by J. K Harper
“What's that?”
She finally looked up at him and let a half smile light up her face. A soft brown strand of hair wisped over her cheek, ending at her lips. He swallowed.
“You're so dead set against the rogues,” she said. “I've been wondering why. I mean, I know why in general, of course. But why are you specifically wanting to hunt them down? It's almost as if you have a vendetta.”
Her expression seemed genuinely curious and open. She really wanted to know. Even so, he felt slightly stunned she didn't get how bad the rogue problem was.
“Ree,” he began, but the waitress finally made her way over to them. They spent a minute ordering a ridiculously girly drink for Rielle, complete with some silly name and apparently also tiny, colorful umbrellas stuck in it, and thank god a Jack and ginger ale for him.
“Look,” he said after their waitress zipped away. “They're rogues. Rogues!” He warmed to the subject and heard his own voice rising with the intensity of his viewpoint. “They have no pack affiliations. They have no honor, no decent sense of justice.”
“Well, they're still like us. They're still shifters,” she said in a quiet tone. She probably didn't have to lower her voice given the surrounding noise, but Pack-trained reflex dictated her responses. Caleb could still hear her perfectly well, of course.
“They are not like us. Some of them may want to make their own packs, but they want to do it in ways that aren't protocol. They want to steal our females, Ree.”
He leaned forward over the table for some emphasis. Even though he knew his brows were lowered in a frown and his wolf looked out of his eyes, she didn't shrink back. He felt both puzzled and intrigued that she wasn't intimidated by him. Everyone else usually was when he got worked up about something.
“What if it had been you, instead of Rafe and Sara, in that attack? You're not a Guardian. You might be Pack, but you don't have Guardian training. The rogues would have grabbed you and forced you to mate with one of them, Ree.”
The thought of another wolf, any wolf, but especially a rogue, touching her sent such a powerful wave of possessive anger bolting up his spine he had to stop himself from literally growling. For a long moment, Caleb gripped the metal edges of the patio table and held hard, forcing the pressure against his hands to calm the storm brewing inside. Getting angry was always easy for him. Toning it down was not.
Rielle just sat quietly across from him. Her entire presence radiated soothing calm. Even so, it didn't stop him from seeing the smooth line of her cheek or the faint beat of her pulse in her neck, inviting him to nibble at it.
Dammit. Rielle was gorgeous and super enticing. Maybe this date thing wasn't that good of an idea. Controlling himself around her was not as easy as it should be.
“Go on,” she said. Her soft voice held a strange note of command in it as well. Not an order like he might get from his Alpha, but a command born of real interest in what he was saying.
Caleb realized with an internal jolt that usually, no one was particularly interested in his thoughts about anything. They mostly just wanted him to shut himself down.
“They don't understand pack life,” he said. “Being in a pack means being part of something, and being able to live with rules because you know it's for the good of everyone in it. Rogues don't want that.” He paused to take a long, fortifying swallow of his drink.
Rielle's lips on the cutesy straw in hers distracted him for a long, near-choking moment. He managed to wrench his gaze back up again.
This time, though, she'd noticed. A very faint blush of color touched her cheeks again. Damn, damn, damn. She was too darn pretty.
He kind of wanted to lick her.
Everywhere.
6
So focused was she on the big wolf across the table from her, Rielle almost forgot where they were. The noise around them had faded as his voice deepened from his passion about the subject. She was slightly alarmed at the depth of his antipathy toward the rogues. Even more, though, she was taken with his deep blue eyes, the slight crinkles in his forehead as he glowered, the formidable strength and sheer—maleness—in him. Every nerve ending she had seemed to be buzzing in his presence.
She could feel her wolf's interest and appreciation rising in her, threatening to overwhelm her good reason. The inner twitchiness she'd been feeling lately, the need to somehow let loose, kept her discreetly tapping a foot on the floor to banish some of the energy.
