Wild Wolf Chasing Page 4

The silence stretched out between them, even as another godawful pop song was blasted from the club’s overhead speakers, making her temples pound. But at the table, neither of them spoke a word. They just kept staring at one another with stubborn determination, the way he watched her making her feel as naked as that damn uniform she’d had to wear at the Velvet Rope—a place she was never going back to, if she survived this nightmare. He made her feel like a book that’d been opened right up and was now just waiting for him to pour over its pages, learning its story…its secrets. But just when she thought she would scream from the frustration, he gave in.

  Cursing under his breath, he shoved both hands back through his dark hair as he slumped against the back of the booth. Then he looked right at her, and quietly muttered, “I’m a Lycan.”

  She searched her mind for where she’d heard that term before, and her breath caught with a little hitch. “You mean like a Lycanthrope? A freaking werewolf? Seriously?”

  His strong, corded throat worked as he gave a hard swallow. “Yeah. I mean exactly like that.”

  Despite her initial jolt, she didn’t run screaming from the booth, which made her proud. Hell, her voice didn’t even shake much as she said, “And this Elliot guy who Skye is with. He’s one too?”

  He gave her one of those masculine chin jerks that she knew meant yes, then had to cover her mouth as a sharp laugh burst past her lips, laughing even harder when a look of panic swept over his handsome face. Poor guy probably thought she was becoming hysterical, when really she was just enjoying the first funny-as-hell thing to happen all night.

  “You okay?” he asked, giving her smile a careful look.

  “Yeah, I’m not losing it on you, so don’t look so worried. It’s just that, if you knew Skye, you’d laugh too.” At his deepening look of confusion, she explained. “She’s like the biggest fan of paranormal romance that exists. I’m surprised you didn’t see all the books when you were at our apartment.”

  His dark brows lifted with surprise. “Paranormal romance?”

  “Yeah. Books with hunky heroes who are far from human. Skye freaking loves them.” She gave another low laugh as she finished off her soda, thinking fate had one hell of a sense of humor at times.

  Vivian had always believed that Skye had her head stuck up in the clouds from all the romances she read. Believed that they gave her friend dangerous, unrealistic expectations when it came to men. But what the hell did she know? Apparently not much, seeing as how Skye had been rescued by a freaking Lycan, like something right out of the pages of one of those books!

  Shaking her head at how topsy-turvy everything had become, she asked, “Is he cute?”

  Instead of scowling at the question, the way a lot of the guys she’d known would have, he smiled. “Elliot? He’s better than cute. He’s got killer looks and a great personality.”

  “Then knowing my girl,” she murmured, “she’s probably already half in love with him.”

  “Lucky Elliot,” he drawled with another heart-stopping smile.

  She responded with an inelegant snort that had one of his dark brows arching again.

  “What was that for?” he asked. “You don’t think he’s lucky?”

  “Oh, if Skye falls for him, then he’s going to be the luckiest dude in the world.” Shaking her head again, she slid him a knowing smirk. “I’m just not sure I believe that you think he is. You don’t really look the type to want a woman’s heart. More like just her body.”

  His shoulders went back as his brows drew together. “That’s a hell of a judgmental thing to say.”

  “And yet, I don’t hear you denying it, pretty boy.”

  The instant those last two words came out of her mouth, he scowled. Not that she blamed him. She knew she was acting like a bitch, doing everything she could to put up a big ol’ nasty wall between them, before the guy ended up getting hurt because of her. “What? Not a fan of your nickname?”

  “It’s not my favorite,” he said dryly.

  Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Well, it’s better than ass-bite.”

  He sighed with so much frustration, she almost felt bad for him. “You can keep busting my ass, Vivian, but it isn’t going to change things. Elliot and me, we’re the good guys. We’re not the villains in this nightmare.”

  “Yeah, well, I like to make my own decisions. Especially about who’s the hero and who’s the villain.”

