulder, wishing she could wrap him in her arms and hold on to him. Stupid wish, since she knew she would only end up being rejected. At worst, used. But wishes weren’t always wise, or even healthy, blooming from that innocent part of our souls that held eternally to faith and hope.
He rolled his shoulder, shifting away from her touch. “No need to be sorry, Doucet,” he muttered. “It’s ancient history and I was stupid to interfere. I was impulsive and I paid for it.”
“That’s not true. You were very brave, and you loved her. What you did, it was incredibly heroic. You should be proud of what your scars represent. They’re a symbol of your integrity.”
* * *
Brody groaned under his breath at her huskily spoken words, wishing she’d just shut the hell up, feeling like an idiot for opening that vein and spilling his memories in a crimson wash of shame. He didn’t know why he’d done it, except for the fact that he wasn’t himself around her. All she had to do was smile at him, look at him, breathe for God’s sake, and his hard-earned control and legendary restraint were shredded. He wanted to lash out at her, tell her to get lost, but the words were stuck in his throat, along with his heart, which was hammering like a freaking train.
A second later, the door chimes sounded again, and he silently swore, cringing at the thought of having to go through another inquisition. Wondering if he could sneak into the back office before she introduced him to another customer, he picked up a scent that was out of place, even in the strange parade of customers that had been coming and going throughout the day. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up in alarm, and he sniffed the air, spinning the instant he caught the thick scent of Lycan musk.
“Oh my God,” Michaela gasped, at the same time Brody grabbed hold of her, shoving her behind him as he turned to face the couple walking into the middle of the store. Michaela’s fingers grasped onto the back of his shirt, twisting the soft cotton into angry handfuls, and he knew she’d recognized Dustin Sheffield, the dark-haired, golden-eyed Lycan from her brother’s Novitiate’s ceremony. It was Dustin who had kicked Max when he’d fallen to the ground. His father, Cooper Sheffield, once one of Stefan Drake’s key supporters, had been killed by Jeremy after the attack on Jillian’s life. Now, with his father gone, it’d been rumored that Dustin had stepped into the role of Drake’s right-hand man.
Taking a leisurely glance around the shop, Dustin whistled softly under his breath. “I heard Simmons had quite a field day with this place, but it looks so spiffy and clean. What a shame.”
“What the hell do you want, Sheffield?”
Ignoring the question, the Lycan flashed a slow smile, then leaned down to whisper in the ear of the cute blonde clinging to his arm. Vapid and blank, her big eyes blinked slowly as she listened to him. No more than eighteen, the human girl giggled at whatever he said and turned to wander toward the far side of the shop, studying a display of crystals while blowing bubbles with an enormous wad of purple bubble gum. Dustin watched her ass in a low-slung pair of jeans that revealed the hot pink fabric of her thong underwear, then turned back toward them, one brow arched in a cynical lift as he tilted his head to the side, trying to see around Brody’s body. “Is there a sexy little Cajun hiding behind you, Carter? I can’t see her—” he took a slow, deep breath “—but I can sure smell her.”
Michaela released Brody’s shirt and moved to his side, her chin high, eyes narrowed with fury as she stared at the smirking Lycan who winked back at her. Brody wrapped a protective arm around her waist, hauling her even closer to him as he kept his attention focused on Dustin.
Stopping beside a display of pewter figurines and chalices, Sheffield’s hard eyes traveled over Michaela’s body, lingering on the lush swell of her chest. Obviously aware of his stare, she crossed her arms, shielding herself, and the corner of the bastard’s mouth twitched with a grin.
Pitching his voice seductively low, he drawled, “Do you know who I am?”
She nodded with a jerky movement of her chin. “You’re the sadistic asshole who kicked my brother.”
“Aw, don’t be a bad sport, angel. I was doing him a favor. If he’s going to make it in our world, he needs to toughen up. Just ask Carter, here. Your Runner is known as one of the most brutal hunters there’s ever been. They say he can kill a man without even batting an eye.”
“Brody kills gutter scum who deserve to die,” she murmured, surprising him by rising to his defense. “All you did was act like a bully.”
A low, sinister laugh fell from the Lycan’s lips. “Now you’re just trying to hurt my feelings,” he rasped, the golden hue of his gaze bleeding away, replaced by a deep, infinite black that revealed nothing, utterly devoid of emotion. “But guess what, sweetheart? It won’t work.”
Jeremy had told Brody and the other Runners that Dustin was close to turning, if not already, rogue. It was something you could just feel, after you’d been hunting as long as they had, the way an elderly arthritic man could predict rain. A sense…a feeling, not unlike the way Michaela had described her own abilities.
More than anything, it was in the eyes. Cold, emotionless, a rogue knew nothing beyond its hunger for death and satisfaction. There was no warmth, no soul. Just that hard, relentless push for a dark, violent rush of pleasure.
Brody wanted to take the bastard down, but his first priority was keeping Michaela safe. “For the last time, Sheffield, tell us what you want and then get out.”
