Last Wolf Watching

by Rhyannon Byrd

  Since Michaela had no intention of turning Lycan, she was going to need to be clear about whether or not she was Brody’s mate before she begged him to bite her again. And she had been ready to beg. For some reason, whenever he touched her, the thought of his fangs sinking into her throat became incredibly arousing, adding a deeper layer to the hunger that coursed through her veins.

  Of course, she also couldn’t help but wonder about the fact that he’d obviously wanted to bite her. Did that mean that Brody’s urge was born from a deeper need to bond her to him, because she was his mate?

  Oh God. The thought made her pulse ramp up to breathtaking speed, her head feeling light as she sat at the table, waiting for Torrance to return. Her best friend had gone to answer the knocking at the cabin’s front door, thinking it would be Jillian with some last-minute tasks. However, when Torrance walked back into the kitchen, she didn’t have the pack’s beautiful, golden-haired Spirit Walker with her. Instead, the visitor was an older Lycan, most likely in her early seventies, her auburn hair pulled back in an elegant French twist.

  Torrance shot her an anxious what-the-hell-is-going-on kind of look as she stepped into the room, the guest coming in just behind her. Staring straight at Michaela with penetrating green eyes, the woman asked, “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes,” Michaela rasped, keeping a careful grip on her teacup, making sure it didn’t rattle as she set it down and came to her feet. “You’re Brody’s grandmother.”

  “That’s right,” the Lycan murmured, taking a seat across from her at the table. “I’m Abigail Carter.”

  “Your grandson is still sleeping, Ms. Carter,” Michaela murmured, beginning to step away from the table, “but if you don’t mind waiting, I can get him for you.”

  “No, no, that’s all right. Take a seat, child.” She waited for Michaela to sit down once again, making no secret of studying her with a critical eye, declining Torrance’s offer of coffee or tea. After flashing her an encouraging smile, Torrance moved to the sink, where a mass of flowers had been left, and began trimming the stems. At the same time, Abigail Carter folded her hands on the gleaming surface of the table, saying,

  “There’s no need to fetch my grandson. I’m sure he’d only refuse to talk with me anyway. No, it’s you I came to see. I’d hoped to catch you like this, without Brody near, so that we could talk for a moment.”

  Warily, Michaela asked, “Why would you want to talk with me?”

  The woman’s expression remained as closed as her grandson’s, giving nothing away, but there was a tightness around her eyes that suggested she wasn’t quite as relaxed as she was trying to appear. Michaela threw out the soft net of her power, but caught nothing, a surge of frustration flaring as she realized she couldn’t read this woman any more than she could read Brody.

  Answering her question, Abigail said, “I’ve heard the rumors of what transpired at your brother’s Novitiate’s ceremony. Dreadful stuff, really. I don’t know why the pack is so stubborn in its desire to support Stefan Drake, but then we often hold on to the idea that we find most comforting. It’s easier for them to believe that the Runners’ accusations are false, saving them the humiliation of admitting that they’ve allowed themselves to be led by a racist fanatic. But I’m afraid they won’t open their eyes to the truth until it’s too late. In that regard, I’m not so different.”

  “But from what you’ve just said,” Michaela murmured,

  “you’re clearly not one of Drake’s followers.”

  “I’m not speaking about Drake, Ms. Doucet. But my grandson.”

  Frowning, Michaela shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  Abigail sent her a meaningful look, while a low vein of laughter vibrated her slight frame. “You’re a beautiful girl, Michaela, but you couldn’t tell a lie to save your life. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Let’s not be coy. I’m too old and the topic is too important.”

  “Very well,” she said, her temper flaring as she thought of all the heartache this woman had caused in Brody’s young life, at a time when he’d needed her love and comfort. “If you want honesty, here it is. I’m wondering what possible interest you could have in your grandson, Ms. Carter. Brody has spoken of the upbringing he received at your hands.”

  “And?” Abigail asked, her voice slightly softer than before.

  “And it was so cold,” she explained, anger causing her own voice to shiver, “I’m surprised to see you’re a flesh-and-blood woman, and not made of ice.”

