Last Wolf Watching

by Rhyannon Byrd

  A deep, snarling growl jerked out of Brody’s throat and he lunged forward, while Michaela clung onto his arm. “You son of a bitch!”

  Chuckling, Dustin tossed the bra in Michaela’s direction and the truck immediately sped away, its tires screeching against the damp asphalt as it swerved and roared down the street.

  * * *

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Michaela cried, breathless as she struggled to keep hold of Brody’s arm while he tried to pull her off without hurting her.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m doing,” he seethed, his voice so guttural, she could barely understand him. “I’m going to do what I should have done this afternoon and chase him down, then beat that little shit’s face into the ground for daring to even look at you!”

  “Stop it,” she snapped, holding on to him with all her strength.

  “I’m not going to let you do this! It isn’t going to change what’s happened to Max, and it isn’t going to help anything!”

  “Do you know where he got that thing?” he shouted, pointing at the bit of lace lying in the grass.

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “From my house, obviously.”

  “He could have gotten you,” he snarled, his expression so livid, Michaela was sure he was going to slip from his human shape any second now, allowing the primal fury of his beast to break through. She could see the tips of his fangs gleaming wickedly in the moonlight, just beneath his upper lip—could feel the visceral, animal energy pouring through him while his eyes burned like twin golden-green embers. “He was here, Doucet! What if you’d come home alone last night? Or today? What if I wasn’t with you? He could have done anything he wanted to you. There’s no way you could have stopped him.”

  She went pale as his words sank in, but she didn’t back down. “It doesn’t matter,” she said hoarsely, knowing that keeping Brody safe was more important to her than any kind of revenge against the rogue Lycan.

  “Like hell it doesn’t,” he growled, not even sounding human.

  “I’ll be damned before I let him terrorize you this way.”

  “He isn’t terrorizing me, Brody. Upsetting me, yes. But I know what he’s doing.” She blinked up at him, releasing her hold on his arm so that she could press her palms against his broad chest, aware of his heartbeat thumping heavily beneath her touch. “He’s using me to get to you, I mean to the Runners, just like you said they would. It’s all just a game to him. Even what happened with Max. But with you watching me, he isn’t stupid enough to actually try to hurt me, because he knows the lot of you would have his ass if he did.”

  “Jesus, when are you going to get it?” he demanded, his tone thick with anger and impatience. “He wants you, Doucet. Once his kind sets their sights on a target, they don’t just let it go. Trust me, I know. This is the kind of filth I track down month after month. He isn’t going to just up and forget about you.”

  “Well, he isn’t going to get me, is he?”

  Brushing her hands away from his chest, he took a deep, shuddering breath, his expression still etched with deep lines of fury, though she could tell he was trying to calm down.

  “We’re packing up tonight. I want you in the Alley. It isn’t safe for us down here.”

  “Okay,” she murmured, glancing down the street as she snatched up the bra, hoping like hell that none of her neighbors had heard their raised voices. The last thing they needed was to deal with a concerned good Samaritan or the police. “I finished up at the store today and everything’s ready for David. If you’ll just come inside with me, I’ll pack up a suitcase and we can go ahead and leave.”

  She turned toward the house, and he stayed her with his hand on her shoulder, the heat of his fingers burning its way through the soft cotton of her dress. “We go in together, with you at my back. I need to make sure it’s safe.”

  Michaela nodded, and together they moved up the narrow pathway. She unlocked the front door, and they walked into the silent house, turning on lights along the way. In the kitchen they found a window with a broken lock, obviously where Dustin had snuck in. Nothing was touched or out of place, however, until they reached her bedroom upstairs. The second Brody flicked on the light, she gasped, pushing past him as she rushed into the room, turning in a circle in the midst of mindless destruction, the bra falling to the floor, forgotten.

  She’d already known Dustin had been through her things, but she hadn’t expected this kind of devastation. Her furniture had been slashed, deep grooves from what looked like claws marring the smooth cherrywood finish. Her bed and mattress had been shredded, feathers from her pillows and comforter blanketing the ruined clothing that had been dumped from her drawers and closet. On her dresser, her antique perfume bottles had been smashed, the painting that hung above her bed, the one her grandmère had given her before her death, streaked with crimson letters, as if a message had been written in blood.

  Blinking the tears from her eyes, she tried to read the words, but she couldn’t focus. “What’s it say?”

  Brody made a harsh sound in the back of his throat. “It says Your blood will be on Carter’s hands.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Doucet, I’m…sorry.”

  “Why?” She sniffed, hating the tears. It was just stuff, after all. Not worth getting emotional over. But this was her private space, and knowing it’d been breached felt as if someone had spied on her with a hidden camera. Leaning down to pick up a shattered picture of her and Max and Torrance at last year’s Christmas party, she said, “It wasn’t your fault, Brody.”

  “I hate that this bastard got close to you.”

  There was something in his words, an underlying thread that made it sound as though he actually…cared, but before she could look at it too closely, the screeching sound of a car slamming on its brakes came from the front of her house. She flinched, and Brody moved toward the bedroom window facing the front yard. Looking through the white wooden slats of her blinds, he swore a foul string of words under his breath, while the soft spill of golden light from the bedside lamp played over the auburn silk of his hair, catching at the deeper, shimmering strands of ruby and crimson. “I don’t believe it.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Mr. Nobody.”

