Last Wolf Watching

by Rhyannon Byrd

  * * *

  “And after what’s happened to her, the others are going to be reluctant to stand against Drake, no matter how extreme he becomes,” she murmured, stepping away from the door and walking into the room. Michaela didn’t know what drove her forward. Loneliness? Need? Love? All of them? She only knew that she had to be near him. Stepping closer, she was no more than five feet away when he glanced up and jerked to his feet so quickly the chair crashed over behind him. Holding up his hand, he said, “Stop.”

  Michaela froze, standing in the middle of his office. She opened her mouth, but couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t scare him away. And he was already wary enough. She could see it in his eyes, in the hard tension of those broad, beautiful shoulders and the tight stretch of the roped muscles and sinew in his arms.

  “This isn’t going to happen, Doucet. I can’t touch you,” he growled in a low, tortured voice, “because once I start, I’m not going to be able to stop.”

  She absorbed that, playing the words over in her mind. Pressing one hand against her stomach, she asked, “Is there someone else you go to, then?”

  “There’s no one else,” he admitted, his tone gruff, as if the words were being ripped out of him. His strain revealed itself in the hard lines of his expression, the brackets around his mouth deeper, jaw tight, scars more prominent against the rise of color in his face. In a broken, guttural scrape of words, he said, “I haven’t…it’s been…too long.”

  With a jolt of surprise, she understood what he was trying to tell her, but it stunned her. She’d assumed a man like Brody must have women lining up to be with him, and yet she was sure he was telling her that he’d been a long time without a woman.

  Carefully, she asked, “Are you…are you afraid of hurting me?”

  “Hurting you?” he repeated, a sharp, hoarse bark of laughter jerking from his chest. “Jesus, Doucet. It may not scare you that I’m as much wolf as I am man, but it should. I want…I need…” Struggling, he finally snarled, “Just trust me when I say that you wouldn’t be tempting me if you knew what it would be like, getting under me.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” she said in a soft, quiet rush, daring to take a step closer to him. “And isn’t that my choice to make, Brody?”

  He gave a hard, sharp shake of his head. “No, I won’t risk it.”

  Risk what? Hurting her? Losing control? Biting her?

  “If you’re not willing to take the risk, then I am,” she whispered, taking that final step that brought her within mere inches of his body, so close his deliciously masculine scent filled her head, his heat warming her skin.

  Lifting her right hand to his face, she trailed her fingertips over the slight ridges of his scars, wishing she could take his pain as her own. He carried his scars on the outside, while she carried hers within. Lessons learned from a lifetime of mistakes. And yet, it didn’t feel like a mistake with Brody. It felt as if she’d finally got it right, as if she was right where she belonged.

  * * *

  The touch of her hand against his scars was Brody’s undoing. One moment he was trapped, suspended in a state of agony, and then he was reaching for her, his hands curling around her biceps, pulling her to him. Instantly, he captured her mouth with his, and she was too goddamn sweet, her taste flooring him. The textures of her mouth assaulted his system, breaking him down, leaving nothing but this trembling, aching hunger, craving, in its wake. The pansy softness of her lips, that sweet slickness that lay just inside the lush swell. He could stroke that with his tongue forever and never get enough.

  He kissed her harder, and she greedily accepted his aggression, matching it. No matter how desperately he kissed her, she responded with breathless urgency, as if he could draw the pleasure up out of her through nothing more than the touch of his mouth against hers.

  The next thing Brody knew, he was trapping her against the wall of the office, surprised to realize they’d moved from the center of the room. Pushing her against the smooth surface of the wall, he curled his fingers around her right knee and lifted her leg, the spread position giving him room to press against that warm, liquid part of her, grinding the burgeoning ache of his erection against her. He buried his face in the sweet-scented crook between her shoulder and neck, scraping the tender length of her throat with his teeth. Her skin tasted dangerously perfect, and he repeated the primitive action that completely unraveled his control. Before he knew what was happening, the tips of his fangs slipped free, and she gasped, jerking against the heavy press of his body.

