Suddenly, he leaned over and brushed his lips over hers. A shock of desire pulsed through her like a drumbeat and settled between her thighs. Her body wanted to curve into his, chasing more of the sensations that had her girl parts ready to play.
He sat back in his seat, watching her carefully, and she willed her eyes not to travel to his groin. The kiss was over so fast she didn’t have time to protest or even react, but her body reacted as if it had been waiting for this moment. She licked her lips and blinked at him, her heart thudding in her chest. She fingered her lips, the ghost of his touch still lingered there.
“Ah," she said, confused. Then she asked, "What was that for?”
He chuckled and leaned in close again. Her mind screamed no! to the impending contact, but her body was all for it, and she made a slight arching movement toward him.
He smelled so fucking good, and she remembered him telling her she smelled wonderful the night before. His calloused hand caressed the side of her face and cupped her chin.
“We’re engaged.” His voice was light and teasing, but his eyes smoldered with a lust Lola did not want to acknowledge. “Wolves are rough and demonstrative. If I don’t have my hands all over you, people will talk.”
Rough and demonstrative. Just how far did this “rough” business go?
Her mind instantly conjured a scenario involving her on her hands and knees and Phelan pushing the side of her face into the mattress, then fucking her silly.
Her eyebrows knit together at this unwanted thought. She was used to the look of lust in men’s eyes; what she wasn’t prepared for was the lust she felt in return. She was planning to leave soon, but her mind clamped down on thought of the “rough” treatment they might be able to get up to... together.
"Come on," he said, dropping his hand from her face. "Let's get this done so we can get some sleep."
The bell positioned over the door tinkled as they entered the diner. Heads swiveled and many pairs of eyes looked at them curiously.
She smelled fresh coffee, bacon, and pancakes. Judging by the conscientious dress of the groups, the post-church brunch crowd had arrived. They sat eating and smiling at one another in the way of happy families. Lola felt a lump of emotion rise in her throat, knowing Perdition would never be a place to call home.
She shoved back the emotion and looked at Phelan. He was scanning the space.
“Anyone look familiar?” she asked.
He lifted their clasped hands and kissed her knuckles.
“I haven’t been here in a while,” he said, shrugging. “We can just seat ourselves.”
He headed for the back of the diner, tugging Lola behind him. They passed a counter trimmed in chrome with stools all along it. Several people sat there, eating and sipping from tumblers and mugs. A couple of them turned to watch Phelan and Lola breeze by and nodded in acknowledgement.
They slid into a booth at the back of the diner, Phelan sliding in after her and draping an arm along the back of her seat. She wanted to settle back into the seat and allow herself to feel safe with him there, but it wouldn’t be real. She couldn't let herself entertain the fantasy of living with a good-looking man she was attracted to in a small town with lots of nosy people interested in knowing her. The fantasy was so far from the truth of her life that her heart broke a little whenever she let her mind go there. She was trapped in place, the window to one side, and Phelan caging her in on the other. The town looked tranquil and idyllic—a life that was completely off limits to her.
A rangy blonde woman wearing jeans and a hot pink t-shirt emblazoned with “Last Chance Diner” bustled up to them, brandishing a coffee carafe.
“Hello, I’m Twyla and I’ll be serving you today…” she started, then froze. She blinked at Phelan, then her eyes ping-ponged between Lola and Phelan. She set down the carafe and shrieked in excitement.
“Phelan Cermak!” Twyla exclaimed, her eyes shining with pleasure. "As I live and breathe."
"Twyla, I almost didn't recognize you," he said as he hopped up and pulled the blonde into his arms, giving her a cross-gender version of a bro hug.
Lola stared up at the two tall drinks of water awkwardly. How would a genuine fiancée take this? She got no sexual vibes off the two of them, so she let them hug for a beat longer, then cleared her throat.
Phelan disengaged, placed a hand on Lola’s shoulder, then introduced her with a smile. “Twyla, this is my mate, Lola.”
