Destiny of the Wolf

Page 7

His hair was tangled by the wind, his brown eyes nearly black, his mouth grim and set.
Then she remembered. Larissa—she was… was dead. And Tom—shot. Was he all right? And Ural! If the grays catch him…
“Over here!” Darien shouted again, and soon another man crashed through the thick brush. Darien jerked his leather coat off and wrapped her in it.
Jake appeared, yanked a phone off his belt, shouted coordinates into the phone, and gave orders to keep searching for the gunman. “Shit.” Jake paused as whoever he spoke to must have finally got a word in edgewise. “Sam was shot.”
Darien stopped unbuttoning his shirt. “Is he…”
“Hit in the arm. He’ll live.”
“What about Silva?” Darien removed his shirt and started to unbutton Lelandi’s jacket.
“She’s shook up, but fine. The gunman’s dead.”
Darien looked up at Jake. “Anyone question him?”
“He’s dead.”
“Hell, Jake, I know that. But did anyone question him before he died?”
Jake shook his head and hung up the phone, then he lifted his nose and sniffed. “Do you smell a hint of a red?”
“Can’t as much perfume as she’s wearing.” Darien pulled up her turtleneck.
The cold air chilled her already frozen skin. He muttered an ancient wolf curse, then tucked his body-warmed flannel shirt against her wounds—smelling of him—all hot and spicy male.
Her mind drifted until he spoke again. “Who killed him?”
She stared at his bare chest, lightly haired, muscled, bronzed, beautiful. Who said men’s bodies couldn’t be beautiful? Every inch of him looked incredibly lickable, kissable, real.
“Not sure who killed him, Darien.”
“Damn it. The gunman should have been questioned.”
Darien pulled her shirt down with tenderness, warming her, and then he used the same gentleness to close her jacket. “First off, who the hell are you?”
So much for the tenderness.
Through clenched teeth, she tried to growl, “Lelandi, and you know who the hell I am,” but her voice was too hoarse. Her eyes were so heavily lidded, she could barely keep them open, except to stare at his magnificent chest.
But why was the rest of him dressed? Naked, that’s the way he appeared to her in the dreams, his corded muscles rippling as he moved, every part of his sculpted anatomy ready to pleasure her. And why was she dressed? When she was always bared to the skin, waiting for his hungry touch?
He cursed. “God of thunder! My mate’s dead, so what the hell do you think you’re trying to pull?”
She lifted her gaze from his chest. Darien’s stern face shook her loose of her fantasy. Unable to fathom what he was talking about, she knew his mate—Larissa—was dead. She choked on a sob.
He lifted her off the cold ground and the sight of his naked chest, square set jaw, darkened eyes—everything—faded away.
“Woman,” Darien called out to her from a million miles away, his steely voice cloaked in concern.
She heard him, but couldn’t focus, couldn’t open her eyes. Her body floated, jostled over the rough terrain while the big gray carried her.
“How many times did he shoot you?”
Too, too many.
“What did he look like?”
Who?Her eyes fluttered open briefly, then slammed shut.
“Speak to me. At the tavern when you went to the restroom, what did the ladies do to upset you?”
Crowded me. Not since she had martial arts training had anyone messed with her. Took a near human rape to convince her she needed a way to protect herself as a human. Too bad she couldn’t have used it to disarm the gunman. But he hadn’t been close enough. If only she’d had her gun.
With a ragged sigh, she soaked in the heat of Darien’s body, the strength of his arms wrapped securely around her, the smell of his masculinity, the smell of his sex. No matter how harshly he acted toward her, no matter how disinterested he pretended to be, he couldn’t restrain that part of himself. He couldn’t hide the telltale signals that he wanted her, like any alpha male lupus garou craved a female. The sexual chemistry between them sizzled, sending a volley of heat sliding through her. She moaned and he tightened his grip on her. Larissa must have delighted in mating with such a rugged figure of a man, much, much bigger than a red.
“Larissa,” he said, commanding her to respond.
She frowned and opened her eyes. Jake gave her a look as grave as Darien’s as they climbed up the side of the ridge.
“Lelandi,” she said on edge, with barely the breath to breathe.
Darien’s grim lips scowled further.
She wrinkled her brows in concentration. “Three.”
Darien stared at her. “Three what?”
“Maybe she’s answering your previous question, how many times had she been shot?”
She nodded her head limply.
Jake ran his hand over his scruffy whiskers. “She’s pretty out of it.”
