Last Wolf Watching Page 14

  Glancing out the front window, he saw that evening was fast approaching, and he didn’t want to have Michaela out after dark. Things were dangerous enough during the day, but come nighttime…No way in hell was he risking it. An ambush on the road home would be too easy. And though Brody was confident in his abilities, he didn’t relish the idea of single-handedly battling a contingent of rogues in order to keep Michaela safe, the way Jeremy and Mason had done with Torrance just weeks before.

  “Okay, I’ll let the other Runners know what’s happening as soon as we get back. And if anything new comes up, let me know. You’ve already got my number.” Without waiting for Eric’s response, he headed toward Michaela, stopping just inside the alcove. “I know we haven’t been here long, but it’s time for us to go, Doucet.”

  Clutching one of her brother’s hands, she looked at him over her shoulder. “Already? But we only just got here.”

  “I’m afraid so. It’s getting dark and I need to get you back to the Alley.” Shifting his gaze to Max, who was trying to look tough despite the sheen of tears in his dark blue eyes, Brody said, “I promise we’ll make it back up as soon as we can.”

  “Your brother’s going to make it through this just fine, Michaela,” Eric said as they headed to the door. “Whenever Carter can bring you up, you’re welcome to come and visit. And if you want, I’ll be happy to keep in touch with you, so you know how he’s doing.”

  “That would be wonderful,” she replied, her voice breathless with relief. “If you have a piece of paper, I’ll write my cell phone number down for you.”

  Brody crossed his arms over his chest and muttered, “Forget it, Drake. If you have information for her, you can damn well call my number and give it to me.”

  “Brody,” she gasped, sounding appalled. She probably wanted to smack his hand with a ruler for being rude, but what did she expect? He wasn’t going to stand by and watch her exchange phone numbers with another man. Not in this lifetime.

  With her cheeks flushed, she sent an apologetic look toward Eric, who was clearly trying not to laugh, his gray eyes glittering. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

  “No need,” Eric said smoothly, grinning like a jackass. “I think I understand exactly where Carter is coming from.”

  Grunting under his breath, Brody ushered her out the front door, wishing like hell he could figure out not only where he was coming from, but where he was headed. Because from where he stood, it looked like nothing but trouble.

  * * *

  “What’s the matter with you?” Michaela hissed the second she slammed the door of the truck shut. Breathing hard, she ripped her seatbelt into place so violently, she damn near strangled herself. Brody knew she’d been dying to lay into him since the moment they’d left Eric’s, but had held her tongue until they were alone.

  “Hell if I know,” he muttered, the words thick with disgust as he cranked the engine, setting the heat on low for her benefit. He was already hot beneath the skin, burning up in nothing more than a T-shirt and his jeans.

  “I’m curious, Brody. Just what do you think is going to happen if Eric calls me?”

  He cursed under his breath as he pulled away from the curb, navigating the Ford down the narrow street lined by beautiful oak trees. “I know what he’d like to happen.”

  “Honestly, Brody. You don’t want me, but no one else can be interested, is that it?”

  “You want him to be interested?” he grunted, while what felt like a ton of bricks landed in his gut.

  “No,” she snapped. “That’s not the point. My point is that you can’t have it both ways. You can’t keep me at arm’s length, then demand that no other man get close to me. And for your information, I find your entire attitude insulting.” As she paused to take a quick breath, he wondered if she even realized her voice was steadily rising, growing louder with her anger.

  “Believe it or not, I’m not some femme fatale constantly on the make for a man. Mon dieu. My life is a mess, Brody. My brother has become a werewolf, I’m being threatened by rogues, and both my shop and my house have been broken into and vandalized. I’m warning you right now, if you don’t cut me some slack, I’m going to have a freaking meltdown!”

  He slanted her an uneasy look, aware that she was truly furious with him. More so than he’d thought. Calmly, he pointed out the obvious. “You’re shouting.”