Mate? She puzzled over his use of the term. Was there any difference between being a mate and being a fiancée?
Lola offered a shy smile and held a hand out to the other woman.
“Aren’t you a pretty little thing? Congratulations!” Twyla said, pumping Lola’s hand with enthusiasm. “When are you going to make it official?”
Lola bristled at being called a “pretty little thing” and blinked at the woman, perplexed at what she meant by “make it official.”
“You don’t have a mark,” Twyla offered, waving at her own neck as if to illustrate. Her bright blue eyes widened candidly with avid curiosity.
“Oh,” said Lola, fingering her neck self-consciously. She'd heard somewhere that male wolves bit their mates on the neck or shoulder as part of their mating ritual. “We’re going to wait until after the wedding.”
Lola offered what she hoped was a sheepish smile and stroked Phelan’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. She felt a jolt of electricity when their bare skin touched.
“Right,” Phelan agreed. “We haven’t had a chance to make the engagement official.”
“Oh!” Twyla’s eyes again bounced between Phelan and Lola, her expression pensive. She picked up the coffee carafe and started to turn away. “We're understaffed today. I need to get back to work.”
With that, Twyla bustled away without taking their order. Phelan sat down again and nudged her over with his hip.
“Was I okay?” Lola asked with apprehension.
“Hmm? You were fine.” His arm went around her shoulders again. “Just follow my lead for the next few days.”
She nodded. It wasn’t really her style to follow anyone else’s lead, but until she was ready to leave Perdition, she would defer to Phelan’s judgment.
“You two seem pretty close,” Lola couldn't stop herself from saying.
Lola didn’t want to pry, but she did want to know what their relationship was. His head swiveled and his eyes met hers.
“We were both raised here, so I guess you could say we’ve known each other all our lives," he said as if it didn't matter much to him. "We went out a few times in high school.”
Lola’s stomach began to growl again.
“Well, shoot,” he said, looking a little flabbergasted. “We didn’t even order anything. You want anything in particular?”
She shook her head no, and he stood and strode to the front of the diner to give the hostess their order.
As Lola pondered whether Phelan and Twyla were former lovers, she felt the uncanny sensation of eyes on her. Her hackles raised and she squelched the rising panic as her prey instinct urged her to run for safety.
It’s broad daylight. There are a lot of people around.
But her internal pep talk did nothing to shut off the alarm bells trilling in her brain. She scanned the diner for any obvious threats, but only saw groups of people enjoying a lazy Sunday after church. Chatting, smiling, and joking with one another. Not a single person brandishing a weapon, or beating the shit out of one another, despite the fact that her instincts were shouting ‘danger!’ Still, her heart wouldn’t stop pounding in her chest and she felt a headache coming on.
Phelan returned to their booth and her distress must have shown on her face. He slid in beside her, took her hand and squeezed it.
“What’s wrong?” Phelan studied her with concern, his eyebrows knit together.
She shook her head, then held a finger up in a ‘give me a minute’ gesture. She looked around the diner again, but saw nothing that would trigger her Spidey
sense so strongly. Having Phelan nearby somehow made her feel better.
The bell over the door tinkled again, drawing her attention. The man who walked through the door was stocky, and short for a shifter. He strutted in wearing a peace officer’s uniform. He removed his hat as he entered, revealing a mop of unruly dark locks which formed an unfortunate hat-hair impression that resembled a bell.
He had a thin moustache that was pointed at the ends, like that of the cartoon villain, Snidely Whiplash. His belly was stuffed into his uniform shirt and spilled over his belt like an overfilled loaf of homemade bread.
Snidely walked their way with lumbering purpose, tugging at his belt buckle absently as if he’d just noticed it was too tight. The closer the man drew, the more agitated the butterflies in her belly became. She had no doubt this man triggered her prey instinct.
