Last Wolf Standing Read online

  “I swear you smell good enough to eat,” he blurted out in a raw, gritty voice, the harsh words all but ripped out of his throat.

  He silently cursed, feeling his face go conspicuously hot while she just stared at him in shock. Where the hell did that come from?

  Jeremy gave him a sharp look, then threw back his head and burst out laughing. “Oh, damn, this is priceless.” He wheezed, all but bent over as he struggled to hold in the laughter. “God, Mase, you should see the look on your face.”

  “Shut. Up. Burns.”

  “In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you make such an ass of yourself over a broad.”

  “She isn’t a broad,” he rasped, his voice sounding husky and thick even to his own ears.

  As if a light switch had suddenly been flipped in his head, the humor vanished from Jeremy’s face. He cursed roughly under his breath, then cut his sharp hazel gaze from her to him, and back to her again, letting his eyes travel over her in a slow, thorough search from the top of her head down to her cute little sneaker-covered feet. His stunned gaze swung back to Mason, hot with accusation. “I don’t friggin’ believe it. You can’t be serious.”

  “Leave it alone,” he warned, not wanting to have this conversation here, in front of her. God only knew what Jeremy would say.

  “She doesn’t deserve this,” Jeremy argued in a low voice, stepping closer. “Not the kind of crap you’ll bring down on her head, and all because you wanna get laid.”

  Wishing he could gag the son of a bitch before he said anything more, Mason growled, “Last warning, Jeremy. Shut up.”

  Jeremy stepped closer, unwilling to back down. “Don’t mess with her, Mason.”

  “Her does have a name,” she suddenly cut in, her slightly husky voice coming through sharp and clear with mounting irritation. Then, as if dismissing them, she turned back to the mess on the floor, crouched down, and began throwing her ruined lunch back onto the tray. She grumbled under her breath about the lack of help from the café’s staff, while the growing throng of customers sidestepped the unsightly mess, obviously too rushed or rude to offer any help. Then again, he knew they were probably being given a wide berth on purpose. He’d been told, on more than one occasion, that he and Jeremy were an intimidating pair.

  Watching as she finished picking up, Mason felt like an ass when he realized he should have been helping her. She stood up with the trash-laden tray, and looked down at her splattered clothing, shaking her head in disgust, talking to herself as she muttered, “Great, I’m wearing tomato soup. How lovely. Now everyone at work will think I’ve been ravaged by a bloodsucking vampire.”

  “You believe in vampires?” Jeremy asked, eyeing her with a skeptical look of suspicion.

  “Hardly,” she snapped, “but then I’m not the norm around Mic’s.”

  “Who the hell is Mic?” Mason grunted, not liking the questions firing through his brain in rapid succession. Mic, the boyfriend? Mic, the next-door neighbor who tore up her sheets with her on Friday night? Mic, the macho mechanic who made her melt when he smiled at her? Whoever the hell he was, Mason hated him.

  “Who’s Mic?” she repeated, the corners of her mouth turning down in a tight, irritated frown. “Michaela is my best friend and my boss,” she started to explain, before pressing her lips together and shaking her head. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she added.

  “I’m making you my business,” he growled softly, stepping closer, crowding into her space.

  She took a short step back and stopped, pinning him with a hard glare. “One more move and I’m screaming.”

  God, what was his problem? He was screwing this damn thing up before it even got started. Hell, no one had told him that discovering his life mate would turn him into a blundering, chest-pounding idiot. He was as bad as a gangly teenager high on raging hormones, unable to think past the red-hazed lust and possessiveness clouding his mind.

  And to make matters worse, he actually wanted to…get to know this woman. Learn things about her. Her favorite food. Favorite color. Books, movies, pet peeves and things she did for fun. All of which sounded suspiciously like getting to know her on a level that went far beyond physical intimacy, to something deeper and more meaningful.

