Taming The Shifter (Nocturne Wolf Romance)

by Lisa Childs

  Chapter 6

  “She shot him again?” Sebastian asked.

  In the human world, Ben would have had to worry about violating HIPAA laws. But in the Secret Vampire Society, the only secret that couldn’t be shared was with humans. Neither Sebastian nor he were human anymore. Ben just for years while for Sebastian it had been centuries.

  With a sigh, Ben nodded. “Yes, she did, but Warrick was in his other form.” As a man Warrick James was damned intimidating; as a werewolf he was terrifying—especially to a human who wasn’t aware of the creatures of the underground.

  The vampire bartender cursed and glanced around the secret surgical room as if looking for Warrick. “Where the hell is he?”

  “She didn’t shoot him with a silver bullet,” Ben said. If she had, he wouldn’t have been able to patch him up again.

  “But she shot him,” Sebastian repeated. “The last time she did—he was furious with her. She could be in danger.”

  Ben shook his head now. “I saw his face when he brought her here after he found her hurt in the alley.”

  “He could have done that to—”

  “No,” Ben said. But he didn’t expect Sebastian, the playboy, to understand. Ben, as a man madly in love with his wife, recognized another man taking the fall. Sure, Warrick James was stubborn and trying to fight his feelings, but no matter how strong the werewolf was, love could make any creature powerless. “He was ready to tear apart whoever had hurt her. It wasn’t him.”

  “But she shot him again…”

  “And he didn’t care,” Ben assured him. “She’s not in any danger from him…”

  Sebastian uttered a ragged sigh. “I don’t know who the hell is the danger anymore. Reagan James swears it’s not him.”

  “There is someone else,” Ben said. While he’d been able to patch up Warrick, there had been nothing he could do for poor Bernie. Someone—something—had torn out the vagrant’s throat.

  “If it isn’t Warrick…”

  Ben hoped like hell that it wasn’t. If Kate was in danger and he had done nothing to protect her, Paige would never forgive him. She couldn’t lose her best friend.

  But even if he was right about Warrick, that didn’t mean that Kate wasn’t in danger. That image of poor Bernie lying among the trash in the Dumpster flashed through his mind. Kate had told him that someone had called her to that alley to meet them. Had Bernie been the intended victim? Or had Kate?

  *

  Warrick barely resisted the urge to press a kiss to her forehead, near where the bandage covered her wound. But her thick lashes lay against her pale cheeks, and he didn’t want to wake her. He wanted, instead, to slip from her bed and leave her with only memories—the same ones he would carry with him for the rest of his lonely life. His muscles quivered yet in reaction to the passion that had consumed him…when she had consumed him.

  He had never known as sensual or responsive a lover, and he suspected he would never know another woman like Detective Kate Wever. She had overwhelmed and humbled him. His body protested leaving her bed, his erection throbbing against his thigh—begging for another release. She had blown his mind, but after watching her sleep for several minutes, he had finally gathered his wits about him again.

  He had to leave. For her sake more than his. Feeling his heart heavy with regret, he sat up and reached for the shirt he’d left beside the bed. But before he could shove his arms into the sleeves, soft fingertips glided across his back to his wounded shoulder. He’d torn off the bandage when he’d undressed, leaving the skin, puckered with stitches, open to the air. The wound would heal quicker that way—like his other wounds had healed.

  She gasped and asked, “Did you find him again? Did he do this to you?”

  “No, it wasn’t him.”

  “Then who did this to you?” she asked. “Who hurt you?”

  She had done this…again, but he couldn’t tell her that without revealing a secret that would cost her her life. He had been crazy to come to her apartment—even crazier to undress and climb into her bed. But he had been tired—tired of fighting his desire for her. And he’d been worried about her. He’d needed to see her—to make certain that she was all right, that she wasn’t in danger.

  But by being near her, he was putting her in danger. He’d already lost everyone else he’d cared about…

  And despite his best efforts to fight his feelings, he cared about her. Too much.

  He shrugged off her fingers and her concern. But he could still feel her touch on his skin. “Zantrax is a dangerous city,” he said. “People get hurt here.”

  She had been hurt the night she’d been struck down in the alley. And she was still determined to be a detective here, where she wasn’t even aware of all the dangers—of all the creatures. If she became aware of those dangers, she would wind up as dead as the homeless man in the alley.

