Dark Wolf Rising (Bloodrunners) Page 12

  “What happened?” Cian asked, and from the corner of his eye Eric could see that the Runner was watching Sayre like a hawk about to go in for the kill.

  Sayre’s grin faded as she shifted her gaze over to the Irishman. “She broke things off because he started giving her the creeps. Got too serious on her.”

  “She got commitment issues?” Cian murmured, locking his hands behind his dark head as he regarded her with a hard, steely stare.

  With a shrug, she said, “I can’t say, Hennessey. You’d know more about that than I would.”

  Cian scowled. “I’ve never laid a finger on Sophia Dawson.”

  Sayre gave an exaggerated gasp. “Wow. You mean there’s actually a woman in this state over the age of eighteen who you haven’t nailed? I’m shocked. But I was referring to your own commitment issues. I figure it takes one to know one.”

  The kitchen went unusually silent, everyone seeming a little stunned by the strange interchange between the womanizing Runner and Sayre. Finally, Mason cleared his throat and said, “What does everyone think of Sayre’s suggestion?”

  In Eric’s opinion, the idea had potential. If Sophia went to see Brandon in Hawkley, the Whiteclaw pack’s hometown, she might even be able to get close to Perry, if that’s where the girl had been taken. Sophia and Perry were close in age, and lived similar lifestyles from the sound of things, despite the fact that one was human and the other a Lycan. They might meet up by chance in the town, or even be introduced, depending on how willing Brandon was to cooperate.

  They all weighed in with their opinions, the consensus seeming to be that so long as Sophia didn’t do anything to put herself in danger, their best bet of getting some quick intel was to send her to Hawkley to question this Brandon guy.

  “Okay,” Sayre said. “I’ll call Sophia and ask her if she can come down to the Alley in the morning. Just watch out for Max. He’s going to be pissed if she agrees.” Max Doucet was Brody’s nineteen-year-old brother-in-law. He was also a human who had been changed to Lycan by a rogue wolf, and a soon-to-be Runner in training.

  “They’re not dating now, are they?” Michaela asked, looking concerned. Considering the fact that Sophia had a reputation for being a party girl who often got involved with the wrong crowd, Eric didn’t blame her. He knew exactly what it felt like to be protective of a sibling. Especially one who had known their share of grief.

  “Not yet,” Sayre replied. “But it hasn’t been for lack of trying. Max likes her. A lot.”

  Leaning back in his chair, Eric rubbed one hand against the edge of his jaw. “I think I should pay the Whiteclaw a visit, as well. Explain what I was doing at the club.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Jeremy asked, lifting his brows. “And what explanation will you give them for the dead guy you left behind?”

  Eric rolled his shoulder. “I’ll just make it clear that I had unfinished business with the human and he got in the way.”

  “I gotta hand it to you, Drake. You are one ballsy son of a bitch,” Wyatt murmured, slapping him on the back as he headed toward the refrigerator for another beer.

  “I also think we should have Monroe run a trace on Perry Smart’s number.” Monroe was a Fed whose sister was married to a male from the pack and a good friend of the Runners. “I doubt it’ll turn anything up, since they’re probably expecting it, but it can’t hurt to try.”

  “If you get me the number,” Mason said, “I’ll call Monroe.”

  Eric gave him a nod. “I just have to get it from Chelsea.”

  “Good. And now that we’re done with that for the moment...” Cian drawled, lowering his arms as he leaned forward and braced his elbows on the table. He settled his dark gaze on Eric. “Let’s get back to the juicy topic of the day.”

  “Yeah? And what would that be?”

  “You, boyo.”

  With a tired sigh, Eric scrubbed his hands down his face, wishing the Runner would leave him the hell alone. “You can cut down on all the drama, Hennessey. Chelsea Smart is not my mate.”

  The Irishman lifted his brows. “You sure about that?”

  Wyatt snorted. “I think he’d be able to tell if she was.”

  “Would he?”

  Wyatt rolled his eyes. “From what I’ve been told. Didn’t your mama ever teach you about scent recognition?”