  He lifted slightly away, and his eyes burned as he watched a thin rivulet of deep crimson slip across the pale perfection of her skin. His beast roared in triumph. He’d scratched her throat, drawn blood, the animal half of his nature longing to throw back its head and howl in victory. A low, thick snarl of possession broke from his mouth, and he leaned down, licking her throat, slowly lapping at the decadent taste of her, aware that his beast was drawing closer and closer to the surface.

  Without any conscious direction from his brain, his claws began slipping the skin at the tips of his fingers, and he quickly embedded them in the wall on either side of her head, blood smearing against the white plaster as he gouged its surface. At the same time, his head spun with the conflicting shouts of beast and man.

  Grinding his jaw, he forced himself to take a step back, pressing his palms against her shoulders to hold her away from him—careful not to hurt her with the claws piercing through the tips of his fingers. She stared at him, and Brody knew she was going to fight him. That she wasn’t going to accept defeat in whatever twisted game she was playing with his sanity.

  And damn but did she play dirty.

  Reaching between their bodies, she pressed her palm against the rigid, massive bulge of his cock trapped beneath the fly of his jeans.

  “Doucet,” he growled, grasping her wrist, careful not to squeeze too hard lest he crush her bone. Undeterred, she simply reached for him with her other hand. Gripping that wrist, as well, Brody squeezed his eyes shut, his voice a fractured whisper of sound as he snarled, “Goddamn it. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  * * *

  Unwilling to give up without a fight, driven by the blistering need to be close to this man, Michaela leaned forward and pressed her lips against the damp side of his throat, his skin warm and delicious beneath her mouth, his scent the most wonderful thing in the world. “Please, Brody. I want to touch you, learn you. Hold you. Feel you pulse in my hand.”

  Releasing her wrists, he took hold of her shoulders again, shoving her away from him as he rasped, “What do you want from me?”

  “I just—”

  “What? You wanna have some fun?” he burst out, the guttural words forced through his gritted teeth, eyes glowing an unearthly green within the burnished frame of his lashes. “Torture me? Is this to get me back for embarrassing you at Eric’s? Are you playing with me? Or am I a charity case, Doucet? Maybe just something to pass the time with? A little walk on the wild side, getting your cut of the danger? It wouldn’t be the first time a woman’s used me that way, but none of them ever screwed with my head the way you do. What. The. Hell. Do. You. Want. From. Me?”

  “You…just you,” she gasped, her eyes stinging with a hot wash of tears, burning with anger and passion. So many words and explanations crowded against one another in her mind, crashing together like rocks caught in a violent, churning surf.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Brody. I just wanted to make you feel good. To make you—”

  “I don’t need you to fix me,” he seethed, the auburn strands of his hair falling around the rugged angles of his face as he stared down at her, looking every bit the part of a fallen angel, tortured and dark and angry.

  “Damn it, I don’t want to fix you! And I don’t want to use you!” she shouted, thumping her fists against his broad chest.

  “I just want to be close to you! I’m different from those other women. Can’t you see that?” />
  “Yeah, they wanted a piece of me for the danger. I’m betting you just want to try and make me into something that fits in your little picture-perfect world.”

  “That’s not true,” she argued, shaking her head, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as her frustration grew, hot against the back of her throat.

  “Like hell it isn’t. But I’ve got news for you, sweetheart. It won’t work,” he snarled. “I’m not going to pretend to be something I’m not, just to make you feel better. And I’ll keep on protecting you without expecting you to pay for it on your back.”

  “Why do you always have to be so ugly?”

  “Might as well fit the personality to the face,” he snorted, the corner of his mouth kicking up in a taunting smile, but there was more pain behind his words than sarcasm. And there was no doubt he’d be even angrier if he knew she could see it.