  Casting a sharp look over the club, he muttered, “I wouldn’t take too long about it, if I were you.”

  Lifting her hand, she rubbed the pendant that she’d slipped on her earlier through the black thermal she’d exchanged her blood-stained work uniform for, feeling the ornate symbols carved on its surface even through the warm layer of cotton. Symbols that still didn’t make any sense to her, just like her strange compulsion to get the damn box the necklace had been stored in from her and Skye’s apartment before making a run for it. She’d had money on her, and didn’t give a crap about her clothes, and yet she’d still gone back so that she could retrieve the little wooden keepsake box her mom had asked her to hold on to a few weeks ago. Her mom had been getting ready to kick out her latest loser boyfriend, and she hadn’t wanted the jackass to steal the box, since it contained the few things she still had from Vivian’s dad.

  Vivian hadn’t even bothered to open it before she’d stored the box under her bed, so she hadn’t known what was inside. It wasn’t until it’d gotten knocked out of her hands when the men had charged into her bedroom and attacked her that she’d even glimpsed the gold, ornate V that was attached to a thin strip of leather, along with a faded blue tie, silver lighter, and photo of her parents from when they’d been young and in love. Once she’d managed to knock the two assholes unconscious—not going to think about how that happened—she’d run back into her room, scooped the photo, tie and lighter back into the box, and slipped the necklace over her head.

  It was stupid, but she kept wondering if the necklace was a gift that her dad had left behind for her, the styling a bit too ornate to be a man’s piece of jewelry. And the V could be for Vivian. But she had no idea what the carvings on the surface meant. And she probably never would, given that the odds of her ever seeing her old man again were slim to none. For all she knew, he’d drowned at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey a long time ago.

  Flushing when she realized Max was watching her stroke the pendant, which happened to be nestled between her breasts, she blurted the first thing that came into her head. “I’m glad to see you found your jacket.”

  “You could have kept it.”

  She gave a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well, I’m not a thief.”

  “No, just a liar.” He rubbed one palm over the dark stubble that covered his rugged jaw, sounding exhausted. “You said you’d follow me, and then you ran.”

  “Call me crazy, Max, but I kinda figured all bets were off when I saw you… You know, the whole claws and fangs thing.”

  His eyes got that breathtaking spark of light in them again, the blue like a brilliant slice of sun-splashed summer sky between his thick lashes. “And I used them to save your life.”

  Well, hell, he had her there. “I, um, guess I should probably say thanks for that,” she scraped out, her throat tight. “So thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She frowned as something occurred to her. “You know, if you put a tracker on my truck, why did it take you over two hours to find me?”

  “I had to stay with the bodies until the help I called in got there, and then I got caught behind an accident on the highway.” He winced as if recalling something awful. “For a moment, I thought it was your truck crushed beneath a cross-country bus, until I got out to help the survivors.”

  “I hope everyone was okay,” she murmured. “And it was cool of you to help, though you were probably disappointed I wasn’t involved. I mean, then you could have washed your hands of me and headed home.”

  “What the hell?” he muttered, looking at her like sh
e’d slapped him. “I was fucking terrified for you.”

  “Oh.” She wet her lips with her tongue, having no idea what to say to that, the rough tone of his voice telling her it was true. “So, um, who helped with the bodies back at the diner?”

  For a moment, he just stared at her while grinding his jaw, looking like he was about to call her out again on the whole “bitch” routine. But then he just exhaled a rough breath, and said, “I called a friend from one of the local packs and he got some buddies to help him deal with them.”

  “Local packs?” She shivered as the meaning of those words settled into her system, not even wanting to know how many there were. Not that her next question was any more comforting. “You really think they’ll find me again?”

  “I hope to hell not. But I have no doubt that they’re trying.”

  “But you killed those two, right?”

  “Yeah. But they’re not the only ones working for the dickhead who wants you and Skye.”