  “People get hurt around you,” she said, her tone chilling as suspicion crept into her voice. And even though he hadn’t turned toward her, he felt her pulling away from him—at least emotionally.

  Apparently, even in his human form, he was a suspect for the vagrant’s murder.

  “I’m not the one who hurts people,” he said. She was. And Reagan.

  “But that man in the alley…”

  “I was trying to stop him from hurting anyone else,” he explained.

  “You keep calling him a killer,” she said, the suspicion replaced with a trace of hope. “If he’s killed before…” Previously she had seemed skeptical of his claim. Now she seemed almost eager to believe him.

  He flinched as the image flashed through his mind of Reagan standing over their father’s body, blood pumping from the hole the silver bullet had blown through his dying heart. “He’s killed.”

  “Are you still looking for him?”

  He jerked his head in a quick nod. But it was a lie. He had let her distract him from his quest. He had used revenge against her as an excuse but now, after making love with her, he realized his obsession with her had nothing to do with vengeance and everything with attraction. He hadn’t wanted revenge; he’d just wanted her. But he shouldn’t have acted on that attraction. He shouldn’t have stayed in Zantrax because he had only put her in danger.

  Now Reagan had another way to hurt him because now he had someone else he could take from Warrick.

  “Do you have any idea where to find him?” she asked. “Where will you be looking?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her and grinned in amusement at her serious face. She’d pulled up the thin sheet that did little to hide her nakedness. She was no longer his lover; she was a detective interviewing a suspect—or a source that could possibly lead her to a suspect. He would rather be her source than her suspect. Hell, he would rather be her lover.

  But he had already endangered her and had lost his focus. He had to find Reagan before he hurt anyone else. Before he hurt Kate…

  “I’ll be looking everywhere,” he replied. “I have to find him.”

  “Why?” she asked, and the suspicion was back in her voice.

  But no matter how tough an interrogator Detective Wever might be, she wouldn’t crack him—for her own protection. “I have my reasons,” was all he told her. He didn’t want to talk anymore. He wanted to reach for her or for that damn sheet and drag it off her delectable body. But he couldn’t—at least he shouldn’t—stay any longer.

  “What are your reasons?” she persisted, her voice vibrating with frustration. “What has he done?”

  “Nothing that concerns you.” At least he hoped like hell it didn’t and that his enemy hadn’t turned his focus on her. Warrick did reach out for her. But he just touched his fingertips to the bandage on her forehead. If Reagan had hurt her…there would be no place he could hide from Warrick this time.

  Either her wound was still sensitive or she had seen the rage flash in his eyes, because she flinched and leaned back—out of his reach. “If he really killed someone, it would concern me,” she sai
d. “If he’s broken any law, it would concern me.”

  He expelled a ragged sigh and let his hand drop to the bed. “He’s broken just about every one of them—just not here in Zantrax.” That Warrick could prove, anyway. Reagan could have killed that homeless man. Maybe the vagrant had seen him strike Kate that night Warrick had found her bleeding and unconscious in the alley.

  “But there are police looking for him, too, then,” she said, and some of the tension drained from her tense shoulders. “There must be a warrant for his arrest.”

  He shook his head. “The police aren’t involved.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want them involved.” Like the Secret Vampire Society, the pack had their own laws—and their own law enforcers.

  “Warrick—”

  He leaned toward her and pressed his mouth over hers, shutting off her incessant questions. But then passion ignited, and the kiss became less about silencing her and more about savoring her. She tasted so sweet—so sexy. Her silky lips moved under his, parting for his possession. But then her tongue slid out, the tip teasing his lips before slipping inside his mouth.

  He groaned as desire overwhelmed him. His muscles tensed, his shaft hardened. He had intended to leave without waking her—without giving in to desire again. He’d thought he’d had enough memories— perfect memories—to carry him through however long his life lasted. But now he was greedy for more.

  He was greedy for her.

  He slid his mouth from hers, across her cheek to her neck. Then he moved it lower, along her throat to her collarbone. The sheet slipped down, baring her breasts. But he quickly covered them—with his hands. Cupping the soft weight in his palms, he stroked his thumbs over her turgid nipples.

  A moan slipped through her lips as she arched into his touch. She was greedy for more, too.

  So he obliged. He lowered his head. Closing his lips around one of those nipples, he tugged gently.