  That was bad, because Mason didn’t have a clue how to handle it. He was a Bloodrunner for God’s sake—he didn’t have time for conversation and “getting to know” people. Not that he had any choice here. The importance of making a good impression on the woman he was meant to spend the rest of his life with wasn’t lost on him, and here he was screwing it up with every damn word that came out of his mouth. At least if he’d had Hennessey on hand, he could have asked for some advice from the womanizing Irishman. Then again, maybe having that pretty face around his woman wasn’t such a good idea. Burns was available, and he knew Jeremy never had any trouble when it came to women. But his social skills were as pathetic as his own, so there’d be no help coming from that quarter.

  Looked like he was on his own. Damn.

  Taking a deep breath, Mason strove for a calm, nonthreatening, I’m-just-a-nice-guy kind of tone. “Look, I’m sorry. This has been a hell of a day already. How about you take a seat and I’ll get you some more food, okay? That way we can sit and talk.” There, that was good, he thought with a brief measure of relief. He’d managed to form four sentences without sounding like a jealous ass or mentioning how badly he wanted her.

  But the look on her face told him she wasn’t buying it.

  Christ. This wasn’t going to work. He was going to go up in flames, he realized with no small amount of frustration, dragging the back of his wrist over his damp forehead, wondering if the expression in his eyes mirrored the intensity of his need…or if she simply thought he was nuts.

  “Is this,” she said after a moment, studying him from beneath the thick fringe of long russet lashes, “some kind of setup?”

  Another deep breath, slow and easy, while he struggled to stay in control. “Setup? For what?”

  “God only knows. Some radio show? Are you DJs?” she asked suspiciously.

  Mason folded his arms across his chest and scowled at her, insulted down to his boots. “Do I look like a damn DJ?”

  She shrugged the delicate line of her shoulders, blowing a wayward wisp of curling auburn hair out of her eyes. “I have no idea. Really, I think I should just be on my way now.”

  He opened his mouth to try and convince her to stay, even though he didn’t have a clue what he could say at this point. Unfortunately, Jeremy chose that moment to put in another two cents’ worth. “I’m telling you, man, she doesn’t deserve this. Leave her the hell alone.”

  Mason didn’t even take his eyes off her as he softly replied, “I don’t have a choice.”

  From the corner of his vision, he watched Jeremy’s hazel gaze narrow as the meaning and repercussions of what he was saying—and what he wasn’t saying—began to seep in. “Christ, Mase. If that means what I think it means, then you know you should walk away. You can’t risk it with Simmons more than likely watching us now that we’re closing in on him.”

  “And you should know that walking away isn’t an option for me,” he shot back, careful to keep his voice low so they didn’t draw unwanted attention.

  “As fascinating as this is, I’m just going to slink away now myself,” she said carefully, obviously freaked out by their conversation and his behavior. Handing her tray to a dour-faced busboy who finally scuffed by, she took several steps away from them. “I’d say thanks for helping me up, but then, you were the one who dumped me on my ass in the first place. Still, thanks.”

  “Just give me a chance to explain. Please. That’s all I’m asking. We’ll stay right here, at one of the tables,” Mason said in a low, urgent rumble, grabbing hold of her arm as she turned, careful not to squeeze too hard. Her bones felt infinitely fragile beneath the inhuman strength of his hand, sending a fierce surge of protectiveness through his blood.

  “I n
eed to get back to work,” she murmured, trying to break free of his grip, her book tucked up safely under her other arm. “Now let go of me before I pull out my cell phone and call the cops, then start screaming bloody murder.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that,” he said quietly, trying to sound reasonable…normal…even though he knew he was going to end up scaring her. “I swear I’m not going to hurt you, okay? But we need to talk, and then I need to get you out of here.”

  The expression on her face made him wince, an unbearable sense of defeat nearly flooring him as Mason realized she had every intention of ditching him. Not that he blamed her. If their situations were reversed, he’d have thought he sounded crazy, too.