  Her heart broke for the hurt she could see in his eyes, but it made her furious to hear the things he said to her—even more so when he kept putting himself down. Her own anger rising with stunning force, her voice shook as she said, “You’re an idiot if that’s what you really think, Brody. And blind, if you can’t see how gorgeous you are. Being a wolf doesn’t make you a monster or evil, and scars don’t make you unattractive. They only have the power you give them. And as far as the women you’ve been involved with, I don’t know what their problem was. Maybe you just have bad taste, because they sound like a bunch of bitches to me, and stupid ones at that if they weren’t smart enough to hold on to you!”

  He blinked slowly, as if shocked by her words, his expression closing in on itself, and she could see his shields thickening before her eyes. His face came closer to hers, nose to nose, the angry heat of his breath rushing against her mouth as he spoke. “I’m only going to say this once, so pay attention. Whatever it is you think you’re doing, it won’t work. You can’t come into my life with your laughter and your smiles and make things right. I may be damaged, but it isn’t your problem, and there’s nothing you can do to change it or make things different.”

  He stepped back from her, gaze nothing more than a narrow slit, mouth a hard, flat line. “So stop with the damn seduction routine, because I meant what I said, Doucet. You don’t have to whore for your safety.”

  All it took was an instant, and her hand cracked across the side of his face before she’d even realized she was going to do it. She was shocked by her action, but refused to back down as he lifted his hand, fingertips touching the red welt she’d left on his cheek. “What is it, Brody?” she whispered, swiping at the tears spilling down her cheeks, feeling lost in her own skin, as if she didn’t even know herself anymore. “Do you always find a way to push away the people who care about you?”

  “No one cares about me. Not for long, anyway. Don’t you get it?

  “You’re wrong,” she argued in a soft, nearly silent rasp.

  “You just won’t give them a chance.”

  He turned his back to her then, and she lifted her hand, reaching toward his shoulder. Michaela had never slapped a person in her entire life, not even Ross. And though Brody had been intentionally cruel with his words, she wanted to apologize. But something inside of her choked on the words…her own defenses rising to protect her, and she pulled her hand away. “No one asked you to take this job,” she said unsteadily. “When you want me gone, just say the word and I’ll be gone.”

  She turned then and walked out of the room, back down the hall, toward his bedroom. Just before she shut the door behind her, Michaela heard a loud, crunching sound come from inside the office, making her flinch.

  With a heartbreaking sense of certainty, she knew that Brody’s frustration had finally gotten the better of him.

  Chapter 11

  Michaela opened her eyes to the misty spill of early-morning sunlight drifting through the bedroom window, her head aching the way it always did when she cried herself to sleep. And yet, it wasn’t with a sense of defeat that she faced the new day. Though she’d gone to bed still questioning whether she had the courage to follow her heart, she no longer felt mired in indecision and fear. Oh no. With the refreshing glow of morning sunlight came the knowledge that she was willing to do whatever it took to get what she wanted…what she needed.

  No price was too great—not even her pride. Though heartache and bitter disappointment had smothered her as she’d lain down between the crisp, cool sheets of Brody’s bed, her dreams had freed her, filled with beauty and tenderness. With visions of Brody and the beautiful green-eyed baby girl, their laughter and smiles stealing her heart. As she rolled over to her back, staring at the sun-dappled ceiling, a sweet, refreshing wash of tears warmed her cheeks against the cool morning air. She knew, using nothing more than the yearning of her heart, that that powerful dream was worth fighting for. That it was meant to be hers. That Brody and the baby girl were meant to be hers.

  No matter how hard he fought her, she was determined to do whatever it took to become a part of Brody’s life—because Michaela wanted that dream to become a reality more than anything in the world. She wanted to hold her and Brody’s child in her arms, nuzzle the velvety softness of her cheek and kiss the smooth perfection of her forehead. And in the sweetness of the evening, when their daughter lay down to bed, she wanted to take her man into her arms and hold him, love him, cherish him.

  Her man. In all her life, she’d never thought of anyone as hers and hers alone—but he was. She felt it in her bones and her blood, in the very fabric of her soul.

  Brody Carter belonged with her.