“Phelan,” the man said, his eyes going between Phelan and Lola. He gave Lola a candid, lecherous look, and her stomach lurched.
“Dennis,” Phelan said coldly, giving the man a hard stare.
“I heard you were in town,” Dennis said with faux geniality.
Heard about it, and apparently didn’t like it, Lola thought, noticing the sneer on the man’s face.
Then he addressed Lola. “And you are?”
“With me,” Phelan said curtly, his voice infused with irritation. “Go away, Dennis.”
Lola blinked at her ‘fiancé’, surprised by his reaction. A moment before, she had been doubting her ability to detect danger. But Phelan was openly hostile to the man, so her instincts seemed to be right.
She took a deep breath to calm her nerves. This was Phelan’s hometown, and she didn’t want to embarrass him or bring undue attention to them. She offered Dennis a shaky smile.
“Dolores Black,” she said with a wan smile and a little wave. No way was she going to touch the man’s hand.
Dennis took the liberty of sitting in the seat across from them. If Phelan hadn’t been there, Lola would have bolted.
“Don’t bother taking a seat. We are actually about to leave,” said Phelan.
Dennis’ eyebrows went up. “Really? I thought you just got here.”
“Yes, really,” Phelan said between clenched teeth.
Phelan got up and waited for Lola to slide out behind him. He kept his eyes on Dennis the entire time. As soon as she was on her feet, Phelan grabbed Lola by the hand and ushered her to the front of the diner. He paid the check and asked for their food to be boxed up.
Her instincts still on high alert, Lola couldn’t stand to be in the enclosed space. She stepped out on the sidewalk and waited for Phelan. Feeling too exposed, she went to the truck and leaned against the door. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear her head.
By the time Phelan stepped out with their food, she had herself under control. They were both quiet until they were well out of town.
Phelan gripped the steering wheel until the skin of his knuckles turned white. She sensed his anger about as well as she might sense danger, a new awareness which confused her.
Finally, she couldn’t take the silence any longer. “So, what’s the deal with Dennis?”
Phelan didn't answer, but his angry vibes seemed to subside.
Lola decided to say something to break the tension a little more.
“So, we left town three minutes ago. I guess that means we’ll be at the cabin in five more minutes?” she teased.
He looked at her, his turquoise gaze boring into her. She chewed on her lower lip and maintained eye contact. His eyes moved from her eyes to her mouth. His lips twisted into a smirk. He put his eyes back on the road, tension releasing from his shoulders.
At the cabin, they sat at the kitchen table and Phelan put eggs, pancakes and sausage on her plate in neat little piles. He did the same with his food, and Lola noticed that he ate each food item in succession, and the food never touched. When they finished eating, Lola asked about Dennis again. This time, Phelan sighed and sat back in his chair.
“Dennis Lauder is just an ass,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. He stood from the kitchen table and began to clear it, waving her off when she tried to help him. “Always has been. Even in high school. His dad is the pack alpha, and he’s been riding his family’s coattails as long as I’ve known him. No one likes him.”
She nodded, making a mental note of his words, as well as how eating had relaxed him enough to open up to her.
“Is he dangerous?” she asked softly, thinking about her reaction to him.
Phelan looked at her curiously, then shook his head. “Not as far as I know. Why do you ask?” He went about scraping the plates into the garbage disposal, then loading the dishwasher.
Can I trust him enough to tell him about my gift?
“He gives off bad vibes,” she said carefully, watching Phelan for his reaction. “I… have a prey instinct.”
She shuddered as she remembered how she felt sitting across the table from Dennis Lauder. Phelan started the dishwasher and sat across from her.
"What does that mean?"
She drummed on the tabletop with her fingers, fidgeted with her napkin, and shifted in her seat. She carefully avoided meeting his gaze.