  At the sink, Torrance made a sharp, choking sound of surprise, and Michaela knew she’d shocked her with her bluntness. She had been raised to always show respect to her elders, but the protective streak she felt where Brody was concerned made her so angry, it was all she could do not to stand up and demand to know why the woman had been such a coldhearted bitch. She thought she might have, too—if it weren’t for the memory of Meredith’s words to Brody, reminding her that there was a good chance Abigail had finally come to her senses and had a change of heart.

  “I suppose I deserve that,” the Lycan murmured, the corner of her mouth twisting with a self-deprecating smile. “God knows I’ve made my share of mistakes. And you’ve got fire, girl, which is just what he needs. He had that fire as a child, brimming with heat and emotion, and I chilled that in him. Taught him how to bury it all inside, until he learned the lesson even better than I’d hoped.”

  “So you don’t deny that you were cold to him? That you withheld the love and comfort he so desperately needed?”

  “I’m too old to waste time denying my mistakes. I was tough on him, I know. But after what happened to my son, I wanted to make Brody strong. Make him hard enough to stand on his own.”

  “And did you also set out to teach him that he wasn’t worthy of a woman’s love?”

  Abigail shook her head wearily, the early-morning sunlight glinting off dark red hair so similar to Brody’s. “An unfortunate consequence that I hadn’t planned on, but then we rarely see things clearly while we’re living them. It’s only hindsight that gives us such a clear, painful picture of our errors. I thought I was protecting him from making the same mistakes as his father. He learned the lesson too well, though, and I’ve feared he’d always be alone,” she confessed softly, before a small smile curled the corner of her mouth. “And yet, from what I’ve heard, it seems that you’ve managed to break through his armor.”

  Michaela lifted her chin. “Only because I refuse to let him scare me away.”

  “Like I said, you’ve got fire, girl. And I’m glad. It’s what Brody needs, someone who’ll shake that infernal reserve of his. Unlike his father, Brody has chosen well. And hopefully he’ll learn to follow his heart before it’s too late.”

  Her anger softening, Michaela said, “It’s not too late for you, either, Ms. Carter.”

  “Perhaps, perhaps,” Abigail murmured with a wistful expression as she rose to her feet. “But now I must be on my way. Enjoy the wedding, ladies. If my grandson is half the man I believe him to be, I have a strong feeling it won’t be long before the Alley hosts another wedding. And this time, I expect to be invited.”

  With those softly spoken words, Abigail walked out of the kitchen, leaving both Michaela and Torrance staring quietly at the archway, their expressions mirroring their surprise.

  “Are you going to tell Brody she was here?” Torrance finally asked.

  “I…I don’t think so, chère. Not yet. I want to see what Abigail does. If she’s serious about wanting a relationship with Brody, then she can make the next move. Telling me what she wants and actually doing it are two different things.” Picking up her teacup, she carried it to the counter, adding, “It may sound heartless, but I’m more worried about Brody than her. He doesn’t deserve to be played with.”

  Sighing, Torrance placed a comforting hand on Michaela’s shoulder. “I agree. And I’ll go ask Mase to tell the others to stay quiet about her visit.”

  * * *


  After waking up in his office, Brody had swung his legs over the side of the chocolate leather sofa, hung his head between his shoulders and braced his elbows on his knees. For endless moments, he’d struggled to get his breathing back under control, the strangest dream he’d ever had still screwing with his mind. A disturbingly tender, heartwarming dream of him and Michaela sitting on a blanket in the middle of a field, playing with a baby girl who had looked just like her mother, but for the bottle-green eyes that had stared up at him with such joyful delight, it made his chest hurt.

  He didn’t know where in God’s name the images had originated from, the thought of his own child as alien to him as the idea of walking on the surface of the moon. He’d just accepted as fact that it would never happen in his lifetime, so what was the point in wishing for it? But the dream had been so crisp, so clear, the little girl’s laughter filling his ears, making him smile, while Michaela had sat beside them, staring at them with the most powerful look of love; he’d felt like the luckiest bastard alive.