  Drawing in a deep breath that filled her head with his rich, mouthwatering scent, she vowed then and there to see it through. It wasn’t a decision she made lightly. If she wanted him, she had to be willing to work for him, to fight and claw and battle, because there was no way he’d make it easy.

  Throwing on some jeans and a sweater, Michaela brushed out her long hair and used concealer to hide the dark circles under her eyes which seemed to keep getting darker by the day. As she stepped out of the bedroom, the cabin was silent and still, making her wonder if Brody was still sleeping. She tiptoed down the hallway and peeked into his study through the door that had been left ajar. Her breath caught at the vision he made, his long body sprawled out across the chocolate-colored sofa, his auburn hair gleaming against the rich luster of the soft leather. The only clothing he wore was a faded pair of jeans that molded his hard thighs, the top two buttons undone. He had his face turned away from her, one hand low on his bare abdomen, lying across the drool-worthy cut of his abs. The knuckles of that hand were swollen and bruised—evidence of the fact that he’d lost his temper the night before after she’d run out on him. Sure enough, there was a fist-sized hole in the drywall on the far side of the room.

  Pulling her hot gaze back to Brody, Michaela stared for a breathless eternity, it seemed, wanting so badly to walk into the room, kneel down beside him and press her lips to that shadowy vee in the open fly of his jeans. Feel the heat of his skin against her lips, the musk of his sex, salty and warm, filling her head with each breath. She’d lap at his skin with her tongue, his low grumble of pleasure telling her he was waking up, the hard, blatant ridge of his cock pressing against the denim proof of his hunger, his desire, his need.

  Then she’d release those last remaining buttons, and take that hard, massive part of him deep into her mouth, showing him how much she wanted him, how badly she wanted to make him writhe and moan. Make him feel good, wanted…even loved.

  For a moment, her fingers tightened on the soft white finish of the door, but then she slowly released her grip and stepped away, shaking her head as she stared down at her sneakers. She couldn’t do it. Not yet. She knew he still wasn’t ready. Knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’d only reject her again.

  To get what she wanted, she was going to have to tread carefully, with as much caution as determination. And she needed answers, needed insight into the enigma that was Brody Carter.

&nb
sp; Luckily, she knew just where to get them.

  * * *

  Sitting at the Dillingers’ breakfast table, Michaela took another comforting sip of tea and thought over what she’d learned from her best friend. While Mason worked with the others outside, setting up chairs for the wedding that was to take place later that evening, Torrance had told her what she knew about Brody’s past relationships. In short, there hadn’t been many. One-night stands with nameless, meaningless women—except for one. And the story behind that relationship finally explained why Brody was the only Runner who didn’t get along with Dylan Riggs.

  According to what Torrance had learned from Mason, Brody had been involved with Dylan’s younger sister, Jenny Riggs, the year before. Though Jenny rarely spent time in Shadow Peak, preferring to live with her mother’s birth pack in upstate Virginia, she had come down to stay the summer with her brother while she worked on her painting. She’d dated Brody in secret, finally breaking up with him when her brother had found out about the relationship. It seemed that while Brody was good enough for her to fool around with, Jenny had been embarrassed by the idea of the town finding out about her involvement with a Bloodrunner. She’d dumped him, left Maryland and never looked back.

  Though it made her own jealous streak burn hot, Brody’s experience with Jenny Riggs explained a lot about his resistance to a relationship with her. Michaela could have pressed Torry for information about Jenny all day long, wondering what she was like—but they were short on time and Brody’s past relationships had been only one of the questions she had for her best friend. Speaking softly to keep from being overheard, Michaela had then asked Torrance to tell her about a Lycan bite. While there was still a lot Torrance had to learn about the Lycan way of life, she was able to explain that a bite between mates created a powerful type of metaphysical link called a blood bond. The bond formed a deeper connection between the couple, to the point that it could even be used to help pinpoint the location of a mate. However, when a Lycan bit a human who wasn’t his mate, it would result in his or her turning, as it had with Max, whether the Lycan was in his wolf or human form at the time.