  “That’s how it works for the rest of us, yeah. But who knows with a dark wolf? Those feckers are weird. I mean, just look at the one we have right here.”

  Eric responded by flipping the Runner off, which had all of them laughing.

  “Ah, Drake,” Cian murmured, balancing his chair on its back legs again as he tipped his beer at him and grinned. “This is gonna be so much fun to watch.”

  Chapter Eight

  After a long, scalding shower to soothe her sore muscles, Chelsea had snuggled up on the queen-size bed in the guestroom and crashed. She didn’t know how long she’d slept, but it was dark outside when she finally pulled herself out of bed.

  As she made her way back to the bathroom to brush her teeth, she was still a little stunned by how beautiful Eric’s home was. When he’d told her about the Alley, she’d imagined wilderness living, but the cabin was fully modernized, with gleaming hardwood floors and a rugged décor that looked like something out of a Pottery Barn catalogue. And the techno gadgets she’d seen when she passed by his office were all upscale and current. She still wasn’t quite sure what he and his friends did for a living, but whatever it was, they sure as hell weren’t hurting for money.

  With her brush in hand, working out the tangles in her hair, Chelsea made her way from the bathroom, down the hallway, and found three women sitting on the sofas in the living room. They all moved to their feet as she entered the room, making it clear they’d been waiting for her. A petite redhead with big green eyes introduced herself as Torrance, explaining that she lived there in the Alley with her husband, Mason, who was a friend of Eric’s. The beautiful blonde was named Jillian, and Chelsea thought the name sounded familiar. With a warm smile, Jillian told her that she was married to Jeremy and they lived in the cabin nearest to Eric’s. The last woman was a stunning brunette who was married to a guy named Brody, and the couple also had a cabin there in the Alley.

  “It’s nice to meet you all,” Chelsea said, feeling a little stunned. They were so beautiful they made her feel like a frumpy schoolmarm.

  Torrance perched on the arm of the nearest sofa. “Eric tells us you’re a professor.”

  “That’s right,” she replied, thinking, Oh, God. I really am a schoolmarm! “I teach Women’s Studies at the university in Smythe.”

  “Wow,” the one who’d introduced herself as Michaela remarked with a friendly smile. “That sounds so interesting.”

  “It is. Though I have a feeling it’s not nearly as interesting as things around here,” she murmured, getting the uncomfortable feeling that these women had been sent to the cabin for a reason—and not just to make friendly chitchat.

  “Yeah,” Jillian drawled, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “This place is something else. In fact—” she gave Chelsea a sheepish grin “—that’s actually what we’re here to talk about.”

  “Oh?” Chelsea felt a sickly smile settle on her lips, wondering what in God’s name they were about to tell her. Was this one of those freaky love communes? A religious cult? Some kind of underground militant movement ready to take over the world?

  “Let’s get some coffee on first,” Torrance said, no doubt sensing Chelsea’s panic. “I think we’re going to need it.”

  Michaela gave a smoky laugh. “It might take something stronger, Torry.”

  “A bottle of wine, then?” Torrance asked, heading for the kitchen area that was all decked out in terracotta stone and stainless-steel appliances.

  “I think we left a nice red here the other day,” Jillian said. “Just grab that and I’ll get the glasses.”

  When they were all settled back in the living room, wine in hand, Torrance, who
was sitting with Michaela on the opposite sofa, started the conversation. “First of all, how are you doing?”

  Chelsea took a deep breath, trying not to be nervous, and said, “Pretty well, considering the circumstances. Eric’s not exactly the easiest person to get along with, but I owe him for saving my life last night.”

  Jillian, who was sitting beside her, gently patted her knee. “Be patient with him, Chelsea. He’s had a hard time of it lately. So if he comes off a bit rough at times, don’t hold it against him.”

  She wanted to ask for details, but held back, since it felt wrong to be doing it behind his back. But once she found out what the big secret was, she knew there was a possibility that her opinion might change. If something weird was going on here, she was going to want to know everything that she could.