“That’s why I’m trying to keep her talking. Ask her something.”
“Where are your parents?” Jake’s voice was as demanding as his brother’s.
She swallowed hard, tamped down the pain in her heart, in her brain. Dead.
“We need to send her to her own people, let them take care of this,” Jake said.
“Whoever tried to kill her came into our territory. It’s our jurisdiction, our matter to handle.”
“But what if this had nothing to do with Lelandi?” Jake asked.
“Larissa,” she said, correcting him, this time angry. Couldn’t they get their names straight?
Darien ducked with her underneath the branch of an oak. “What if this does have to do with Lelandi?”
“Larissa,” she said again, her voice becoming unduly agitated.
Hugging her closer, Darien climbed over a fallen log. “She’s sure not following the gist of our conversation.”
The aroma of bacon, sausage, and ham cooking in houses at the edge of town wafted in the air, and a rush of voices and footsteps headed her way. A hawk glided on the wind in search of its own breakfast that morning, and clouds were building. A hint of an early snow on the breeze added to the chill in her bones, while the pain in her chest and back spiraled out of control.
Coveting the heat of the gray, she wanted to lean further into him, but she felt as limp as a rag doll, unable to control her destiny. Taking another deep breath, she tried to smell his sex again. Every man’s was different and most she never paid much attention to, but his was driving her mad. Virile, strong, musky, hot as a heated oven in summer, tantalizing. Had his special scent caught Larissa’s attention?
Lelandi never figured she’d be drawn to the same male as Larissa. Must be the gunshot wounds screwing up her sense of smell.
“Hold on, Larissa,” Darien said, his voice darkly soothing. “Doc will fix you up.”
The look he shared with his brother cast doubt on his words.
“Get Doctor Weber,” she managed to croak out.
The silent glance that passed between Darien and Jake meant they had other plans. But Doctor Weber was one of the reds. He’d know what to do. He’d removed bullets from her flank when hunters had shot her as a wolf, resuscitated her when she’d nearly drowned.
“They’re bringing Sam in,” a guy said, crowding in with several others, hurrying to join Darien.
Sam? Oh, the bartender, devious smile, rugged, mountain-man type.
“Is he wounded badly?” Darien sounded gloomy.
“Not as bad as the little lady appears to be.” The man’s beer breath made her wince when he squeezed in close to get a look.
“Sam was shot in the arm, nothing vital struck,” another said. “But you know him, he’ll be serving drinks by this evening, boss.”
“Lupus,” she whispered and Darien’s eyes grew wide.
Before she uttered another sound, he leaned down and kissed her, but the kiss didn’t stop at silencing her words. His lips pressed deeper, promising more, willing her to agree, and then his warm mouth tantalizing hers faded away.
“Larissa,” he called out, drawing her forth from the darkness.
Darien’s dark eyes gazed at her, pensive, pained.
Several of the men chuckled.
“The ladies will be clamoring for a kiss that would make ’em pass right out.” Silva’s voice was silky soft, dreamy, wistful.
Vehicle doors creaked open, and Lelandi closed her eyes, wanting to say something more to force the gray to kiss her again, but she couldn’t come up with anything, her mind focusing on the way his lips touched hers—hungry, desirous, feral.
“Sure they weren’t a special kind of bullet?” someone asked, his voice hushed.
“No. She’s lost a lot of blood. The cold’s taken a toll on her, too. Riding with her, brother?” Jake asked.
Darien released her and she reached out to him, wanting his warmth, his comfort, another of his mind-numbing kisses. He seemed torn about showing any further affection.
Lying on something long, flat, and hard, she felt the blankets covering her, but the bone-chilling cold renewed after losing the heat of the big gray’s body.
“Meet you over there.” Darien’s voice sounded gruff and unreal, like he was trying to put on a show for his pack, trying to distance himself from her. “Got to check out Silva and Sam’s story.”
Feeling rejected, she wanted more of his touch, scowling at her, paying attention to her, anything. Yet, on another level, she shouldn’t feel any of these things.
“I can give you a report,” Jake offered.
Again, there was a prolonged hesitation. “No, I’ll check on her later.”
Darien’s rejection cut deep, and she turned her misty gaze away so she couldn’t see the hardened look in his eyes.
“I’ll go with her, Doc.” Jake climbed in beside her and the vehicle rocked like a boat adrift in turbulent water. He smelled different, not as sexual as Darien. Maybe because he wasn’t attracted to her like she sensed Darien was.