This is where I live now.
“Denise, the floor is cold. You need to get dressed.” Yogi loomed over her.
What was he doing there?
“I showered,” she said, looking at him through slitted eyes. She didn’t care what he was about to order her to do. Moving wasn’t an option. “It was grueling.”
“You have no idea,” he muttered before tossing a second towel over her. Standing, he added a third one for good measure.
“I’m going to pick you up now. You’re going back to bed.”
Denise shivered. Her brain felt fuzzy, “Aren’t I supposed to be on my way to werewolf jail?” she asked as he lifted her.
“We’re going to have to put that off. You didn’t react well to the meds. We’ll go tomorrow.”
It was only a night’s reprieve, not a stay of execution.
Worry about it later. She closed her eyes and fell asleep in Yogi’s arms.
Distressed yipping woke her up. It was dark outside the windows, but someone had left the bedside lamp in the corner burning.
Ow. It felt as if a freight train had run over her. Or a team of little leaguers had gone at her with their tiny bats.
Despite that, Denise forced herself to stand and walk to the bedroom door. The upset puppy sounds were coming from Oliver. She had to make sure Yogi wasn’t doing something to hurt him.
She was unsurprised to find the door unlocked. Why would her captor bother when he was able to catch her so easily? Yogi could move like lightning—and the way he picked her up like she didn’t weigh anything.
The one time Max had tried to pick her up, he’d grunted and set her down immediately. He hadn’t come right out and said she was too fat, but he’d whined about his back hurting for the rest of the night.
She found Yogi in the bathroom, but he wasn’t using the steam shower this time. He had Oliver in the tub.
Denise took one look and nearly screamed. The pup was covered in blood.
“What are you doing?” she asked, holding the edge of the door to keep from falling. “Why is he bleeding?”
Yogi turned around to scowl at her. “It’s tomato sauce. Oliver got skunked.”
She frowned, blinking. The blood was a very bright, light red and slightly textured. “Skunked?”
“Yeah, as in sprayed by one.” He turned around and scrubbed the tomato sauce deeper into Oliver’s furry head. “As if I didn’t already have enough to deal with,” he grumbled, clearly put out by having to care for not one, but two people.
Denise scowled at the back of his head. “If I’m cramping your style, you could always let me go.”
“As if you could go anywhere in your condition. You’re only standing because you’re holding onto the door. Now sit down before you fall again.”
Again? When had she fallen the first time? Lying down on the bathroom floor didn’t count. She had done it intentionally.
Denise wanted to bitch him out, but he had a point. She sat on the closed toilet with a huff, watching the bathtub proceedings with a wrinkled nose. There was a trace of skunk in the air. And didn’t werewolves have ultra-sensitive noses? Where had she read that?
“Poor Oliver. How did it happen?”
“It was at the lake. We went while you were asleep.”
“There’s a lake?”
“There’s one just beyond the trees in the back that’s fed by a little stream. Looks like a good fishing area.”
She sniffed disdainfully, but immediately regretted it. “Well, I’m glad you’ve found your next vacation spot, but forgive me for overlooking the location’s many wonders. I can’t really appreciate the view when contemplating life behind bars.”
Yogi clucked his tongue as he rinsed Oliver and wrapped him in a towel. He thrust the bundle at her, then scooped her and Oliver up.
Clutching the cub to her, she tensed, preparing to be dropped. But Yogi didn’t stumble or grunt. It didn’t seem like he was exerting himself at all.
How strong is he?
“I told you, it’s not going to be like that,” he told her, carrying them to the living room. “In fact, given what a pain in the butt you are, I don’t think your stay with the pack is going to be all that long. They’ll be eager to let you go once they get to know you.”
She narrowed her eyes, but her much-wished-for pyrokinetic ability failed to kick in. He moved around the room with fluid grace, not in flames, setting them on the couch.
Well, he is smoking, but not in that way.
Denise turned her attention to Oliver, drying him with the towel he was wrapped in. “You know, this would go much quicker without the fur,” she told him, rubbing weakly around his ears.
She was still feeling like death warmed over.
If only I had a gun…she wouldn’t do anything. Even to save her own life, she couldn’t take someone else’s.
Maybe he’s serious about the pack not hurting me. If the pack was going to have her killed, Yogi could have done it already. This place was isolated enough. If he had the urge to hack her to pieces with an ax, no one would hear her screams.
Instead, Yogi had given her medicine and taken care of her when she wasn’t able to do it herself. Plus, someone planning to do you in wouldn’t be such a complainer.
“Shouldn’t he be changing back by now?” she asked, drying the cub’s fur as best she could.
Yogi’s pants buzzed. “Don’t worry about him,” he said, fishing the phone out. “At his age, being skunked is a rite of passage. If it’s his first or second time, he won’t change back for a while. Our young feel more secure as cubs.”
There you go. He wouldn’t be explaining things if she was going to be killed, Denise thought, deciding to be optimistic.
She would go to werewolf-land willingly and do whatever she had to in order to win their trust…except being social and charming had always been difficult for her.