  Setting her wineglass on the low coffee table, Torrance leaned forward, resting her crossed arms on her knees, and carefully said, “Chelsea, it’s important that you know we’re all here for you, and we all want to see your sister make it out of this safely. But to do that, there’s something we need to talk about.”

  “All right,” she whispered, wetting her lips, painfully aware of her pulse coming faster...and faster, roaring like the engine of a train that just kept gaining in speed, shooting down the tracks with no concern for either her safety or her sanity.

  Please, God, don’t let it be anything weird. Or scary. Or creepy...

  Torrance took a deep breath, then quietly said, “I know this is going to seem like a strange question, but what do you know about Lycans?”

  She blinked, not certain she understood. “You mean like in the Underworld movies? The werewolves?”

  A soft smile touched the corner of the redhead’s mouth. “Yes. That’s one interpretation.”

  Chelsea wet her lips again, surprised to find that they felt a little numb. No matter how nice these women were, she had a really bad feeling about where this was going. “I know that they’re not real.”

  “Actually, they are.”

  Another slow blink, her chest aching as her heart began to pound to a hard, jarring rhythm. “Excuse me?”

  “Eric and the others,” Torrance told her. “They’re Lycans, Chelsea.”

  She quickly shifted her gaze to Michaela and Jillian, hoping to see a grinning face so that she’d know this was just some kind of stupid joke—but they were both watching her with expressions of worry and determination. If she asked, they would both tell her that the words Torrance had just uttered were totally and completely true.

  Ohmyfreakinggod...

  Panic had her throat feeling tight, as if strong hands were wrapped around it, squeezing her air off. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she gasped, panting, unable to control the violent tremor that was shooting through her arms and legs. “This...this isn’t a joke, is it?”

  She would have loved to think these women were just delusional, but then wouldn’t Eric have warned her? And she couldn’t quite get the feeling out of her head that she’d seen something at the club when Eric had been fighting the guy with the blond hair. An inhuman flash of fangs? And then there was the way Eric’s gray eyes sometimes seemed to glow with an unnatural light. She’d been telling herself that she must have just imagined those things—but that no longer seemed the case.

  “I’m sorry, Chelsea,” Jillian murmured, gently rubbing her back, as if she were a child who needed comfort. “I know it seems scary, but it’s going to be all right. From everything that Eric has told us about you, we know that you’re strong enough to handle this. There aren’t many who know the secret, so we’re placing a tremendous amount of trust in you by revealing the truth. Just take a deep breath and try to calm down, okay?”

  She could feel herself nodding, and while her thoughts continued to churn in a dizzying swirl of confusion, she listened as the women explained about the Silvercrest Lycan pack that lived up on the top of the mountain, in the town called Shadow Peak. Then they explained about the Lycans they believed were involved at the club, and finally about the five men and one woman who lived there in the Alley. About how they were half human, half Lycan hunters whose job it was to protect the secret of their race from the human world, as well as to hunt down any wolves who turned rogue and became a threat to their human neighbors. They even told her why the Runners lived separately from the pack, explaining about the social divide that had always existed between those who were “pure-bloods” and the half-breed Runners.

  “And Eric,” she said, her voice tight with strain, “he’s one of the full-blooded Lycans? A pure-blood?”

  “That’s right,” Jillian told her, refilling Chelsea’s glass.

  She took a deep swallow of the wine, needing it to warm her insides, while trying to wrap her head around everything they’d said. “But he’s friends with the Runners? He stays here in the Alley?”

  Jillian nodded. “Unlike a lot of the Lycans in Shadow Peak, Eric’s never bought into all their elitist nonsense. He really is a good guy, Chelse. If he wasn’t, I promise I’d tell you.” A grin touched the corner of Jillian’s lips. “After all, we women need to stick together, right?”

  She downed the rest of her wine, set the glass back on the table and exhaled in an audible rush. “Okay,” she breathed out, bracing her elbows on her knees and dropping her face into her hands, “just let me think for a minute.”