  “And just where do you think I’m going to go with you?” she demanded, the words thick with sarcasm, and he hated the fear he could scent on her—frustrated that he didn’t know how to ease it, how to make her understand. You didn’t just walk up to a human woman and say, Hey, I can tell by your scent that you’re my life mate, which means we belong to each other for the rest of our lives, and never any other. Oh, and by the way, I’m half werewolf, have a rogue bastard most likely watching me because I’m hunting him down to kill him, and I really, really need to mate with you. Hard. And often. As in damn near all the time. At least not without getting your face slapped or your balls kicked. From the look in her eyes, he figured both were strong possibilities at this point.

  Trying to sound as nonthreatening as possible, Mason kept his voice low as he said, “Anywhere but here. Jeremy’s right about this being dangerous. We can’t risk keeping you out in the open with him watching us.”

  She looked at him as if he’d just told her he was Elvis reincarnated by aliens. “Then here’s a news flash. Why not try walking away and leaving me alone, before you end up in some serious trouble?”

  “Not in this lifetime, sweetheart,” he rasped under his breath.

  She shook her head in frustration. “Have you recently escaped from a mental institution by chance?”

  “Classic,” Jeremy snorted under his breath. “As wrong as this is, I can’t wait to tell your old man that line. He’ll crack a rib from laughing.”

  “Look, this is just getting too freaky for me. For the last time, you need to let go. Now.”

  Mason let his hand smooth down her arm, shaken by the softness of her skin, clasping as gently as possible around her wrist. He could feel her pulse racing beneath the pads of his fingers and knew she was scared. He figured she’d have run screaming long before now, if not for the throng of customers filling the café, surrounding them. She’d found a measure of comfort in the crowd, but that feeling was rapidly fading. “I know this sounds weird as hell, but I need you to give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking. If you insist on staying here, then at least sit down with me and I’ll explain.”

  “I can’t do that.” Her green eyes were clear and bright as she tried to pull away from him, the movement jostling the book she’d tucked up under her arm. Mason watched as a small piece of paper fell from between the book’s pages, fluttering softly to the floor, and instinct had him covering it with his boot, while he struggled with what to say. There were so many things he wanted to explain, things he needed to make her understand, but all he could come out with was a low, urgent, “Don’t run.”

  “Get your hands off me. Right now,” she grunted, her voice raised, and the customers closest to them went quiet, all eyes turning toward them. A cold knot of fury…and something that felt strangely like pain twisted Mason’s stomach, but he forced his grip to ease, releasing her arm.

  She backed away slowly, until she felt the door at her back. Hating the emotions that burned like acid in his gut, Mason watched her turn around and quickly push out into the brisk autumn weather.

  She started running the second her feet hit the sidewalk…and never looked back.

  Chapter 2

  Clutching her book to her chest to keep it dry, Torrance Kimberly Watson all but stumbled into the softly lit, subtly incensed interior of Michaela’s Muse. Her heart pumped a chaotic beat, while her mind carried on a fierce debate with her grumbling libido—and despite her common sense, it looked as if her sex-deprived inner wild woman was winning.

  “Like that should come as a shock,” she quietly snickered, groaning at her body’s continued reaction to the man she’d left behind in the restaurant. He was certainly a fine specimen of maleness, even if he had been off his rocker. “And not even those last few minutes of rain managed to cool you down, you slut,” she jokingly muttered under her breath, slipping out of her damp jacket and tossing it over her arm.

  It was a depressing thought, but there was no denying that she’d been a long time without a boyfriend. Heck, she’d been a long time without a simple date. She was in her mid-twenties, meant to be living life to its fullest…and instead she’d practically become a nun. Not that a few short-lived relationships counted for much in the way of past experience, but then she knew she had high expectations when it came to that sort of thing. Expectations she doubted any man could ever meet.

  No, Torrance understood the male species for what they were—and, more important, for what they weren’t. After dating one too many jerks who were as faithless as they were self-centered and shallow, she’d decided that being alone was better than being used—than settling for something she didn’t want—and she still stood by her decision. But, God, it wasn’t easy when dealing with the kind of temptation she’d had to endure today.

  The guy at lunch had been like something out of her dreams. The really, really naughty ones, she thought with a small, crooked smile.