  Where had it come from? He ground his jaw, wondering if the damn woman had bewitched him…put a spell on him.

  His mood, already slipping into foul, hadn’t improved when he’d failed to find Michaela in his cabin, unable to believe he’d been so angry the night before he’d forgotten to set the security system. Panic had ripped at him with deep, gouging force as he ran out of his front door, not even bothering with his shirt and shoes. He’d run into Cian first thing, who was setting up the tables and chairs for Jeremy and Jillian’s wedding. His partner had arched his brow when he saw him, then silently pointed at the Dillingers’ cabin, a slow, knowing grin curving one corner of his mouth, a cigarette perched in the other. Snarling under his breath, Brody had set off for the cabin, finding Michaela laughing in the kitchen with Torrance, Jillian and her younger sister, Sayre, the women busy as they arranged the centerpieces for the wedding tables.

  Riding the hard edge of fear and fury, he’d ripped into her for leaving the cabin without waking him. After the threat they’d received along with Pippa’s scalp, he’d told her he expected her to be smart enough to know that she stayed by his side at all times. He’d expected her to snarl back, giving as good as she got, but instead she’d only smiled at him and apologized for making him worry, her mood as calm and poised as his was fractured and raw. And it didn’t improve from there.

  Now, with the wedding over and the celebration well under way, Brody sat at the head table, his jacket draped over the back of his chair, watching Michaela talk with Torrance while they stood beside one of the elegant fire pots that had been placed among the tables to provide warmth for the guests. Reluctantly, he admitted to no one but himself that fear for her safety accounted for only part of his foul mood. The other came from the fact that he wanted her all to himself, jealous of everyone she talked to, smiled at, danced with. Of the wineglass that touched her lips, the soft, navy-blue silk of the dress that draped so sensually over her body. He wanted to be the only thing covering her skin, warming her with his heat, with the hard press of his flesh against hers.

  Frustrated with himself, he wondered if it was the romantic setting making him so on edge…so restless. Brody had only been to a handful of weddings in his lifetime, but he knew enough to understand that, like Torrance and Mason’s two weeks before, Jeremy and Jillian’s ceremony had been special. He was hardly the sentimental type, but he’d sensed the wave of emotion overcoming the guests as the bride and groom had exchanged their vows. Jeremy’s deep voice had been husky, the reverent look in his eyes as he stared at his stunning bride enough to make the single men shift uncomfortably, while the women had swiped at their tears. It was obvious the couple loved each other to distraction, and after a decade of bitter heartache and separation, even Brody had to admit that it was wonderful to finally see them so happy.

  Pushing one hand back through his hair, he tried to pull his gaze away from Michaela—but he couldn’t do it.

  As if she could feel the press of his eyes on her, she turned her head, a slow, siren smile curving across that beautiful, fantasy-inspiring mouth. She’d been smiling at him like that all day and night, driving him wild, making him so hungry he was amazed he’d been able to hold it together for as long as he had. He wanted so badly to take what she was offering, no longer caring if she was using him or not.

  But what about the bite? Would he be able to resist? Christ, he didn’t know. The only thing he knew with any sense of certainty was that the night had worn him down to his last nerve—and watching her share a dance with Dylan a few minutes earlier hadn’t helped.

  Monroe, who had been having a blast playing DJ, put on a slow jazz piece with a deep, heavy rhythm of alto saxophone. Taking the empty seat at Brody’s side, Mason stretched out his long legs under the table, a lazy smile on his face as he looked out over the dancing couples. Mason’s father, Robert, had asked Torrance to dance and was now playfully twirling her around and around, her long red hair streaming behind her as her laughter filled the air. And on the other side of the makeshift dance floor, the bride and groom danced so close together their noses were nearly touching as they gazed dreamily into each other’s eyes. Everywhere he looked, guests were enjoying themselves. All but Pullaton, who was taking his turn patrolling the woods, ensuring no one came near the Alley with the intention of causing trouble.

  Sighing, Mason took a long sip of his champagne, then said, “How are you holding up?”