Her head still spun at the wildly fast parade of events that had led to this very moment. How on earth had she ended up at some place called Once in a Blue Moon on a date with Caleb Bardou? Of course, it wasn't a real date. He'd been pretty clear on the phone that this was just an apology for the other night. It seemed Alpha wanted to keep closer tabs on Rielle, judging by the subtext she'd picked up from Caleb's halting request to meet him for drinks. Even so, she had to admit it felt pretty good to be out on the town with an appealing guy.
Okay, a really hot guy. Because he was, with that tousled dark blond hair and those eyes looking at her with an interest she knew came from the subject he was discussing, but which still felt flattering. Caleb might be rough and tumble, but he was also downright sexy. Her body told her that clearly enough. She'd just caught him looking at her lips, too. For some reason, that made color flood her cheeks. Before she could think more about what that might mean, she hurriedly jumped into the conversation. Thankfully, it was truly interesting to her historian-oriented mind.
“Actually, rogue wolves do want pack life,” she said. “They just want it on their own terms, even if that means going about it in ways that aren't acceptable to traditional packs.” She caught a faint whiff of edgy, dangerous wolf, prowling and interested, as she spoke. She stiffened for a millisecond before she realized it was Caleb. She'd provoked him again with her words, talking about rogues, and—
Oh. Oh. Her dormant wolf sat up in her mind, startling her even more its sudden, strong presence. Caleb was broadcasting interest. As in, male wolf interest.
In her.
For a long, weightless second, Rielle locked eyes with Caleb's smoky blue ones. A spark in his intense gaze leapt over to her. The sounds around them dropped into a roaring silence, and a light shiver skittered up and down her spine. She felt her breath shorten, becoming a little faster.
The look on Caleb's face was nakedly appreciative, curious, and suddenly so engulfing she didn't know what else to do but open her mouth and say something, anything, to escape the pressure she felt from her rousing wolf, her fizzy-feeling body, and Caleb's relentless look.
“I'd like another one. Drink? I seem to have finished mine.” She tapped the straw against the empty glass in front of her, now filled only with ices cubes on top of the dregs of faintly pinkish liquid. She wasn't sure how it had gone down so fast—hadn't it just been set in front of her moments ago?—but she must have been sipping on it quickly when Caleb had been talking about the rogues.
Now he still stared at her, but his eyebrows lifted at her words, and the intense connection between them broke.
“Sure,” he said, and flagged down the waitress.
“You're wrong, you know,” she said in a conversational tone. Keep it casual. Change direction away from the sudden connection between them. Because that was crazy. “About the rogues, I mean.”
“I am not wrong about the rogues.” His voice shot out, although its heat wasn't directed at her. His sensitive male pride had been wounded. That seemed to happen a lot with males. Especially the markedly insensitive ones.
“Oh, but you are,” she said. “I know a lot about rogues, too.” She tapped a finger against her own chest. “Pack historian, remember?”
“Hmm,” was all he said. His gaze had plummeted to her chest when she tapped at it, then quickly rose back to her face.
The magnetic heat of his gaze zeroed in on her, making her stumble over her own thoughts for a second. Had Caleb Bardou just checked her out? The tightness in her throat rose up as it did when she
was flustered. This definitely counted as a flustered moment. Thankfully, another pink foufy drink arrived. Rielle touched her fingers to the cold surface of the glass, willing to cooling refreshment to draw up into her very warm body. Something about this whole situation made her feel a little tingly. Wisely, she waited before just downing the whole thing in one ridiculous gulp. Even though shifters took a longer time than humans to get drunk, since Rielle already felt a bit tipsy for some reason, she'd better be smart. She put the straw into her mouth and slowly swallowed down some cold liquid ease, praying she wouldn't just squeak or something when her mouth finally worked again.
Oddly enough, Caleb's eyes widened when she began sucking on the straw. He looked away hastily. A silence held them for a long moment until her throat eased up enough she thought she could safely get out words again.