The grin curling Dustin’s mouth shifted into something sly, suggestive, and he shook his head. “Something tells me that you’d put up a fight if I told you.” Picking up one of the figurines, a lovely little sprite arching her back, arms flung high over her head in sensual abandon, Dustin ran his fingers over the feminine lines of its body, his gaze never leaving Michaela as he drawled, “But if you’re really that interested, Drake sent me down to make sure you were doing your job, keeping her on a short leash.”
“And he chose you for his messenger boy?” Brody snorted, aiming for his ego. “So with Simmons dead and your
old man gone, I guess Drake is really having to scrape the bottom of the barrel for support these days, eh?”
Sheffield made a tsking sound under his breath. “Drake used Simmons’s thirst for revenge to make a move against Dillinger, but the idiot turned out to be too weak to see it through. It was embarrassing, if you want to know the truth. As for my old man, he let himself get careless. But me, I’m smarter than both of them. I know how to keep myself alive. And I don’t plan on going until I’ve gotten a taste of all that life can offer,” he murmured, giving Michaela’s body another slow, hungry look.
“Get your eyes off her right now,” Brody demanded in a low, deadly rasp, “or I promise you’re going to regret it.”
“You can’t touch me, Runner. None of you can. Drake’s hatred has made him more powerful than anything you’ve ever known, than anything you can handle.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Sheffield. And if you’re not careful, all you and Drake hold dear is going to come crashing down around you. Sooner or later, the humans are going to find out about the rogues. What do you think they’ll do then?”
“You’re so pathetic,” the younger man snickered, shaking his head with mock pity. “The Silvercrest are embarrassed by you, and yet you still put their needs above your own, protecting them from discovery. Personally, I say let the humans find out the truth about us. They’re no match for our strength. They’re nothing but food.”
A rich, husky rumble of laughter shook Brody’s chest. “Food that would end up kicking your ass.”
“Hmm, I wouldn’t hold my breath about that if I were you,” Dustin whispered, a gloating sheen of satisfaction coating his skin. “After all, her precious brother cried like a baby when I took a bite out of him.”
For a moment, time stood still, suspended, and then Michaela exploded into action, a hoarse sob breaking from her chest as she lurched forward. Brody reacted instantly, throwing his arms around her, trapping her against the front of his body. She struggled in his hold, same as she had at the clearing the night before, but he didn’t blame her. He wanted to tear Dustin apart, as well.
“You sick son of a bitch,” he snarled, his own rage crashing against his control, battering it down. Only the need to protect the woman in his arms kept him in place, kept him from acting on the slow burn of fury rushing through his system. Tangling his hands in Michaela’s hair, he cupped the back of her head and pushed her face into his chest as the first racking sobs shook her feminine frame, her anger and frustration escaping in a torrent of emotion. Cutting a cold, deadly look of menace at the Lycan, he said, “Get the hell out of here. Now.”
Dustin made a soft, crooning noise under his breath. “Don’t cry for Max, beautiful. I’ll even be a sport and say hi to him for you.”
Wrenching in his hold, she turned and shouted, “Stay away from my brother!”
“It’s sweet that you’re worried about him, but pointless. If anything,” the Lycan murmured, his voice low and soothing, like a lover’s, “you should be worried about your own skin. After all, if things don’t go well for Max, your blood will be on Carter’s hands.”
She went still in Brody’s arms, staring at Dustin in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
The Lycan’s dark brows rose on the smooth expanse of his forehead. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“Tell me what?” she demanded.
“If your brother fails, he’s not the only one who’ll die. All threats have to be neutralized, which means your watchdog would be expected to take your life. Wonder if he’ll enjoy killing you as much as he’s enjoyed all his other kills?” he mused, slanting her a laughing look as he set the sprite back in its place. “Who knows, maybe he’ll even enjoy doing you while you’re still warm, before finishing the deed. There’s something wild about him that says he likes it a little rough.”
Though he tried like hell to hold himself in check, Brody’s restraint finally snapped and he pushed Michaela behind him as he surged forward, his fingertips burning as deadly claws pricked just beneath the surface of his skin. If it weren’t for the human girl on the other side of the room, he’d have allowed them to slip free, but fought back the impulse. Instead, with one hand he grabbed a handful of the Lycan’s shirt and drew his other arm back, preparing to smash the bastard’s smirking face, while Dustin shoved at his shoulders.
“Come on, Runner. Give it your best shot,” Sheffield taunted, just as the front door chimed and a group of eight young college students filtered in, laughing and chatting, oblivious to the tension at the far side of the shop. Releasing his hold, Brody shoved the Lycan away from him. His hands fisted at his sides, chest heaving as he struggled to claw onto some shred of his control.
“Better luck next time,” Dustin drawled with a hoarse laugh, and with a crooked smile, he turned and walked past the oblivious students, out the front door, the wide-eyed blonde following faithfully behind him.
