Dark Wolf Running (Bloodrunners) Page 9

  Wyatt gave an uneasy shrug. “Don’t know. Why?” He knew Carla was a grown woman, free to make her own choices. But that didn’t mean he was going to stand by and let her get her heart broken by a notorious, unapologetic womanizer like Hennessey.

  “I was just curious,” Cian was saying, pulling out a cigarette. “I mean, have you taken a good look at our little group lately? We’re not so little anymore. Half of us have mated and married since last autumn, and now we have Eric and Chelsea. You, me and Reyes are the lone singles of the group, which got me thinking. You would think the one female Runner would have mated before the males.”

  “Well, I don’t know what Carla’s story is when it comes to men,” he muttered, his nose tingling from the sharp scent of tobacco as Cian lit his smoke. “I prefer to think of her as... Hell, I don’t know. I just prefer not to think of her that way.”

  “Yeah, I get that. I think we all see her as a kind of sister, you even more than the rest of us.” Cian took a long drag on the cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs and then slowly let it out. “Which means that if there’s something keeping her from getting out there and having a good time, we should know what it is.”

  Wyatt laughed. “Oh, yeah? And have you shared all your secrets with the rest of us?”

  The Irishman frowned. “It’s not the same. We’re males.”

  “I would love to see you say that to her face,” he offered drily. “Something tells me you wouldn’t have all your teeth for very long.”

  “Hmm. You may be onto something there,” Cian murmured. “She is a ferocious little thing. Probably scares the crap out of most of the guys she comes into contact with. Maybe that’s the problem right there.”

  With the conversation about his partner at an end, Wyatt had expected to get grilled about Elise as well, but the Irishman wasn’t pushing the issue at the moment, and he was silently grateful. Last thing he wanted to be doing was dodging questions about what was going on between them.

  “Did you hear that?” Cian asked, cocking his head toward the direction of the Alley as they got closer.

  Wyatt started to ask what he was talking about, when he heard what sounded like a feminine, high-pitched scream, quickly followed by another. “What the fuck?” he growled, and they immediately took off running, jumping over fallen limbs, his boots almost slipping on a thick patch of moss as they raced to reach the glade. Fear churned through his veins like an acid, his head pounding as he worried about what might be happening. Had one of the Whiteclaw Lycans managed to get past them? Were they being attacked? But when he and Cian burst through the trees, slamming to a stop at the edge of the Alley, they stared in amazement, struggling to figure out what was going on.

  “What in God’s name are they doing?” Cian muttered.

  “Beats the hell out of me,” he replied, wondering why Elise, Michaela, Carla, Chelsea and Torrance were all standing on the hood of Brody’s poor truck, clinging to each other, squealing at the top of their lungs. Brody and Eric stood on Eric’s front porch, bent over at the waist as they roared with laughter, while Jillian tried to get them to shut up. Sayre Murphy, Jillian’s beautiful eighteen-year-old sister and a powerful witch in her own right, stood a few feet away from them, on the porch steps, wringing her hands with worry as she called for the women to calm down. Sayre didn’t live in the Alley, but she was often there, visiting with her sister.

  Wyatt was getting ready to shout over the racket and demand an explanation, when Chelsea started pointing at the ground on the side of the truck and screamed, “Oh, my God, there are three!”

  “Three what?” Cian muttered, sounding as confused as he was.

  Narrowing his eyes, Wyatt scanned the ground and caught sight of three massive rattlesnakes slithering out from the far side of Brody’s truck, toward the center of the clearing. “It’s snakes,” he said, pointing toward the reptiles. “Three of them.”

  “All this racket over some snakes?” Cian gave a husky laugh as he eyed the screaming women. “They look bloody ridiculous up there.”

  Wyatt kept his mouth shut, biting back the denial burning on his tongue. Personally, he thought Elise looked hot as hell, even when she was jumping up and down and squealing like a girl. It was pretty fucking adorable, if you asked him.

  “What is it about lasses and snakes?” he murmured, which made Cian laugh again.