She focused on what seemed to be the safer topic than questioning the possibility Caleb was getting as flustered by her presence as she was by his. “Look,” she said, forcing herself to fall into the teaching cadence she always adopted when discussing any pack history. “Rogues don't like rules, per se. They don't want to be restricted or constricted by any fully-fledged pack. Any wolf that has rogue tendencies is not cut out for traditional pack life. They're just too independent, in a way.”
“Too independent to want real leadership. To understand that our way of life is the only way of life for us.” Caleb's tone snapped out again, but his voice still managed to wrap itself around Rielle's senses. Why did he have to sound so darned male? How come she'd never really paid attention to him before?
He is all male wolf, her own wolf thought strongly into her head, jolting Rielle with its clarity and intensity. Her wolf had said so little for months.
Because I haven't let her, she thought guiltily. Suddenly even more unsettled, she hurried on. “Independent, yes. But pack life doesn't have to be the only way of life for us.”
“What the—Rielle.” Now his tone was definitely perturbed. “That's crazy talk. Maybe you read too much history.” His gaze caught hers in challenge.
That managed to cool her right back down. Right back down into righteous indignation, that is. Straightening in her seat and unfolding her fingers from around the deliciously cold glass, Rielle cocked her head at that big bully of a wolf sitting across from her.
“You did not just say I read too much.” She let outrage lace her every word. “Did you?”
Caleb shifted in his seat and leaned back from her a little, although his still regarded her with that funny challenge in his expression. “Um...”
“Because if you did, that's the same thing as saying I should just shut my pretty mouth and listen to you, instead.” Her dander was good and up now. Who'd thought this was a good idea? Why had she said yes? Caleb Bardou was nothing but an uncultured oaf, a guy who just wanted to be strong and old-fashioned, who wanted—
“Yes, you should,” he said.
The short, sharp words busted right into her swirling thoughts and stopped them cold. She stared at him.
“You should listen to me, because when it comes to rogues, I do know what I'm talking about. But I have to say, I really don't want you to shut your pretty little mouth. I like hearing what you think. And your mouth definitely is pretty. So keep talking. It's interesting.”
Wha...? This time there was no mistaking her reaction. Rielle's wolf pushed up into her mind, alert and entirely focused on the big male wolf seated across from her. Her blood suddenly felt heated, which of course was ridiculous. Her pulse skittered in her neck.
Caleb lounged back against his seat. A grin pulled at his lips, and she could only describe it as wolfish. He was playing with her. Flirting, maybe?
Even more strange, she was enjoying it.
* * *
Caleb forced his body to relax, despite every instinct telling him to leap over the table and do – something. Something stupid, like claim the little wolf sitting there bristling at him with a combo of pure irritation and clear interest. Pretty Rielle was attracted to him. His wolf knew that for sure. But man, was he messing with her right now.
As she'd launched into her points about rogues, an idea had fallen into his head with that light bulb thing happening. He knew she thought he was just a bulldozer of a guy. Maybe he could play with that, goad her into speaking without guarding her words.
The thing that had bugged him finally fell into place: Rielle was careful not to let her guard down. Just like a fighter, except she fought with her head rather than her fists. Every time she did lower those shields she seemed to have up around her, though, something really fascinating started to happen: Her wolf edged out. Caleb's wolf kept hinting that Rielle's wolf was missing. He thought he might have it figured out. Rielle was pushing her wolf down, for some crazy reason. She didn't seem to realize how alive and passionate she got when her wolf came closer to the surface. Caleb sure liked it, though. He wanted to see a lot more of it.
“Well?” he said casually. “Aren't you going to tell me more?”
Rielle sat there, all soft skin and dark hair and slightly suspicious eyes. She smelled sweet, a bit spicy, and crazy interesting. If she didn't open that pretty mouth again, he might jump out of his hide with impatience. He liked seeing how her lips formed words.