  She took a deep breath that vibrated with fury. “You think this is bad,” she shot back, “just wait till you see what happens if you don’t say you’re sorry. I’m sick and tired of you and every other man I meet always thinking the worst of me. I am not some brainless bimbo looking to get treated like crap!”

  He blinked, while a swarm of reactions skittered through his system. On the one hand, there was a part of him that wanted to smile at the way she’d so passionately declared she wasn’t a “brainless bimbo,” finding her ridiculously adorable, even in her anger. The other part wanted to pull her out of her seat, across his lap, and ravage her mouth with a breathtaking kiss until there was no doubt in her mind exactly who she belonged to.

  It was the second scenario that scared the ever-loving hell out of him, and Brody found himself prodding at her anger with a verbal stick. “What do you know about being treated like crap?” he muttered. “Your life’s been a freaking fairy tale compared to what most people know.”

  She flinched in reaction to his low, guttural slide of words, anger and hurt flashing like sparks in her eyes. He expected her to lash out at him, but she just sat there, hands twisting in her lap, chest rising and falling beneath her sweater, appearing more vulnerable with each deep, shivering breath. She looked as if she would melt into a hot wash of tears at any moment, but when she finally spoke, her calm, soft voice betrayed only the slightest tremor. “Believe it or not, Brody, you don’t have a monopoly on a painful past. I may not have suffered to the degree that you have, but I have my own emotional scars. Ever wonder why I don’t mention my parents?”

  “I’d assumed they’d passed away,” he rasped, sliding her another uneasy look, aware of a suspicious heat rising up the back of his neck and ears that felt uncomfortably like shame.

  Her mouth twisted with a wry smile, arms wrapped around her middle as she turned her head to stare out her window. “Oh no, I’m sure they’re alive and well somewhere, enjoying their burden-free lifestyle.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Sighing, she looked back at him. “It means they dropped Max and me off with our grandmère one day when he was little more than a toddler, then just got into their car and drove away. None of us ever heard from them again.”

  * * *

  “Son of a bitch,” he cursed hotly, brows drawn together in a deep scowl over the vivid green of his eyes, his scars accentuated by the fierceness of his expression. “That was heartless.”

  “It could have been worse,” she remarked dryly, turning her attention back to the scenery beyond the window as they drove through the town, picturesque cottages and various buildings visible on both sides of the road. Amazingly, Shadow Peak looked like any other small mountain community. If you were just passing through, you’d have never suspected that something sinister lurked beneath the charming surface. Something with fangs and fur and claws, that would scare most humans into a catatonic state of terror.

  “How could it have been worse?” he demanded, the words thick with outrage.

  “They could have stayed around,” she murmured. “In the long run, I think Max and I were better off without them. My grandmère truly loved us. She raised us until she passed away when Max was fourteen. After that, we moved here to live with her sister, my great-aunt. She willed her house to us when she died a few years ago, so we stayed in Covington. I opened my shop, and the rest is history.”

  “I still think it was heartless,” he muttered, ripping the scarred fingers of his right hand through the auburn strands of his hair, while steering with his left. “Something must have been seriously wrong with them.�
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  Michaela had no argument for him there, having never been able to understand how a mother could fail to love her child more than anything in the world. With a small shiver, she thought back to the dream she’d had last night, the one where Brody was playing with a beautiful raven-haired, green-eyed baby girl. The memory of that dream shot a pang of warmth through her middle, dissipating the last of her anger, and she pressed her hand against the center of her chest, as if she could control the hammering beat of her heart.

  Needing a distraction before she lost her head in wishes that were never going to come true, she deliberately changed the subject. “Speaking of relatives,” she murmured, “are you going to contact your grandmother?”

  He arched one russet brow. “Why would I do that?”

  “I know she doesn’t deserve it, but…after what Meredith said, don’t you think that maybe it’s time to open up and give her another chance, Brody?”

  “I don’t give first chances,” he grunted, “so what makes you think I’d give her a second one?”