He reached across the table and took her hands in his. He had nice hands, large with blunt fingertips and blue veins that spread and bulged in a network under his skin. His skin was paler than hers, the pads of his fingers calloused. She felt the now familiar surge of attraction. She resisted the urge to pull away
Her breath caught, and her body heated. Electricity seemed to shoot between them, igniting her desire. She wondered what it would be like to have his hands on her, stroking her skin, pinching her nipples, cupping her ass cheeks.
You smell wonderful. His words ran through her mind.
What he’d said to her when they’d pulled up to a traffic stop came back to her now, and she dared to look into his eyes.
Something in the bright blue orbs made her wonder whether his mind was similarly preoccupied. Was he also thinking about that moment at the stoplight? Their kiss outside of the diner? Whatever thoughts turned over in his mind, his eyes now pinned hers with a look of longing and dark lust.
Most concubines she knew didn’t feel one way or another about sex. It simply was. The gods needed no courting. Concubines were simply possessions to the gods. Yet, they were trained as concubines to control their own physical pleasures, indeed to deny themselves in order to please others. Lola was convinced that all the concubine training was for show, since it was an open secret that the gods procreated through in-vitro fertilization.
Years of denying herself had led to a dampening of her sexual impulses. She had no idea how to respond when it felt as if ten years of suppressed desire surged up in her at once. Her mouth went dry. Her eyes scanned the planes and valleys of his face.
"Prey instinct?" Phelan prompted when she stayed silent.
“Ummm… it means...” she said, feeling nervous all of a sudden. “I can tell when someone wants to hurt me. Or anyone is around with bad intentions, actually.”
She paused and searched his face for… She didn’t know what she was looking for. Horror? Pity? But all she saw was an expression softened by tenderness.
“I knew there was something on the Glide platform last night," she admitted softly, still fighting her body's reaction to his touch. "I felt it as soon as I went up the platform. When the train pulled away from the station, the feeling was gone. It returned when I was attacked. I felt it again with Dennis. I felt it even before I saw him.”
Nerves raced through her as she realized how odd that sounded. It would be ridiculous for her to expect that he’d put any credence to what she was telling him now, she realized. Even if he didn’t like Dennis, would he believe her? But as she looked into his eyes, she didn’t see anything like disbelief.
“What does it feel like?” Phelan asked.
“It feels like a panic attack.” She licked her lips and went on, “You probably have no r
eason to believe me, but it’s something I’ve lived with my whole life.”
“Before Prometheus, most humans would never have guessed shifters were real," he said with an understanding smile. “I have no reason not to believe you. But why didn’t you mention it last night at headquarters?”
“I don’t know why," she said and nervously looked away. "I guess I’m not used to discussing my abilities with people.”
“So, if you knew there was something dangerous in the station," he said thoughtfully, “why did you get on the train?”
How could she tell him that her life had been all about situations like the Glide? That more often than not she had to take the metaphorical train—she just took care to stay aware and skirted the edges of danger.
“Honestly, it’s not something I think much about anymore," she said, trying to put it in a way he'd understand. "The world is a dangerous place, especially for women like me.”
“I’m here to protect you now,” Phelan said, chasing her eyes as she attempted to look away. "Whatever you know that can help me protect you, you should feel safe to tell me.”
Yeah, right. She wasn’t in the habit of trusting men in the past, and she wasn’t going to start trusting them now.
“You seem skeptical,” he said bluntly.
“Well…” she said with a shrug.
“Not sure you can trust me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.
She shrugged, but said nothing further. How could she explain to the man protecting her that she didn’t really trust him?
“I can see it in your eyes," he said gently. "I don’t know what you’ve been through in your life, but you need to know right now that I’m sworn to protect you. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
She wished she could believe him. But her past experiences had taught her no one could be trusted.
He stroked the side of her face with his large hand, and foolish as it was to trust him, she did feel safe.
“Well. I’m tired, and I bet you are, too. Ready for bed?” He lifted his eyebrows in question.
“Sure,” she said, outwardly agreeing with him. In her heart, she knew that trust was an illusion for women like her.
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