Dark Wolf Rising (Bloodrunners) Read online

  “I don’t know about the rest of you,” Glenn’s brother, Mark, muttered, puffing up his chest as he came toward them, “but I think a night in lock-up might do him some good.” He started to lower his hand toward the hip holster he always wore for his gun, but Eric beat him to the draw. He whipped his Beretta from his waistband behind his back, aiming it point-blank at the center of the Lycan’s forehead.

  Slowly releasing the gun’s safety, Eric narrowed his eyes on the younger Farrow. “You need to walk away, Mark. Right now. Because I am done with this shit.”

  “Glenn’s right about you,” Mark snarled, moving his hand away from his weapon. “You really are as crazy as your old man.”

  “He’s not crazy, Mark. You’re just a jackass!” The set down came from Brian Everett, who came to stand beside Chelsea just as Eric was slipping the Beretta back into his jeans. Brian was one of the guys who Eric had worked with on the new housing development he’d started before everything went to hell because of his father. He and Brian had always gotten along, but it was still a surprise to hear him publicly going against Glenn. There’d been such a negative push against him lately that Eric had lost sight of those who still supported him.

  They waited until some of the others had dragged Glenn and Mark away, apparently deciding that retreat was their best option at this point. With a small sigh of relief to see a red-faced Crissy leaving, as well, Eric turned his attention to Brian. They talked about how Elise, who was still standing near her front steps with Max, had thought someone had been in her home. “If El has any trouble again,” the older Lycan told him, “you let her know that she can give me and Meryl a call, night or day. She’s always welcome over at ours.”

  “Thanks, Brian.” He shook the other man’s hand. “I really appreciate it.”

  “I’d like to thank you, as well,” Chelsea murmured, still glaring at the few stragglers who remained on the far side of the street. She looked so enraged on his behalf, and it put a kinda warm feeling in Eric’s chest that he liked far more than he should.

  They said goodbye to Brian, who told them he’d clear away the remaining members of the crowd, then headed over to wrap things up with Elise and Max. Though Chelsea apologized for hurting him, Max still gave her a wide berth—not that Eric blamed the guy. He’d give any woman who kneed him in the nuts a wide berth, too.

  After Eric had made Elise promise to call him the next day, his sister and Max went inside the house, talking about what kind of pizza they should order for dinner, and he and Chelsea started back down the blessedly quiet street. “Now I really need that shower,” he muttered, scrubbing his hands over his arms to wipe off the splatters of mud that still covered him.

  “Do you want to stop by your house while we’re here?” she asked.

  He slid her a questioning look. “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “I’d like to see where you live,” she said with a little smile.

  “It’s not far, so we can walk,” he told her, thinking it would be a good chance for him to pick up some of his things. And for some reason that he didn’t quite understand, he liked the idea of having her in his home.

  They turned at the next corner, heading left, and passed a group of children who were playing in one of the yards, running through a sprinkler. The kids waved at Eric, and he started to wave back, until one of the mothers sitting on the front porch of the house caught sight of him and started shooing the kids inside.

  * * *

  Unable to believe what she’d just seen, Chelsea said, “I don’t understand this place, Eric. Doesn’t it drive you crazy when they act like that?”

  He shrugged. “You can’t make people trust you, Chelse. They either do or they don’t.”

  “But you haven’t done anything to lose their trust!”

  The look he slid her was dark and piercing. “That doesn’t always matter, does it?”

  She flinched, knowing damn well he was thinking about the conversation they’d had earlier about Jason Donovan and Perry. Which wasn’t fair. “I’ve given you more trust than I’ve ever given any other man. And I’ve only known you for a few days. So cut me some slack.”

  He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “Sorry. This place just sets me on edge.”

  She was about to tell him that she could understand why, when his phone rang. Eric took the call, his mouth tilting in a frown as he listened, then said goodbye and slid the phone back in his pocket.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Rubbing at the back of his neck, he said, “That was Jeremy. They’ve found some tracks on our land that don’t belong to the pack. From the scent, they think that five or more males from the Greywolf pack up north of us must have been sniffing around, doing reconnaissance on the town.”

  “Do you really think one of the other packs might attack the Silvercrest?”

  “It’s always been a possibility, but especially now that we’re so vulnerable. And if one tried to invade our land, you can bet the violence would spread. The idea of an all-out pack war is a huge concern for a lot of reasons, the least of which is the threat of exposure.”

  “You mean to humans?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He gave a tense sigh. “But sometimes I think we’re lucky it’s held together this long.”

  Before Chelsea could lecture him about having a defeatist attitude, they reached his home—a beautiful two-story on a picturesque street lined by towering oaks. As they made their way inside, she changed the subject, saying, “Crissy was an interesting woman.”

  He shook his head and made a rough sound in the back of his throat. “She acted like a total bitch.”

  “She’s the one from the other night, isn’t she? The one you were with when the scouts called you about me?”

  Eric grimaced as he shut the door. “Why the hell would you think that?”

  A wry smile twisted the corner of her mouth. “Same hideous shade of lipstick.”

  He slid her a sharp glance, then slowly shook his head again. “You women are scary,” he grumbled under his breath.