  Shaking her head, Michaela didn’t know whether to feel sorry for him or knock some sense into him. “You’re just a one-man island, is that it?”

  Cutting her a frustrated look of exasperation, he took the next right, turning onto the private road they’d taken into Shadow Peak, though they were still in what looked like the center of town, the street congested with traffic. “Don’t sound sorry for me, Doucet. I don’t need your pity. I like my life the way it is,” he rasped, his tone suddenly as belligerent as it was defensive. “I’m doing just fine.”

  She shifted in her seat, tucking her leg up under her so that she could stare at his rugged profile, the late-afternoon sunlight glinting through the windshield revealing the creases at the corners of those deep green eyes.

  “Are you really happy with your life, Brody?” she asked softly. “Don’t you get lonely?”

  Narrowing his eyes on the road ahead, he looked as if he wondered just how much she knew about him, how much she understood. She realized, in that moment, that he still didn’t completely trust her, and after what had happened the night before, she didn’t blame him.

  “I can tell from the look on your face that you still doubt me, Brody, but I didn’t lie to you last night. I might have had that one vision when we were so…um, involved with each other, but you’re still about as easy to read as a gator’s expression in the middle of the bayou at midnight.”

  He snuffled a rough laugh under his breath at her colorful analogy, turning to stare at her after pulling to a stop at the town’s last traffic light, the green of his eyes deep and dark, swirling with a myriad of thoughts and feelings she knew he’d never admit to. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his tone dry, gaze shifting back to the road when the light turned green. There was a husky undertone to his words that made her shiver with sensual awareness as he said, “I believe you.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah. If you could read my mind, you wouldn’t be…”

  “What?” she demanded, her voice breathless.

  He shifted his long body in his seat, pulling back his shoulders. “Nothing.”

  “Brody…”

  “Drop it, Doucet,” he muttered.

  Unwilling to let the topic go that easily, she opened her mouth to press him further, when the sudden blaring of a horn made her jump. Peering through the window, she saw that the sidewalks were now packed with as much pedestrian traffic as the roads. “This is crazy. Are the streets always this crowded here?”

  “Not like this. If I had to guess, I’d say everyone’s heading to the Town Hall because Drake’s holding another one of his rallies tonight. Jeremy told us he’s using them to incite the pack, brainwashing them with lies, spouting a bunch of nonsense about how the Lycans are being oppressed by human society and the Runners are lying about the growing number of rogues.”

  “It’s getting close, isn’t it?” she whispered, his words sending a sliver of alarm down her spine. “Just like Mason said. You can feel the tension hanging over this place, just waiting to blow.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, his tone roughened by worry. “You can feel it in the air when you breathe, like a storm coming in. It won’t be long now.”

  * * *

  Brody glanced at her from the corner of his eye, seeing her own worry revealed in the strain around her eyes and mouth, her beauty taking on a haunted quality that tore at his heart. “And when it happens, your life is going to be in danger,” she said softly, the unspoken meaning behind that tender, emotional tone taking another notch out of his hard-earned control; at the same time his automatic defense mechanisms kicked into gear, as natural to him as breathing.

  “Our lives are in danger now, Doucet,” he muttered in a low, coarse rasp. “Why else do you think I’m with you?”

  The hateful words landed between them with an ominous thud, and she winced, unable to hide her reaction. Closing in on herself like an oyster, she turned away from him, staring silently out her window as he drove them home to the Alley. Neither of them said another word until Brody came to a stop in front of his cabin.

  “Brody,” she said in a small voice, breaking into the breath-filled silence. “I know we’re not getting along that great right now, but it seems we have bigger problems than being at odds with each other.”

  “Yeah?” he rumbled, turning his head to see her peering out the passenger’s side window. “Like what?”

  She looked back at him, her eyes wide within the paleness of her face. “Look at your front door.”