She sat silent for another long moment. He could tell she was puzzling out the situation in her head. Sure, he seemed to have a habit of saying exactly the wrong thing around her. Even so, he knew enough about how to play the ladies. Not that he was playing Rielle, no way—something about her deserved way more respect—but he wasn't above putting those skills to work, as long as they kept her talking and sitting with him. If she stomped away from him one more time, it would be a pretty epic fail on the male/female wolf relations front. He was an expert in that area, after all.
Caleb settled back into his chair even more and thumped one foot up to rest on his opposite knee. The picture of being casually relaxed. No pressure, no insisting she keep going after he'd complimented her lips. Which totally deserved complimenting. The lush things begged for some attention. Nope, he was simply leaving the door open. He was telling her, through his body language, that she was welcome to say whatever she wanted to. Even if it was kind of crazy talk, he still found her voice more than intriguing.
Finally, she went on, although she sounded a bit more wary.
“Well, I do like to read.” She looked up at him, as though assessing his response to that. He nodded and let his fingers play with the paper menu. Her gaze landed on his fingers, then immediately bounced away. Tiny licks of color appeared in her cheeks again. “I, ah, that is, there's a lot of information on Pack history. We have all those books in the library, you know.”
Caleb nodded again. The massive library at the den was his mother's pride and joy.
“And for the past few decades, of course, there's been a lot more put online.” Rielle seemed to be warming up to the subject again, just a bit. She took a sip of her drink. Caleb's eyes widened again at the sight of those pink lips around the straw, cheeks hollowing as she drew in a long swallow. Swallowing as well, he forced his gaze away. He snarled at his keenly attentive wolf to back off a bit or she'd run scared.
“Of course, all packs have highly secure intranets where this info is kept. Some of it is so sensitive it's never put online.” She seemed utterly oblivious to his once again typical caveman reaction to the simple sight of her sucking a straw. His sister probably was right. He wasn't fit company for a real, classy date. “Did you know about the first rogue insurrections?”
“No?” He tapped his foot against his knee and tried hard to keep that casually interested tone in his voice.
“Oh, it was kind of fascinating, actually.”
Sure was, especially with her telling it. He slowly nursed his Jack and ginger ale and listened.
“The first recorded instances of rogue wolves actually forming their own 'misfit packs,' as they were called millennia ago, detail all sorts of bloody battles and som
etimes full on massacres.” Rielle took another sip of her froufy pink drink, letting her tongue lick the rim in the process, which nearly caused him to drop his own glass. “Rogues had simply been cast out of packs, or run away, before they began to find one another and plan how to start their own packs, with their own rules. It was community in the making!” Her eyes were beginning to sparkle a bit. Seemed like bloody history turned her on.
Caleb found himself leaning slightly more forward so he wouldn't miss a single wave of her graceful hands, which punctuated her words, or a moment of her lively radiance. The background noise faded as all he took in was the sight and sound of this small wolf, who was coming more to life before his eyes.
“I mean, we have the written record of how these rogues began to formulate their own packs. Written record of the strife it caused in the established packs, and the thought processes of everyone involved, because of each pack historian. Even some of the rogue packs had a historian. They couldn't completely escape their upbringing and instinct, of course. And they wanted our world to know what they went through, and why they did what they did. It was the natural desire to be heard, to be noted, to have one's very existence matter and count and be remembered. What I wouldn't give—”
She broke off so abruptly his wolf bristled in alarm. Caleb sat upright and even took a quick glance around. But the threat was in Rielle's own head. The faintest blush colored her cheeks again, and one hand stirred the straw in her glass.
“What you wouldn't give to what?” He was totally confused.
“Nothing. Forget it. You'll think I read too much again.”
Right. She wasn't the type to quickly forget the idiot things he said. Even when the idiot things were sort of planned for his half-assed agenda, it surprised him how much it mattered that he was the one responsible for her suddenly quiet, deflated voice.
“Aw, just say it. No judging allowed here.” He spread his hands palm up on the little table. “Okay?”