  “Oh God. Ross?” He nodded and she groaned, unable to believe her luck could be this horrendously awful. Pushing her hair back from her face and swiping her fingertips under her eyes, catching at any wayward tears, she said, “I’ll go get rid of him. Just promise that you’ll stay here.”

  “I’m not a goddamn dog,” he countered in a low, guttural rasp, turning to face her, an incredulous look on his face.

  “And I’m not letting you talk to him alone.”

  “Brody, be reasonable. You…you can’t…you’re too…” Taking a deep breath, she tried again. “Look, I don’t know how to say this any other way, but your wolf is too close to the surface tonight. Your eyes are glowing and the tips of your…of your fangs are showing. You can’t go out there. It’ll only take me a minute to get rid of him,” she said quickly, turning away from him to head back toward the hallway.

  “I don’t give a shit what I look like.” Brody grabbed her arm with controlled strength and spun her back around. “I don’t want you going anywhere near him,” he confessed in a rough voice, and she could see the shocking spill of an emotion that looked incredibly like jealousy burning in his deep green eyes. Of course, she knew she must be misreading what was simply his protective nature. The man could be reasoned with, but the wolf in him dealt in absolutes. He’d been assigned as her bodyguard, and he meant to keep her by his side.

  Pulling out of his grip, she headed down the hall. “You can watch through the window. I give you my word I’ll stay close to the house. You’ll be able to see me the entire time. But I want him out of here. Can you imagine what would happen if Dustin comes back and Ross sticks his nose in the middle of another confrontation? It’d be a nightmare.”

  Stalking behind her, he muttered,
“Open your eyes, Doucet. This is already a nightmare.”

  She stopped halfway down the stairs, gripping the banister so tightly that her fingers turned numb. “If you want to hand me off to someone else, Brody, I’ll understand.”

  He grunted under his breath, his voice thick as he said, “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

  Ruefully aware of the relief pouring through her system, she set back off down the stairs, mindful of the heat of his big, powerful body following close behind her. When she reached the living room, he moved to the side of the door. She glanced up at his face, marveling at how he could look so angry and beautiful at the same time, a perfect blend of violence and grace. “Don’t you want to watch through the window?”

  Slowly, he shook his head from side to side, the scarred corner of his mouth lifting the barest fraction. “The door stays open, Doucet.”

  She didn’t bother arguing with him, not when he wore that dark, predatory look of intent. “Okay, fine. This will only take a second, anyway.”

  * * *

  Standing in the open doorway, Brody hooked his thumbs in his front pockets, braced his shoulder against the doorjamb and watched Michaela meet the Armani-suited human in the middle of her front yard. The neighborhood remained silent, but then she’d told him it was an elderly community, most of its residents keeping early hours. And being at the far end of the street provided a certain degree of privacy.

  He could tell from Ross Holland’s body language that the prick was furious to have found him there. Wearing a ghost of a smile, Brody kept his stare targeted on the guy’s handsome face, watching him closely, just waiting for the idiot to make a wrong move. If the bastard even looked at her the wrong way, Brody was going to take it personally.

  The guy muttered something to Michaela, and her shoulders drew back, spine rigid as she hissed back at him, their words lost in the gusting breeze that played havoc with her long, midnight curls, until Holland raised his voice. “You’re dumping me for a scarred-up freak like him?”

  “How dare you!” she seethed, advancing on the ass like an enraged she-cat. “I’ll have you know that he’s better-looking than you could ever hope to be. And what’s more, he’s a man, Ross. A real man. He doesn’t need to hide behind designer suits and power ties, the way you do, trying to disguise what a worthless little prick you are. And for your information, I dumped you a long time ago!”

  Stunned by her passionate defense of him, Brody swallowed the heavy lump of emotion in his throat. He had the strangest sensation of warmth in his chest, like something cracking open, spilling inside of him—but at the same time, an uneasy feeling curled around the backs of his ears, solidifying as he heard the asshole snarl, “You’ll be sorry for this.”

  Taking a step onto the porch, he frowned as Michaela said, “I’m already sorry. I’m sorry for letting you use me, sorry for ever setting eyes on you. Now get off my property and know this, Ross. The next time you set foot on it, I’m calling the cops and the news crews. What do you think your wife and constituents would think of that, Councilman Holland?”

  His face turning a mottled shade of pink, Holland spit out, “You snide little bitch. No one talks to me that way, Michaela. Not even a mouthy little whore like you.” He grabbed her as the last words left his mouth, but Brody was already moving. With a savage growl of outrage erupting from his chest, Brody rushed forward, seeing red—the whole scene taking place within a mere span of seconds. He was almost on them when the bastard pulled back his arm and smacked her across the face, jerking her head sharply to the side as she slammed to the ground. Brody instantly sensed the warm scent of her blood, his rage burning hotter, more violently than ever before. In a flying leap that hurtled him high in the air, over her body, he took Holland to the ground, rolling once and pinning the human to the damp grass beneath him.