  “Take all the time you need,” Torrance told her. “We’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready to talk.”

  Chelsea listened as they walked away, still struggling to stay calm, and hoping she could find a rational way to accept and deal with this new strange, mind-boggling reality she’d been presented with. More than anything, she knew she couldn’t afford to get hysterical, though the idea was certainly tempting. But if this was the world that Perry had gotten her stupid little ass mixed up in, then she was going to need Eric and his friends’ help. She couldn’t handle something like this on her own. It was too unfamiliar—too unknown. She was out of her depth, and she knew it. So she had to slip over the customary freak-out period she normally would have allowed herself, and face reality like a big girl.

  She might cry herself to sleep tonight out of sheer emotional exhaustion, but damn it, she wouldn’t fall apart before then.

  Hoping her legs would keep her steady, Chelsea moved to her feet. She ran her fingers through her drying hair, smoothed them over her shirt, then reached for her wineglass and carried it into the kitchen, where she could hear the three women quietly talking.

  “Is there any way to kill them?” she asked, joining the women at a small, but beautifully polished breakfast table.

  Torrance frowned. “Are you planning on trying to off one of them? Because we’ll definitely take exception to that.”

  She shook her head, her fingers nervously twisting the stem of her glass as she said, “I just want to know what I’m dealing with. Do silver bullets work?”

  The recessed lighting in the high ceiling made Michaela’s dark hair look midnight-blue as she reached over and patted her hand. “This isn’t a movie, Chelsea. Bullets can slow them down, no matter what they’re made from, but they don’t kill them.”

  “What does?”

  Torrance still looked cautious. “Why do you want to know?”

  Michaela slid an understanding look at her worried friend. “It’s okay, Torry. She’s not looking to murder anyone. She’s just scared.”

  “You don’t need to be,” Jillian told her, going to the fridge and grabbing them each a bottle of water. “Not of Eric and the Runners. They’re golden. They’d die before letting anything happen to a woman or child. But to answer your question,” she said, sliding back into her seat and twisting the cap off her water, “a Lycan can be killed if they get cut up too badly and bleed out. But the only way to really make sure they won’t heal from their wounds is to snap their spinal columns or remove their head from their shoulders.”

  “But deaths from bleeding out don’t happen often,” Torr
ance added. “Jillian is a miracle worker.”

  “What do you mean?” Chelsea asked, opening her water and taking a drink, the cold liquid feeling like heaven in her dry throat.

  Pushing her hair behind her ear again, Jillian slid her a wry look from the corner of her eye. “I’m the pack’s Spirit Walker.”

  It must have been clear from her expression that she didn’t understand, because Michaela said, “She’s like their holy woman, Chelsea. Their healer.”

  Realization slammed her between the eyes like a two-by-four. “You’re...one of them?” she wheezed, coughing, thankful she hadn’t just taken another sip of water, since she’d have spewed it all over the table.

  “My parents are both Lycan, so yes, I’m one of them,” Jillian said in a friendly, but matter-of-fact tone, as if she’d just admitted that her parents were members of Costco, instead of a shape-shifting wolf pack. “But as a Spirit Walker, I can’t take the shape of a wolf.”

  “Oh.” Chelsea pulled her lower lip through her teeth, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. She never would have guessed that the beautiful blonde’s parents were werewolves. But then she never would have guessed that Eric was one, either. Oh, she’d known he was alpha and rugged and more than a little primal—but only in an athletic, purely masculine, sex-god kind of way. The idea that he might grow fangs and claws and howl at the moon had never even crossed her mind.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in right away,” Torrance murmured, “but you’ll get used to it.”

  She gave a short, dry laugh and shook her head. “Oh, I doubt I’ll be here long enough to get used to it.”

  Jillian’s brows lifted with surprise. “Really? Eric’s going to let you leave here unprotected?”

  “Eric doesn’t have any say in it,” she replied a little more sharply than she’d intended, but the idea that she needed his permission set her on edge. “Once I’ve got Perry, we’re going home.”