  “You do know that you could just eat the damn things, right?” Cian called out to Carla, who looked ready to hyperventilate as she watched the snakes slither through the recently cut blades of grass, the late-afternoon sunlight glittering against their brown scales.

  “Eat them?” Carla choked out, turning an interesting shade of green. “I’d rather eat a skunk! Snakes are repulsive!”

  “Are you blind? They’re beautiful!” Sayre argued, looking thoroughly insulted as she glared up at Wyatt’s partner.

  “Eric, stop laughing and kill the damn things!” Chelsea screamed, shooting a furious look at her husband while she continued to cling to the other women.

  “No! No one is killing anything! They’re not going to hurt you,” Sayre snapped, coming down the steps, which made the women shout for her to stay back. The young witch shook her head in exasperation. “Seriously, they’re more frightened of you than you are of them. You’re damn near scaring the poor things to death.”

  Wyatt choked back a laugh and scratched his chin. “Uh, is she, like, channeling the snakes’ feelings or something?” he asked Cian.

  The Irishman grunted, “God only knows with that one.”

  As they watched, Sayre’s eyes began to glow with a fiery light as she held her hands out toward the snakes, her fingers extended. The wind blew her strawberry blond curls around her delicate face, whipping the fabric of her sundress against her slender form. The snakes came to a stop, lifting their wide heads and looking toward her, almost as if they were listening to her speak to them in some strange, wordless language. It seemed as if Sayre were actually communicating with the reptiles, and the scene sent an eerie shiver down Wyatt’s nape. He’d known, from talking to Jeremy, that Sayre was talented—but the young witch’s powers appeared to be growing beyond anything they had expected. After several tense moments had passed, the snakes flicked their tongues from between their jaws, seemed to give Sayre a regal nod and then quickly slithered across the clearing as they made their way back into the woods on the far side of the Alley.

  With a wry look on her face, Sayre lowered her arms and turned back toward the slack-jawed group of women. “You can come down now.”

  Wyatt glanced at Cian, who stood beside him with a cigarette hanging precariously from the corner of his mouth, his narrowed gaze still focused intently on Sayre Murphy. “Whatever you’re thinking, don’t,” he muttered under his breath. “She’s too young for you, man.”

  At his quiet words, Cian seemed to shake himself out of his daze, his lips twisting in a cocky smile. “Trust me, boyo. I know better than to mess with little girls.”

  Wyatt smirked. “If you don’t, Jillian will no doubt make sure you wished that you did.”

  “Make sure he wished that he did what?”

  They both looked ahead to see Jillian coming toward them, a pink-faced Michaela at her side. Cian gave a low laugh. “You know how Pall is,” he murmured with his lilting accent. “He’s just giving me a hard time.”

  While Wyatt looked over the women’s heads, watching Elise and Chelsea lay into Eric for laughing at them, Michaela said, “Instead of standing over here snickering, you two could have helped!”

  “And risk getting bitch-slapped by Jilly’s little sister?” Cian drawled. “Not in this lifetime. I’m—”

  “Before you two start bickering, I came over because I have something important to say,” Jillian murmured, cutting the Runner off. Then she looked at Wyatt. “I’ve been thinking about Elise,” she explained, lowering her voice. “About what happened to her three years ago. And I think there could be a connection between her attack and
what we learned about the Whiteclaw’s rape drugs when Chelsea was searching for her sister.”

  His gaze instantly sharpened, while his insides twisted with fury, same as they did each time he thought about what Elise had been through. “What do you mean?”

  “When we were talking about the drugs the Whiteclaw use to mask their scent this morning, it started me thinking about the other drugs they’re manufacturing that affect the girls’ memories when they’re attacked.” Jillian took a quick breath, then added, “Elise can’t completely remember hers, either. Maybe there’s a connection.”

  “It could have been the trauma that makes her unable to remember what happened that night,” he pointed out, his voice raw. “Hell, if it’d been me, I wouldn’t have wanted to remember it, either.”

  “But what if it wasn’t?” Michaela asked, her beautiful face pinched with concern. “What if it has some connection to what’s happening now?”