  “What the hell are you?” Holland gasped, staring at him in wide-eyed shock, his face pale with fear. Brody knew he should have been concerned about revealing the animalistic side of his nature, but he was too furious to worry about the inhuman leap he’d made to take the creep down.

  “Trust me, asshole,” he snarled, his voice so guttural, he sounded more animal than man, “you don’t want to know what I am. And I’ll tell you why. Because the thing I hate the most in this godforsaken world is spineless pricks who hit women.” He leaned closer, aware that his eyes glowed with an unearthly light, his gums and fingertips burning as deadly fangs and claws fought to break free, held back by the last, crumbling vestiges of his control.

  “Jesus Christ!” Holland croaked, his perfect features twisted into a mask of terror as he stared into Brody’s changing eyes. “You’re some kind of…of—”

  “I’m your worst goddamn nightmare. And if you ever come near her again, I will take you apart, you cowardly son of a bitch.”

  Holland stared up at him in mute horror, and Brody felt his beast shift beneath his skin, prowling the confines of his body, desperate to break free of its human prison and go at the bastard with teeth and claws. He’d never been so livid before, his fury like a physical thing in his body that had substance and weight, pulsing like a toothache in his gut, pressing against his skin from the inside out. Panting, trapped between the fury of the man and the bloodthirsty hunger of his beast, he kept Holland pinned to the ground, struggling to maintain that final tenuous hold on his control, until he felt the cool, gentle brush of Michaela’s fingers against the nape of his neck.

  “It’s okay, Brody. Let him go,” she murmured, soothing him with nothing more than the touch of her skin against his. “He isn’t worth it.”

  “The bastard deserves to pay for striking you,” he snarled, shaking, sweat slicking his skin despite the cool chill of the autumn breeze.

  “Please, Brody,” she whispered, her voice small, shaken.

  “Just let him go. I want to go inside now. I just want to get away from him and never set eyes on him again.”

  Heaving a deep, ragged breath, he released his hold on Holland, standing as he watched the human roll onto his hands and knees, crawling across the yard, until he finally lurched to his feet and stumbled his way to his car. Climbing behind the wheel, he sped away without ever looking back. Brody watched until the taillights of the Mercedes disappeared at the end of the street, Holland nearly taking the turn on two wheels in his haste. He’d wanted to give the bastard a final warning to never come near Michaela again, but figured he’d made his point.

  Flexing his hands out at his sides, he took another deep, shuddering breath, struggling to regain control of his emotions, until he turned and saw Michaela standing at his side. From one heartbeat to the next, he felt that vicious burst of rage transform back into sexual craving the second he set eyes on her. The only thing that stopped him from grabbing her up and taking her to the ground, sinking into her then and there, was the knowledge that she needed his comfort at that moment, not his lust.

  But God, he was dying, the need killing him.

  “You’re done calling the shots,” he rasped. “I was an idiot to let you talk me into it, you coming out here alone. And that was the last time it’s going to happen. From now on, I’m stuck on you like a shadow, no matter who you’re dealing with. Understood?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, the soft glow of the streetlamp illuminating the fear in her eyes, as well as the angry welt of red slashing across her cheek from Holland’s hand, the corner of her mouth bleeding. “I understand.”

  Steeling himself to hold it together, Brody moved forward and lifted her into his arms, locking his jaw against the jarring, heart-pounding knowledge of how perfect she felt against him. His pulse was roaring in his ears like the ocean surf, rhythmic and strong, blocking out everything else. The world could have come crashing down around them and he wouldn’t have flinched, wouldn’t have known, every part of him focused with blinding intensity on the warm feminine body snuggling against him, as if he were her shelter in a world gone mad.

  She rested he
r face in the crook of his shoulder, slender arms wound around his neck, softly panting breaths warm and damp against his skin, and melted into him, so trusting that it damn near broke his heart. Her scent drifted up from the pulse point in the base of her throat, and he nearly walked into the side of the house, missing the open doorway, his fascinated gaze snagged on that fluttering patch of skin, so soft and smooth, begging for the touch of his tongue, the carnal scrape of his fangs.

  Gritting his teeth, Brody ripped his gaze away and focused on the stairs as he climbed to the second story, heading down the softly lit hallway. “Which bathroom?” he asked, his voice a quiet rasp, betraying the slightest tremor.

  “The one next to my room,” she murmured, and his gut clenched as he felt her mouth move against the sensitive skin of his throat, like a lover rubbing sweetheart promises into his flesh. Not that he’d ever had a lover who promised him anything, much less love or affection.

  Yeah, and let’s pass on the pity party, he silently snarled, disgusted with himself.

  He found the bathroom with the door open, and moved into the shadowy space, settling her on the counter between two sinks. A dimmer switch controlled the lighting, so he twisted it until nothing more than a soft wash of gold filled the warm, inviting space, needing to see what he was doing, but wanting as much shadow to hide behind as he could get. He knew it made him a coward, but between Sheffield and Holland and this gnawing need to get Michaela Doucet naked and under him as fast as humanly possible, he’d already been pushed to his limits.