  “Since we’re still safe for the moment, why don’t you go ahead and tell me your version of this nightmare. The one where you and Elliot aren’t PIs who just showed up out of nowhere to help us.”

  “Elliot and me, we’re part of a small group called the Bloodrunners. There’s a long history behind the Runners, but basically, it’s our job to protect the secrecy of the Silvercrest Lycan pack in Maryland. Our most important role, though, is that of hunters. We protect the Silvercrest territory from rogue wolves—”

  “Rogue wolves?”

  Voice low, he said, “Ones who break Lycan law by feeding on humans.”

  Chill bumps raced across the surface of her skin. “Well that’s freaking terrifying.”

  “We protect the human towns that fall under our jurisdiction, and we track down any Lycans from the Silvercrest pack that go rogue, whether they’re on our land or not.”

  “That still doesn’t explain how you got involved in all of this. How did you even know I needed help?”

  “There’s an FBI agent named Jared Monroe who’s handling the missing persons’ cases for a group of young, beautiful women. All seven of them recently went missing in this part of the country.”

  “Holy shit.” She sat up a little straighter on her side of the booth. “I’ve seen some of those cases mentioned on the news.”

  “Monroe asked Elliot and me to help him out with the case, and our investigation led us to you and Skye in Charity. We believe the women are being taken by a group of men who are working for one specific person. We just don’t know who or why.”

  She almost asked him if he knew why she’d been targeted specifically, but stopped herself just in time, not wanting to draw attention to her mistakes when he didn’t seem to know about them. “And this FBI agent, he knows what you are?”

  “Yeah, he knows.” His lips twitched with a brief smile. “Monroe’s sister is married to a Lycan in the Silvercrest pack, so the Fed’s like an honorary member.”

  She noted his gaze dropping to the table, and realized he was watching her fiddle with the corner of the napkin she’d written Skye’s message on. “I jotted down Skye’s last message,” she murmured, answering his unspoken question when that blue gaze moved back to her face.

  “You can call her if you want,” he said, offering his cell phone.

  She frowned as she crossed her arms over her chest again. “Aren’t you worried about the baddies tracking your cell?”

  “Naw. Elliot and I have scramblers on our phones. So as long as you’re within 300 yards of me, it’s okay to use yours too.”

  “Clever.”

  “You wanna phone her?” he pressed.

  She shook her head.

  “Why not?” he asked, frowning as he set the phone back down on the table.

  She fought not to cringe, wondering if he could read the guilt all over her face. If it was flashing across her freckles like a neon sign. “It’s…complicated.”

  “That’s all you’re going to give me?” He looked as confused as he sounded.

  “Look, Max. If you want someone who’s going to pour out all her troubles for you and expect you to take care of them for her, then you’ve got the wrong girl.”

  “You know, you remind me of my sister.”

  His sister? She stiffened, wondering if the sexual chemistry she’d been so certain was crackling between them was honestly just one-sided. And even worse, why was that particular thought so damn disappointing?

  “Michaela, she’s one of the strongest, most independent women I’ve ever known,” he explained, completely oblivious to the fact that she’d nearly sighed with relief over his explanation. “Of course, it doesn’t stop her husband, Brody, from doing everything he can to ease her way in the world. But they’re partners, in the truest sense of the word.”

  Doing the whole jaw rubbing thing again, he looked as if he couldn’t quite figure out why he’d just told her all that, but she wasn’t complaining. Despite her own cynical outlook on the world, she loved hearing about couples who actually made it, though she’d never admit it to Skye. Her bestie was too much of a romantic at heart to be trusted with that kind of information. God, she could just imagine it. Skye would be trying to set her up with every eligible bachelor that came into the diner where she worked!

  Looking around again, he said, “I hate to sound like a broken record, but we really need to get going. We’ve already stayed too long as it is.”

  “I didn’t say I—”

  “Look, I get that this isn’t easy for you,” he ground out, cutting her off. “But if you don’t trust me, or at least try to, then there’s a hell of a good chance that I won’t be able to keep you safe.”