  Swallowing against the blistering lump of rage burning in his throat, Wyatt had to choke back a deep, guttural growl. “You think they used one of the early versions of the drug on her?”

  Sunlight glinted against Jillian’s blond hair as she nodded. “I think it’s definitely possible. And maybe it was more than the rain that night that made it impossible to track the males’ scents. They could have used their drugs for that, as well.”

  “If that’s true,” Cian said, lighting up another cigarette, “and we assume that this recent attack on Elise is related more to what happened to her before than it is to the coming war, then why wait all this time to start messing with her? It’s been three bloody years.”

  The four of them shared a few heavy, thoughtful moments of silence as they worked the problem over in their heads, and then Michaela said, “Maybe the question we should really be asking ourselves is who’s here who wasn’t here before?”

  Cian’s dark brows lifted with interest. “Are you talking about Roy’s nephews, the Claymore brothers? About Sebastian and Harris?”

  At the mention of Harris Claymore’s name, Wyatt’s heart started to beat in slow, painful lurches, a muscle pulsing just beneath his left eye, while his hands slowly curled into fists at his sides. “I don’t really know them,” he growled. “But from the things I’ve heard about Harris Claymore, he’s nothing more than a thug. And we know they were only recently called back home by their uncle.”

  Cian exhaled a sharp stream of smoke and nodded. “I’ll talk to Mason about setting up some kind of surveillance on him. It won’t be easy, if he’s staying with Roy. But we should be able to pick him up the moment he sets foot out of Hawkley.”

  Wyatt looked at Jillian and tried to gentle his tone. “This is good, Jilly. It could be the break we’re looking for.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “I just want her to be okay, Wyatt. I appreciate you looking out for her.”

  He didn’t know what to say to those heartfelt words, so he looked at Mic and asked, “Have you been able to get any kind of read on her? Is she...okay?”

  Though human, Michaela possessed the remarkable ability to read the emotions in those she was in close physical proximity to, giving her a rare insight into their feelings. At the moment, Wyatt imagined the worried look on her face was a result of the seething rage she could no doubt sense coiling through his insides, demanding he hunt down Harris Claymore right then and there. The only thing that kept him grounded was the fact that Elise needed protection, and he was going to be damned before he let one of the other Runners provide it for her.

  “I’ve been able to pick up a few bits and pieces,” Michaela told him while he struggled to calm down. “She’s worried, but she feels at ease here. I think today is the safest she’s felt in a long time. Carla told us about the argument the two of you had last night, but you did the right thing to force her down here, Wyatt.”

  He nodded, wanting to ask her more, but not wanting Elise’s secrets blurted out in front of Cian. He liked Hennessey, but the more distance the womanizing Runner kept from Elise, the better.

  “We’ve bought some stuff to make pizzas for dinner tonight,” Jillian told them, offering an appreciated change of subject. “You guys coming?”

  Thinking Elise would probably feel more comfortable hanging out with the group, rather than eating alone with him in his cabin, he said, “Yeah, we’ll be there. I just need to get cleaned up.”

  “Same here,” Cian said, and they all parted ways.

  To Wyatt’s surprise, Elise made her way over to him as he headed toward his cabin, asking him how the patrol had gone as she followed him inside. He teased her a little about the snake incident, which had her laughing, then told her to make herself at home while he grabbed a quick shower. He wasn’t quite sure if there had actually been a spark of heat in those beautiful jewel-toned eyes when he turned to go or if it’d just been wishful thinking on his part, but he ended up taking the first deliberately cold shower of his life. And it sucked as badly as he’d thought it would.

  An hour later, they were all gathered in Jeremy and Jillian’s cabin, except for Eric and Chelsea, who had decided to have a quiet dinner at home, and Jeremy and Mason, who were still out on patrol. The open windows let in the cool evening breeze, the air filled with the mouthwatering scents of freshly baked pizzas, crisp Caesar salad and ice-cold beer and wine. Even Max Doucet, Michaela’s younger brother, and his friend Elliot Connors came down to join them, after taking care of a private project for Wyatt, and they fit in as easily as they always did. Wyatt had remained by Elise’s side ever since they’d arrived, and though she was quiet, he knew she was having a good time. He could tell by the relaxed look on her face that she was comfortable here. For a woman who’d been raised on daily doses of hatred and racism, she was nothing at all like her father.