Chapter 6
That evening, they made the drive back to Michaela’s house steeped in the same charged silence that had been hanging over their heads ever since Dustin Sheffield’s visit. Brody had called Cian and brought him up to date on Sheffield’s confession about Max’s attack, and then he’d talked to Mason, who said he would notify the League. Not that they expected anything to come from it. Because of Dustin’s close ties to Drake, until they had solid proof that Sheffield had gone rogue, and not just Brody’s word, they knew the League would refuse to assign a Bloodrun on the Lycan.
And while he was sure Michaela had believed him when he’d awkwardly tried to assure her that he’d never cause her any harm, despite Dustin’s taunting remark to the contrary, the tension between them had remained thick. Or maybe that was just the growing web of sexual awareness that he couldn’t shake, its clinging, powerful strands ensnaring him tighter with each passing second, until he could barely breathe without panting for a deeper pull of her maddening, mouthwatering scent.
He parked in front of her house, and they both climbed out of the truck, the cool evening breeze wrapping around them, bringing hints of a coming storm, the air crisp and damp. As they made their way up the front walkway, he caught sight of a white swing hidden in the shadows at the far end of the porch. It creaked gently back and forth in the gusting wind, and his blood scorched its way through his veins as he studied it.
Too easily, Brody could imagine the beautiful human lounging there on the wheat-colored cushion, swinging lazily while a sultry summer breeze ushered in the twilight, a knowing smile curving her lush mouth as she beckoned him closer with the feminine crook of her finger. For a moment, the tender, seductive image was so powerful that he almost believed he could reach out and touch the warmth of her flesh, the heavy silk of her hair. Explore the heavenly textures of her body beneath his callused, work-roughened fingertips.
And daydreams are going to get you nowhere, you jackass…other than in a shitload of trouble.
Why was he having such a hard time grasping that concept? This—this bizarre sense of obsession, hunger and fascination—it wasn’t him. The others, sure. Hell, Mason and Jeremy were so in love with their mates they were practically floating. And he could see some woman wrapping Cian around her finger someday, if she could find a way to put up with the smart-ass bastard. Even Pallaton would eventually be tamed.
But not him.
And yet, when he faced facts and owned up to exactly what he’d have been willing to give up for the chance to touch Michaela Doucet, just once, it was staggering. Brody couldn’t stop his mind from lingering across the visual details of her body as she led the way up the path toward the house, the barest hint of her profile visible as he followed behind her, her face as luminous as a pearl beneath the hazy glow of the streetlamp. Would her skin be that soft and pale everywhere, revealing the tracery of veins beneath her voluptuous breasts, her belly, the tender flesh of her inner thighs?
Muttering to himself, Brody wondered how he was going to survive another night under the same roof wi
th her without touching her, battling against the visceral, sharp-edged hunger that wouldn’t leave him in peace. He’d been insane to think he could watch over her, protect her, without losing his ever-loving mind.
Completely lost in the thick, unctuous tangle of his thoughts, he’d just set foot on the bottom porch step when he heard a vehicle behind them, its tires screeching to a stop in front of her small yard. Turning, Brody cursed hotly under his breath at the sight of Dustin Sheffield grinning at them from the passenger side window of a sleek, black Silverado.
Brody didn’t recognize the driver, but Dustin sat with his arm braced in the open window of the door, the smoke from the cigarette perched between his lips, curling like a serpent above his head.
“What the hell does he think he’s doing?” he muttered, aware of Michaela coming back down the porch steps to stand at his side.
“Pushing your buttons, no doubt,” she whispered, grabbing his left arm, as if she could hold him back. “Please don’t give him what he came here for, Brody.”
Since, by this time, he was dragging Michaela along with him away from the porch, he stopped halfway down the stone path that bisected the front yard, unwilling to take her too close to the truck. “What are you doing here, Sheffield?”
Dustin exhaled a silvery stream of smoke and smiled. “Just being neighborly, making sure the little lady got home okay tonight. Didn’t want her to be upset after what she learned today.”
Brody curled his lip. “You’re pushing your luck, and I don’t give a crap about Drake and your pathetic threats. Only thing that concerns me is making sure you understand just how serious I am about you staying away from her. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” the Lycan laughed, his smile widening as he flicked the cigarette butt into the street. Reaching behind him, he shifted as he pulled something out of the back pocket of his pants. Brody heard Michaela’s gasp and knew she instantly recognized the pale lace bra Dustin brandished in the open window, rubbing the soft material between his fingertips, while his lips twisted in a taunting grin. “Hope you don’t mind, Runner, but I borrowed a few pieces of the Cajun’s lingerie for Kimmie today and wanted to return them. Dressed her up in it before I screwed her stupid little brains out, the scent of your woman filling my head. God, what a high,” he sighed. “I was gonna return the panties…but, well, let’s just say they were a little worse for wear.” He snuffled a soft laugh, then lifted the bra to his nose, took a slow, deep breath and moaned deep in his throat. “Mmm, and no wonder you were so eager to volunteer to be her white knight, Carter. Little Cajun’s sweet, like candy.” His tongue flicked out, and he touched it to the delicate lace. “Good enough to eat, in fact.”
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