  “I think the word you’re looking for is perceptive.”

  He switched on a lamp in the spacious living room, then rolled his shoulder in one of those purely male gestures of unease. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t anything...serious.”

  Chelsea lifted her brows. “So you were just sleeping with her?”

  “Once.” His voice was rough, and maybe just a tad embarrassed.

  “You must have made quite an impression,” she said, trying to keep her tone light. “It’s obvious she wants a repeat.”

  Eric snorted as he headed into the kitchen through an archway. “Doesn’t mean she’s getting one.”

  He asked if she wanted anything to drink, bringing her back a cold bottle of water. She thanked him for it, then said, “You never know. You might feel differently about Crissy when things have calmed down and I’m not crowding your life anymore.”

  He froze with his water bottle halfway to his mouth, his eyes dark with shifting emotions. Anger, frustration and what looked like a sharp, intense burn of desire. It made her toes curl in her shoes, even as her heart gave a painful lurch in her chest. Then, very quietly, he said, “Don’t.”

  She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t that. Just a lone, raw, emotion-rough command. She wanted so desperately to surrender to the relief that was slipping through her veins, easing the tightness in her chest, but couldn’t quite find the courage to do it. “I’m just being realistic, Eric. I won’t be here forever. Crissy will.”

  The hard line of his jaw told her he was pissed, but he didn’t argue. He just said, “I’m grabbing that shower now. Make yourself at home while I’m gone.”

  Then he set down the water and pulled off his shirt, and she was stunned once again by how gorgeous his body was. God, his shoulders were huge. His arms, too. Every inch of him seemed to be ripped with muscle, but he didn’t look bulky. Just sharp and fast and sleek. She loved watching his biceps
bunch beneath that sexy tattoo as he hooked his shirt over his shoulder. Loved the way his muscles shifted and flexed beneath his tight skin.

  As if he knew just how devastating he was to her senses, he shot her one of those cocky, crooked grins before turning around and walking away. She watched him until he disappeared through another archway, unable to take her eyes off the beautiful lines of his back and his muscled backside, loving the way his faded Levi’s hugged his ass. The fiend knew exactly what he was doing to her, flaunting his gorgeous body at her, and it was working. Big-time.

  It was embarrassing, how long she just stood there, staring all dreamy-eyed at the now-empty archway, but she finally shook herself out of the lust-induced trance and started looking around. The house was beautiful, though she preferred the more rustic look of the cabin. But she enjoyed walking through the living room and looking at the books and DVDs on his shelves, as well as the photographs hanging on his walls. There were a lot of pictures of him with Elise and a man who looked so much like them that she knew it must be Eli. Chelsea pored over each photograph, enjoying the different smiles on Eric’s face. It was clear he was a guy who liked to have fun, and who loved his family.

  This was what she’d been hoping for when she’d suggested they stop by—an insight into his life, into who he really was.

  And what she found made her like him even more.

  * * *

  Wearing a clean pair of jeans and running a towel over his head, Eric stood in the archway to the living room and watched Chelsea studying his photographs. It felt strangely right, having her in his home. For so long he’d felt as if there was something he needed to be searching for, something he needed to find, that he couldn’t get his hands on. And for the moment, at least, he felt like he had it.

  “You’re trying to figure me out, aren’t you?”

  She jumped, startled by the sound of his voice. “Does that bother you?” she asked, turning to face him.

  He tossed the towel onto the back of a nearby chair, crossed his arms over his chest and propped his shoulder against the side of the archway. “No. But it won’t be easy. Hell, half the time I can’t even figure out who I am.”

  “You’ve never quite fit in here, have you?”

  He gave a harsh crack of laughter. “How did you get that from looking at a bunch of photos?”

  “Because it’s always just the three of you,” she said, pushing her hands in her pockets. “I think you have more in common with the Runners than you even realize.”

  Curious, he asked, “How do you figure that?”

  “Because I have a feeling your father made sure you were always set apart. That he never just let you fit in. You might have been at the opposite end of the spectrum from the Runners, but it had the same isolating result.”

  Shaking his head, he said, “You’re too damn smart for your own good sometimes.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “Do smart women intimidate you?”

  “Not at all,” he rasped, giving her a slow, intense lookover, his heavy-lidded gaze snagging on the beautiful sight of her nipples pressing against her pale gray shirt. “In fact, I think it’s incredibly hot.”

  She snorted.

  “But then,” he said, flashing her a sharp smile as he brought his gaze back up to her face, “I pretty much think everything about you is hot.”

  He loved the husky sound of her laughter. “You wouldn’t say that if you ever heard me sing. I’m always off key. Can’t carry a note for love or money.”

  “I bet it’s cute.” He pulled away from the wall, lowering his arms as he started walking toward her, enjoying the way her eyes went a little wide and her cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. “Damn cute.”

  “I’m also competitive at games,” she said a little breathlessly.

  With a slow smile, Eric rounded the back of the sofa. “I’m competitive at lots of things.”

  “What did Crissy mean, about you being a dark wolf?”