  Staring into his deep blue eyes, she wondered if Skye had found it as difficult to put her trust in Max’s partner. God knew they both had their hang-ups and insecurities. But Skye… The girl had always been a dreamer, and Vivian hoped she was getting to live at least some of that dream now. Hoped this Elliot guy was treating her like the total goddess that she was, because Vivian had never known a better soul than Skye Hewitt.

  “And that’s all you want?” she asked, watching him with a sharp eye. “To keep me safe?”

  “Hell no,” he all but growled at her. “I want you protected, and I want every single one of the fuckers who intends to come after you rotting in the ground.”

  Her lips twitched with a wry smile. “That’s the most enticing thing you’ve said all night.”

  He laughed as he shook his head. “I don’t blame you for being bloodthirsty.”

  When another ear-splitting song started to play and he cringed, she said, “You don’t like strip clubs all that much, do you?”

  “I prefer my mountains.” He looked around again, taking in the lonely souls who were the only ones left at this time of night. “And places like this grate on my nerves.”

  “You’re not going to tell me I’m cheap for stripping?” she blurted, wondering where in the hell that had come from.

  Slowly bringing his gaze back to hers, he arched one of those raven brows at her. “Unless I completely missed something tonight, you weren’t stripping.”

  She gave a soft, bitter laugh that rang of exhaustion. “Oh, but I was thinking about it.” Lowering her gaze back to the napkin, she rolled one shoulder in a restless, uneasy gesture. “I have no idea how long this…nightmare is going to go on, or how long the money I have on me will last, so I was definitely thinking about what I could earn with a few turns on the stage before you showed up.” Chancing a quick look up at his face, she added, “It’s not the kind of dancing I want to train for, mind you, but desperate times call for desperate measures. So I would’ve given it my all.”

  “Yeah?” He slid a glance over toward the currently empty stage and looked like he was fighting back a smile. “Then I would’ve been sorry to miss the show.”

  She shook her head, unable to hide her surprise. “You sound like you mean that.”

  Looking her right in the eye, he spoke in a
husky rumble that made her feel ridiculously warm. “It’s your body, Vivian. I’d prefer to be the only guy who sees it in the raw, but I wouldn’t judge you for doing what you thought you needed to do to survive. That’s not my style.”

  “Oh yeah? Did you work a gig at Chippendales?” she asked, determined not to think about what he’d said about preferring to be the only guy who saw her naked.

  “Naw,” he said with a tight laugh. “It would’ve been good money, but I can’t dance for shit.”

  “I thought you said any boyfriend of mine would’ve burned the Velvet Rope to the ground?”

  “I was judging the place, not you,” he told her, sounding like he meant it.

  “Smooth.”

  “And just so you know, money isn’t going to be a problem.”

  She immediately scowled. “Jesus, Max. I’m not taking your money.”

  “We have an expense fund for situations like this. So that’s the last thing you need to be worrying about.”

  She opened her mouth, but didn’t know what to say, everything about this guy seeming too good to be true. Well, aside from the fact that he wasn’t really a “guy” at all. At least not a human one.

  “Will you tell me something?” he murmured, giving her another one of those heated, searching looks.

  “What?” she asked warily, wondering how she could feel so hot and cold all at the same time.

  “How the hell did you get away at your apartment?”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, wishing he’d asked her anything but that. “I… I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Viv.”

  “I’m serious! I have no idea.” The frown on her lips was as much from the conversation as it was from how much she liked hearing him say her name. “I’m not even sure it…happened.”

  “Oh, it happened. You left the trashed apartment and blood behind to prove it.”

  She flinched at the word blood, the images flashing into her mind striking like an ice pick. Memories she’d been using every ounce of strength she possessed to forget, not wanting to remember the terror. The pain. The guilt.

  Christ, the freaking guilt.