  Brody grunted under his breath as he watched Cian approach Michaela and ask for a dance. They moved together onto the parquet dance floor, the evening wind blowing her long curls until they wrapped around Cian’s shoulder, and the tall Runner took her into his arms, both of them dark-haired and gorgeous, like something off the cover of a goddamn magazine.

  In all the years that they’d been friends, since Cian had come to live with the Silvercrest, Brody had never been jealous of him—until this moment. For the first time, he now coveted his partner’s effortless charm, his perfect good looks. It was as if nature were playing a bad joke on them all, singling Michaela out as his mate, instead of the handsome Irishman’s. And yet, he knew there was no way he would ever let Cian have her.

  “Michaela looks like she’s having a good time,” Mason murmured.

  Softly, he snarled, “I’m going to take Cian apart if he doesn’t get his hand off her ass.”

  “That’s her back, not her ass,” Mason snorted, before saying, “We need to talk.”

  Brody scowled. If he got a lecture on being more sociable, he was going to take his drink and dump it over Mason’s head. “What about?”

  Leaning forward to set his empty champagne glass on the table, Mason quietly said, “I talked to Dylan before the ceremony. He didn’t want to say anything in front of everyone and ruin things for Jeremy and Jillian, but he had news, and none of it was good. The first thing he told me was that Drake is pressing for a vote to rescind Jillian’s position, just as we’d expected. He thinks the League could call the meeting any day now.”

  “Nice wedding present,” Brody sneered, his contempt for the League hardening the edges of his speech. “We’ll have to stand with her and Jeremy when it happens. Offer our support.”

  “I agree,” Mason sighed. “And believe it or not, his second bit of news was even worse. They found Pippa’s body just before he got here.”

  He scrubbed his hands down his face, cursing under his breath. “Where was she?”

  “Out by the old mill. She’d been staked to a tree, the word traitor carved into her stomach with a set of claws.”

  “Shit,” he muttered, rubbing at the knots of tension in the back of his neck.

  “Yeah, it was pretty bad,” Mason grated, slanting him a dark look from the corner of his eye. “From what Dylan was told, sounds like she was covered with bite marks. I think they killed her as slowly and painfully as possible.”

  Leaning forward in his chair, Brody braced his elbows on his spread knees, his gaze finding Mich
aela as she danced through another song with his partner. “They obviously killed her because she talked to Jeremy,” he said grimly.

  “That’s what I explained to Dylan, since we hadn’t told him yet that it was Pippa who talked.”

  “Speaking of Dylan,” Brody rumbled, “he looks rough as hell tonight.”

  “Yeah, I’m worried about him,” Mason admitted. “It’s not like him to show up to something like this without a woman on his arm, but who knows. I’ve already warned him twice tonight to let up on the liquor, which isn’t like him, either. Maybe it’s just the stress getting to him. I think he’s been burning the candle at both ends.”

  “Maybe,” he grunted, but as he cut his gaze to the haggard-looking Elder slouched against the side of Jeremy’s cabin, silently watching the couples dance, Brody found himself wondering if it wasn’t something more.

  Chapter 12

  The towering flames of the nearby fires warmed the night, while zigzagged strings of overhead lights glinted above their heads like shimmering stars as Michaela danced with Cian, the Irishman’s tall, muscled body moving in perfect rhythm with hers. She enjoyed dancing with him, as much as she could enjoy dancing with any man who wasn’t Brody—and Brody hadn’t asked her. Cian was sinfully dark and beautiful, but he didn’t make her heart race. Instead, she felt comfortable with Brody’s partner, as if he were someone she could become great friends with.

  Smiling up at the grinning Irishman, Michaela kept her voice soft as she said, “Thanks for asking me to dance. When Torrance partnered up with Robert, I was afraid Dylan was going to come over and ask me again.”

  “Don’t you like Dylan?” he rasped, gazing down at her with pale gray eyes that looked almost silver beneath the thick black fringe of his lashes.

  Lifting her shoulder, she tried to explain. “I have no reason not to like him. It’s just…there’s something about him that puts me on edge.”