  Her question stopped him dead in his tracks. “That woman needs to learn to keep her mouth shut,” he muttered.

  “Eric, just tell me. Please.”

  Needing a drink to go with this particular conversation, he turned and padded into the kitchen. A moment later, he came back into the room and handed her a beer, taking a long sip from his own bottle as he paced a few feet away, staring out the front window. After taking another swallow of the icy brew, he cleared his throat, then said, “I’m not exactly known around here for being the gentlest of lovers.”

  “Oh.”

  Tension pulsed through his body like a ramped-up, gnawing ache, but he forced out his explanation, his fingers gripping the bottle so tightly he was surprised it didn’t shatter. “It’s because of my bloodline. My family and I are what our race calls dark wolves, meaning our blood is purer than most. Because of that, we’re considered the highest of the pack hierarchy. It also means that we’re stronger and more dominant than the other males.” He ground his jaw, then shoved out the rest. “And when it comes to sex, our more visceral natures are often difficult to control.”

  “Oh,” she said again, and he could practically hear her thinking it through. “That’s why you never get involved with human women, isn’t it?”

  He nodded, hyper-aware of every inch of her body as she came to stand beside him.

  “And so Crissy was implying that you’re dangerous to me?” she asked, setting her beer down on the window ledge.

  The sound surging up from his chest was rough and thick...somehow damaged. But then, it was a kind of physical pain, to be so close to something that he wanted this badly and not be able to touch it.

  “Eric?” He could feel the warmth of her gaze against the side of his face.

  With a hard swallow, he said, “I could be, if I lost control. That’s what I was trying to tell you this afternoon.”

  Her response was soft. “Well, I still think it’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” he growled, turning and locking his gaze with hers.

  “It is.” A small smile flirted with her lips. “You’ve never hurt me, Eric.”

  His voice was almost a snarl. “We haven’t had sex yet, either.”

  Her head tilted just a bit to the side, her eyes watchful and bright. “Are you worried?”

  “No.” He gave a stiff shake of his head. “I won’t allow myself to lose control with you.”

  Lifting her brows, she asked, “Then why are we arguing?”

  A few seconds went by, and then he felt the tension in his coiled muscles slowly draining away. He snorted and gave her a lopsided grin. “Hell if I know.”

  She laughed, the sexy sound rolling down his spine like a lick of flame, making him burn. He wanted her so badly he couldn’t see straight, his hunger like another living, animal thing in his body, keeping company with the wolf. It punched against his skin, starved for the feel and the taste of her.

  God, there were so many ways he could screw this up. He could make a mistake, a stupid miscalculation. Or even just open his big mouth and say the wrong thing, which would be nothing new. He was an ace at pissing people off.

  But, damn it, he wanted to make this work. Wanted her time with him to be something she would look back on later and...hell, he didn’t know. Think of fondly? What a crock of shit. He didn’t want to be a bloody memory.

  You don’t have to be...

  No! He knew damn well that he couldn’t give in to temptation. As time went on, it would be too difficult to keep himself balanced on that razor’s edge of control. Without the power of a blood bond tying them together, the odds were too great that he’d topple off. Especially given the wolf’s need for submission, and her reluctance to give it to him. He might last a week or a month, but no way in hell could he go forever without needing her complete surrender. Without needing to sink his fangs into her tender flesh and take her blood into his body. Without needing to drive her wild with the darker, more carnal pleasures he wanted to give her again and again, until she was lost
in them. Lost in him.

  Damn it, he wanted to take her, here and now, but one look outside the window told him it was too risky. Finishing off his beer, he wiped his hand over his mouth and said, “It’s getting dark out. We should get going.”

  “What happens after dark?”

  “Nothing, usually. I’m just paranoid where you’re concerned,” he admitted with a frown, wondering when this woman had become so bloody important to him.

  She looked out the window for a moment, then brought her sparkling gaze back to his. “You don’t need to be so worried. I won’t run screaming if I see something scary. I mean, I’m pretty tough. I watch Dexter every week and don’t even have to close my eyes.”

  “That is pretty tough,” he agreed, going along with her playful tone. “But you’ll be happy to know that we’re not all psychotic serial killers here.”

  “Psychotic?” she gasped, pretending to be offended. “Don’t bad-mouth Dex, you jerk. I happen to think he’s a swell guy.”

  Eric gave her a cocky smirk. “You would.”

  “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “Just that you’re strange, Chelse.” And funny and sexy and incredibly wonderful. “I mean, we’re talking seriously abnormal.”

  “And this from a werewolf?” She was laughing as she shot him a threatening scowl, then grabbed a pillow from his sofa and threw it at him. He ducked to avoid the soft missile, a goofy grin on his face and a kinda warm feeling in the pit of his stomach as he turned to go and collect his things.

  Eric didn’t know what that warm feeling meant—but he was starting to suspect it might be something remarkably close to happiness.

  Chapter Twelve

  By the time they reached the Alley, late afternoon had given way to early evening, darkening the sky as long, indigo-hued shadows spread through the forest. While Eric grabbed his bag from the back of the truck, Chelsea took a deep breath of the pine-scented air, enjoying the way it filled her lungs.