  “Hey, Torry,” Michaela called out from the front of the store without looking up, absorbed in her current project.

  “Oh, uh…hey, Mic,” she called back, suddenly realizing she’d been standing in the doorway, lost in her own little world. With a quick look around the store, Torrance saw that Mic had been busy digging into their latest delivery of new merchandise. A box containing paranormal titles and Tarot decks sat on the floor beside an ornate wooden bookshelf, while another that probably contained scented candles had been placed beside an antique display case.

  Torrance had met Michaela Doucet five years ago, at a Tarot demonstration the Cajun was holding at a local bookstore, and they’d become instant, inseparable friends. Two years later, when Mic had opened the specialty shop, Torrance had been right by her side, and together they had made Michaela’s Muse an area favorite, with business growing every year.

  She loved her job, and felt at home in the warm, soothing atmosphere, surrounded by friends who had become like family to her.

  “Torry!” Michaela suddenly gasped in that slow Southern drawl of hers, making Torrance jump. She looked over to see Mic’s big, dark blue eyes blinking with surprise as she glanced up from the new Tarot decks she was organizing, getting her first good look at Torrance’s ruined shirt. “What happened? You look like you just came from an orgy with one of the undead!”

  “Hah!” Torrance laughed out loud, causing Mic to give her a more critical look. “I told them you were going to say something like that when you saw my shirt,” she mumbled, feeling strange, as if her body were hot and cold all at once, her skin suddenly too tight for all the chaos going on inside of it. Man, that gorgeous freak-case at the café had really messed with her mind.

  “And it wasn’t a what,” she added with a resigned sigh, suddenly giving a wry grin as she tossed her book and jacket on the beautiful bar that served as the store’s checkout counter, then stepped around its corner, moving to her customary place behind the gleaming antique. Knowing her tenacious best friend would pry the lunchtime fiasco out of her one way or another, the sanest course of action was to give in gracefully and save what little of her sanity she still had left. “It was a who.”

  Michaela’s delicately sloped brows arched high on the smooth perfection of her brow as she moved around the display table draped with sapphire velvet. “Now tha
t,” she mused, the black mass of her softly curling hair gleaming a deep, dark, midnight blue, “sounds like something more than just another boring lunch at that corporate zombiefest you can’t get enough of.”

  A steady drizzle of rain began pattering gently upon the roof as the latest storm moved overhead, its pattern soft and fleeting, like the featherlight dance of water fairies. Torrance normally found the sound of early-autumn showers soothing, but today the lilting chorus of raindrops only added to the prickling restlessness shivering beneath the surface of her skin. And it didn’t help that she was still reeling from the gorgeous stranger’s bizarre effect on her.

  Hell, maybe she was coming down with something. Or maybe she was just so desperate for something more out of life, that she was becoming delusional. Had it gotten to the point where she was creating imaginary connections with mouthwatering hunks to make her feel less lonely? How…pathetic.

  “Yoohoo, earth to Torry…” Michaela laughed, waving one slim palm in front of her face to get her attention.

  “Oh, sorry. Um, I didn’t catch that last part.”

  Mic gave her a quizzical look. “I just said that it sounds like you had an interesting lunch.”

  “Yeah, it was interesting all right,” Torrance softly agreed.

  Crossing her slim arms across her bountiful chest, Mic leaned one elbow against the edge of the intricately carved bar. The exquisite piece looked more like it belonged in a high-end antique shop, rather than a mystical haven for lovers of the paranormal. Like several of the store’s unusual antiques, the cherrywood bar had come from Mic’s grandmother’s mysterious Southern estate, buried somewhere deep in the bayou.

  It was that bayou upbringing that had given Michaela her comfortable acceptance of the paranormal—an acceptance that Torrance envied. Truth be told, working at the shop had been a test of sorts for her, to see if she could get past her childhood phobias and embrace the paranormal community. And Torrance had done it, kind of like a person with a fear of sharks learning to enjoy the ocean. She loved her job, had a great rapport with their customers, and though it had taken some time, she’d eventually learned not to fear the unknown.