Too bad there isn’t a lycanthrope version of ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People.’
That didn’t matter. She would find a way. There were too many things she had to do, too many animals that needed her.
“I don’t suppose there is a way to speed up the process?” she asked.
“What process?” Yogi asked absently, still fiddling with his phone.
“The one where I get your people to trust me so I can get early parole. No offense, but I’d like to hurry up and forget your kind exist.” She bent to kiss Oliver’s fur. “Except you, kiddo.”
Yogi put the phone down, his chin puckered in thought. “Well, there’s one, but I don’t think you’re going to be up for it…”
Yet another man who underestimated her. She rubbed the towel on Oliver’s paws. “Just spit it out.”
There was another beep, and Yogi checked the phone again. His cheeks thinned as his expression hardened. “Never mind.”
Denise rolled her eyes. “Will you at least stop texting? Do I have to remind you that you’re in the middle of a hostage negotiation?”
Yogi looked up, lips flat. “That’s not what this is.”
“You know what I mean,” she snapped. “You keep acting like this isn’t a big deal when it’s huge. I may not have family, but there will be people who’ll be looking for me—a boyfriend for starters.”
Yogi threw her an uncomfortable glance. “Yeah, about that…I’m not sure you do,” he said, showing her the cell he’d been holding.
“Hey, that’s mine. I thought it was yours!” Denise reached over and tried to snatch it from his hand. “What the hell?”
He handed over the black smartphone with no fuss. Confused and little bit startled, she snatched it from his hand and hugged it to her chest.
“I could call the police now.”
“But you won’t.”
They stared at each other. He broke eye contact first.
“Just check your messages. There’s a couple of new texts from your boyfriend,” he said, emphasizing the last word with obvious distaste.
“Yo
u should dump that loser. Trust me, he’s no loss,” he added.
Denise ran her fingers over the screen. She didn’t have to guess why she was suddenly getting this advice.
Chest tight, she hit the green message icon. There were over half a dozen messages from Max. After a string of selfies in front of the chimps he’d accompanied to Africa and some random elephants, there was a rambling message. One line leapt out at her—I think we should explore an open relationship.
She didn’t bother to read the rest. Denise set the phone down and blinked a few times to ease the sting of tears.
Well, that was humiliating. Not unexpected, but humiliating.
As if to prove things couldn’t get more surreal, Yogi sat next to her and awkwardly patted her on the back. Oliver turned in circles in her lap, a sure sign of agitation.
Under normal circumstances, she would have fought to hide her reaction. But she was too tired…and really, Yogi could go fuck himself if he taunted her about this.
Except he wasn’t doing that. He was rubbing her back. True, it was too hard and a bit rough, as if he was unused to handling humans, but it was the thought that counted, right?
Her sudden peal of laughter caught them off guard.
Yogi’s hand froze mid-pat. “What was that for?”
It was the tone of concern that overwhelmed her. She laughed harder, the sound tinged with hysteria.
She set aside a whining Oliver to wipe her eyes. “My boyfriend is such a shit that my kidnapper is comforting me. That’s how much my life sucks.”
“You don’t suck.”
“I didn’t say I sucked. I said my life sucked.” She collapsed on the couch cushions, totally drained.
“There’s a difference,” she added tonelessly, too tired to reach out and stroke Oliver’s ears. Fortunately for her, he did the work for her, pushing his furry little head under her hand.
Yogi took her phone back and started typing.
“What are you doing?” she asked, only half-interested.
“I’m texting this Max loser.”
She made a half-hearted effort to take the phone back. “I don’t need you to threaten him.”
He smirked. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
The swishing sound of a text being sent jolted her out of her apathy. She sat bolt upright. “What did you just do?”
Yogi’s smile was devilish. “I broke up with him for you—you’re welcome.”
“Are you serious?”
“Like a nun.”
Ugh. “You’re your sister’s worst nightmare, aren’t you?” She could picture the poor girl—wolf—now. He’d probably chased all her boyfriends away.
Yogi’s smile was blinding. “Actually, she adores me,” he said.
Denise jerked her phone out of his hand to see what he’d written. “I don’t want an open relationship, or a relationship at all, because I met someone else?”
“What? It’s perfect.”
She shook her head. “Werewolves obviously don’t understand human relationships. You probably just smell each other’s butts and decide to hump in the woods. Max is never going to buy that I met someone right when he asks for an open relationship. It’s an obvious face-saving lie. Do me a favor and stop doing me favors, please.”
Yogi ignored her butt-sniffing comment, his cheerfulness unabated. “Then let’s provide some evidence.”
He pulled her into his side, hugging her to him. Positioning the phone above them, he took a selfie. “There.”
Her mouth dropped open, but she closed it with a snap. “May as well show off the biceps while you’re at it—you know, to really rub it in his face.”
The sarcasm was lost on him. “Good idea.”
Yogi whipped off his T-shirt, revealing model-perfect pecs and a set of abdominal ridges that stretched down into oblivion.
Denise flushed warmly when he got back into position, curving his arm around her with his fingers dangerously close to her chest. She’d never been this close to a non-beer related six pack in her entire life.