  Peering around her shoulder, he cursed sharply the second he realized what he was staring at. “Son of a bitch,” he hissed, grabbing hold of her arm. He opened his door and pulled her across the front seat, out the driver’s side, sniffing at the evening air, searching for any imminent signs of danger. “Stay close to me,” he ordered in a chilling tone of voice, keeping hold of her arm as they moved around the back of the truck, toward the porch. When the wind blew the scent of blood toward them, she made a sharp gagging sound, closing her eyes as she fought her nausea.

  “Is that what I think it is?” she whispered, her voice little more than a whispery thread of sound.

  “Yeah,” he grunted, clutching the back of her head and pressing her face to his chest, finally giving in to the urge that had been riding him all day and wrapping his arms around her, holding her in a tight, possessive embrace.

  A red haze of fury tinged the edges of his vision as Brody stared over her head at the atrocity nailed to his front door. A knife had been embedded deep within the dark wood, Pippa Stanton’s long silver braid hanging from the bloody scalp that had been nailed there, along with a message written in blood. The writing was nearly illegible, the blood dripping down the wooden surface like crimson rivers of death, distorting the letters, but he could make out the bloodcurdling warning. He just couldn’t believe Drake’s rogues had dared to kill an Elder, trespass into the Alley and threaten the woman under his protection. And there was no doubt this was a direct threat against Michaela’s life—the warning simple and straightforward, with no room for misinterpretation.

  Scrawled across the door like a message from hell, it read The Cajun is next.

  Chapter 10

  Michaela lingered in a hot shower until the water threatened to run cool, her mind working over the chilling events of the last few hours. After the gruesome discovery of Pippa Stanton’s scalp, as well as the terrifying, blood-written warning, Brody had taken her down to the Dillingers’ cabin. Reyes had been ordered to stay with the women, while the men searched the Alley. They’d been unable to pick up any trace of Lycan musk, although there was a lingering vinegar-like odor on the scalp. Evidently, the rogue had delivered the macabre warning while in its dayshifted form, which explained why the Runners who were at home in their cabins hadn’t scented the trespasser.

  And even though the Runners knew the rogue had been confident that his disguised scent would allow him to slip in under their no
ses, they were still stunned by the arrogance of the move. Drake’s rogues were getting cocky—a fact that only substantiated the Bloodrunners’ belief that something would happen, sooner rather than later.

  After stepping out of the granite-tiled shower, Michaela found a stack of fluffy white towels folded beneath the sink, and wrapped one around her body, overlapping the edges at the front in a tight knot. Opening the door that led into Brody’s bedroom, she propped her shoulder against the doorjamb, taking a moment to study the room, enjoying the intimate look at his private sanctuary—aware that she was searching for ways to keep herself distracted so she wouldn’t worry about Max, that horrific warning and the painful declaration that Brody had made in his truck.

  The style of the room was just as she’d expected—strong, bold and ruggedly beautiful, exactly like the man himself. His bed sat low to the ground, a rich mahogany platform frame supported by thick posts and legs. A matching chest and armoire sat on opposing walls, the only other piece of furniture an oversize chair in espresso-colored leather with gently sloping arms that looked great for reading.

  She’d have loved to have been worry free and relaxed, just cuddled up in that big chair with one of her favorite novels, without a care in the world. But even more than that, she’d have loved to have seen Brody sprawled across that beautiful bed. Closing her eyes, Michaela lost herself in the heady, breathtaking daydream. She could see herself coming out from a steam-filled bubble bath to find him propped up against the headboard, waiting for her. He’d have taken off his shirt and shoes, a low wash of golden lamplight at his bedside setting the beauty of his hard body alight, picking out the burgundy highlights in his hair. His broad chest would gleam like bunched satin, his muscles perfectly formed, his ridged abdomen drawing her eye as she followed the silky trail of dark auburn hair that tapered into the waistband of a faded pair of jeans. A significant bulge would be pressed against the straining hold of his button fly, her mouth watering as she watched his right thumb stroke along that swollen ridge, his fingers curled against the rigid muscle of his thigh.