  The group was spread out across the living room, sitting on sofas and chairs, while some just sat on the floor. The pizzas were consumed over a lot of laughing and talking, as well as a hefty amount of good-natured ribbing. When Carla asked if there was any more salad, after already eating two platefuls, Wyatt watched as Cian smirked at her. “Jesus, Reyes, you eat like a horse,” the Irishman drawled, which had Michaela jabbing him in the side with her elbow. “Ouch, damn it!” He turned to glare at Mic. “What the hell was that for?”

  “Be nice,” she hissed.

  “Or what?” Cian asked, arching one of his dark brows.

  Michaela gave him a sharp smile. “Or my husband will kick your ass. Right, babe?”

  Brody’s thick auburn hair was pulled back from his scarred face with a band, his green eyes burning with emotion as he grinned at his wife. “Anything you want, beautiful.”

  Mic looked at Cian. “See? And now you should get up off your sarcastic backside and get the woman her salad.”

  Carla laughed. “No thanks. He’d probably just spit in it.”

  Elise smothered a giggle behind her hand, and Wyatt couldn’t help but grin at the infectious sound. Had he ever heard her laugh before? Not with sarcasm, but just a real, honest-to-God laugh? He didn’t think so, and it made him want to rub the center of his chest, where there was a sharp, strange burn that had nothing to do with his dinner and everything to do with the woman.

  “I’ll get your damn salad,” Cian muttered as he stood up from his seat, reaching for Carla’s plate. “And it’ll even be spit-free,” he added drily.

  Carla eyed him suspiciously, holding her plate just out of his reach. “You promise you won’t do anything gross to it?”

  The look of insult on Hennessey’s face was completely priceless. “Christ, woman. Am I five?”

  Carla just gave him that “I’m waiting” look that women did so well, until Cian finally growled, “Fine, I promise. Scout’s honor, too, though I was never a bloody scout. Now give me the damn plate!”

  “Only you could manage to give Cian a conscience,” Mason’s wife, Torrance, said to Michaela when Cian had walked into the kitchen.

  “That was fun to watch,” Brody murm
ured, winking at his wife.

  Michaela opened her mouth to respond, when a booming crash suddenly came from the kitchen. “What the hell was that?” she whispered.

  A laughing Max quickly came into the living room. “You guys aren’t gonna believe this, but Sayre just threw her plate at Cian’s head!”

  Jillian looked worried. “What? Why?”

  “From what I caught,” the soon-to-be Runner told them, “he was making fun of some guy she has a date with next week. Guess she took exception.”

  “That’s understandable,” Michaela offered with a frown that matched Jillian’s. “But she’s normally so mellow. It isn’t like her to be riled so easily.”

  Brody snorted. “This is Cian we’re talking about, Mic. The guy could make a saint want to kick him in the balls.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she agreed, a look of surprise flickering across her face when Cian stalked out of the kitchen just ahead of Sayre, his dark brows drawn into a deep crease over the bridge of his nose. Wyatt wondered if Michaela was using her “gift” at that moment to get a read on the Irishman and, if so, what she was learning. Because Cian looked like a man ready to commit murder with his bare hands.

  Wyatt didn’t know what to make of Cian and Sayre, but it didn’t matter. Even if he’d wanted to figure out their strange little drama, he wouldn’t have had the time. He was too busy watching Elise, hanging on to her every murmured word and expression like a pathetic, lovesick fool. God, he wanted so badly to make her smile at him the way he’d caught her doing several times tonight with the others. Wanted to find a way to break through her shields. To give her things he didn’t even have it in him to give. But he’d go as far as he could. Claim her body. Drench her in pleasure. Make her laugh. Make her smile. Not with one of those pained smirks, but an honest-to-God “so happy she couldn’t hold it inside” kind of smile. The kind that would light her up from the inside out and make him feel like the luckiest man alive.