He clicked the red button on the screen before bringing the phone closer to his face. “Well, it would be more convincing if you smiled, but this will have to do.”
The send alert whooshed again. “I’m going to make dinner now,” he said pocketing her phone. “Make sure Oliver doesn’t go out again before he’s dry. Otherwise, he’ll need another bath.”
With that, Yogi left the room.
She sat there looking at the space he had occupied. That was either the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her…or the most devious.
“It won’t work,” she called, deciding on devious. With his superior werewolf hearing, he’d be able to catch every word.
“Even if we broke up, Max and the rest of my team will come looking for me!”
She didn’t bother to add that it would be because the others ran out of money to keep their operation going.
With that depressing thought, she picked up Oliver and cuddled him to her chest.
“If they do find me dead in a ditch, smartass over there just incriminated himself and gave the police a way to identity him, so that’s some consolation,” she told him.
13
You do not want Denise Hammond.
Yogi had repeated that mantra multiple times since last night. Unfortunately, all those attempts to convince himself only seemed to reinforce his desire.
It was as if Denise’s scent was a living thing, like one of those tangible teasing vapors from old cartoons—the kind that wrapped around, tweaking his senses and lifting him up until he was panting and drooling.
The universe was asking for a lot if it wanted him to keep his hands off her.
Too many times, he’d pictured himself biting her sarcastic tongue at dinner the night before. By the time the meal was over, he could barely concentrate on her actual words. He was too focused on her lips to even notice she was conversationally tearing him a new one in novel and snarky ways.
After locking her in the bedroom for the night, he’d gone on a quick run, followed by a very cold shower. He promised himself that by the time the sun rose, his affliction would be gone. That it was merely an aberration.
Yogi’s willpower around the opposite sex was better developed than that of his peers. He wasn’t a monk, but he’d been selective in his choice of partners, so much so that it had become a game for some of the women in the pack. They pursued him so often that wagers had been made over whether he’d succumb. Usually the winning side was the one laying odds on his restraint.
Except this time, he was rooting for himself to lose.
Yogi didn’t know why that scrawny idiot Max wanted to see other people, but he had been around humans long enough to know they were frequently shortsighted and unappreciative of atypical women. If a woman had curves, then she wasn’t skinny enough. If she was slim, she was too thin and needed implants to give an idealized hourglass figure.
Humans didn’t even put real women on magazines anymore. Everyone was airbrushed and altered to the point that they didn’t even look human. Models ended up looking like the fae, with their too-perfect faces and proportions that didn’t exist in nature. Sometimes, even bits that should be there weren’t, just like a failed glamour. It was unnerving.
Yogi knew a few of his kind who appreciated a svelte figure. But most werewolves were attracted to women with lush curves. Just like Denise’s.
The idea of handing her over to the Averys on a silver platter was swiftly becoming an anathema.
It has to be done. Even if he somehow managed to convince Denise there were better things to do with her whiplash tongue, Yogi wasn’t ready to settle down.
Stop thinking about her damn mouth!
After serving Oliver and Denise a big breakfast, he bundled them into the Jeep and headed for the Colorado border.
A little voice nagged him to drive in the opposite direction and head for the Canadian border instead.
Shut the f-up little voice.
To his surprise, Denise was going along quietly. She even offered to hold Oliver in her lap—although the pup didn’t leave her much choice.
“Have a change of heart?” he asked after a few miles had passed. “Does this mean you finally believe me that being our guest won’t be so bad?”
She picked at the fur on Oliver’s ears. “No, not really. I think it’s going to be a huge inconvenience. I have things to do, plans in motion. An extended stay in one place will put everything on hold. But…I guess I do believe that they’re not going to bump me off or anything like that.”
She turned and narrowed her eyes at him. “If I’m wrong, you’re the first person I’m coming back to haunt.”
It wasn’t exactly enthusiasm, but he wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. “Everything will be fine. I’m sure you’ll even be able to take care of some of your business interests from Colorado after a while,” he promised before lapsing into a reverie of his own.
He was quiet so long even Oliver noticed. The pup barked at him repeatedly from Denise’s lap.
“What’s eating you?” she asked him, an adorable pucker between her brows.
“Nothing.”
“Do you think they’ll be trouble?”
He frowned at her. Had she guessed he was growing reluctant to give her up? “Trouble?”
“One of the first things you said to me was that there was history between Oliver’s family and your own. I assume you meant the bad kind.”
He was surprised she remembered that. Most women would only be able to recall seeing their first werewolf shift.
“Yeah, it’s the bad kind, but don’t worry. That won’t affect their reception of you.”
Denise stiffened. “Right,” she muttered. “Something tells me they won’t be rolling out the welcome wagon for me either.”
“Oh, don’t worry. Most of them will love you.” Or at least, the single males would.
That was the problem.
14
Denise felt as if Judgement day had come.
“Would you like something to drink?” Jessup Avery asked, looking down his nose at her.
Kin Selection (A Shifter’s Claim Book 1) Page 6