  She cried out—not in pain but desire. Her hands clutched his back, pulling him closer. But he was too big for her to move easily.

  And he wanted to take his time, teasing her nipples—teasing her.

  But then her hand closed around his shaft and her thumb flicked back and forth over the tip of it. “Kate…” he growled her name as a warning. He had a tenuous hold on his control at best. If she kept touching him…

  She wriggled away from him, moving around until her lips replaced her hand. And she slid her mouth up and down his shaft, taking him deep in her throat.

  He was too big for her. And she was still too fragile with her concussion for him to take advantage of what she offered him. Heaven…

  So he reached for her, lifting her in his arms. She squealed and clutched at his shoulders. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Let me please you—”

  “You please me,” he assured her. Then he shifted her back onto the mattress, so that her head settled back into the pillows. “But I want to please you first…”

  He lowered his head again, spreading kisses down the length of her gorgeous body. She was all sleek, silky skin. He kissed every inch of her and laved her nipples with his tongue before moving lower.

  She squirmed and shifted against the pillows as he tasted her—intimately. His tongue flicked over her clit before sliding inside her.

  She clutched at the pillows and screamed as an orgasm claimed her. The evidence of her pleasure and the sweet taste of it in his mouth snapped his control. He needed to take his own pleasure. He needed her.

  Pressure wound tight inside him. His cock throbbed and pulsed, needing to be buried deep inside her. He could deny his base urges no more. He lifted her in his arms again and rose up on his knees. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he slid her down onto the length of his pulsing shaft.

  She shifted to take him deeper inside her wet heat. Her inner muscles gripped his cock, holding him tightly inside her. They moved together, him thrusting—her arching. Her nails clawed at his back and his shoulders as she fought to get even closer to him. As the pressure gripped her again, she moved frantically against him, and he matched her frenzy as the madness overtook him. Tension filled him; he had never needed anyone more.

  She rose up in his arms and pressed her mouth to his. They kissed—deeply—their tongues tangling like their bodies as he continued to thrust inside her.

  She tensed, and her inner muscles tightened, pulling him deeper as her body contracted and her orgasm—so hot and wet—broke over him. She screamed his name, “Warrick!”

  And it was the sound of his name on her lips that snapped the unbearable tension gripping his body and his mind and his soul. A low growl tore from his throat along with his release. He shuddered as his orgasm pumped fast and hard from his cock, filling her.

  Her body had gone limp in his arms, so he eased her gently back against the pillows. He hadn’t meant to take her again and not as passionately as he already had.

  But the woman was dangerous even without her gun. She hadn’t fired any shots at him, but still his heart constricted, aching as feelings flooded it. As crazy as he had been to come to her, he was even crazier to care about her when he knew so well—so painfully—what happened to anyone he cared about.

  She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him down on top of her. “Don’t stop,” she murmured, and she arched her hips up, rubbing against him. Her legs tangled around his, silky skin sliding against his hair-roughened limbs.

  Despite the soul-shattering orgasm he’d just had, his cock hardened again—ready to take her. Panting for breath and struggling for control, he pulled back. “Kate, you need your rest.”

  She had stumbled into her bedroom just past noon—beyond exhausted. And he had let her get very little sleep yet. But she needed more than rest; she needed his protection. And he would protect her best by keeping his distance and finding the man who posed a danger to her.

  “I need you to let this rest,” she said.

  “This?” With his body already tense and ready to take hers again, he couldn’t focus on what she meant.

  “Your vendetta against that man,” she said. “You need to report what laws he’s broken, and let the authorities handle him.”

  He shook his head. The authority in the pack, his uncle, had given him that assignment—to save his honor. But he couldn’t explain any of that to her. “You don’t know what you’re talking about—”

  “Because you won’t tell me,” she said.

  “I can’t.”

  She clutched his arms, her fingers tight against his biceps and urged, “Let him go, Warrick.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  Disappointment dimmed the brightness of her light blue eyes. “So when you find him again, you’ll kill him?”

  “I have to.” For her now, for her safety. She mattered more now than anything that had happened in the past.

  *

  Darkness had fallen—providing cover for him and for the other watchers who lurked in the shadows on the Zantrax street. Reagan knew they were there. But Warrick must not have sensed them—or his presence—as he dropped onto the asphalt from the fire escape outside the human detective’s bedroom window. Instead of glancing around to survey his surroundings, he gazed up at that darkened window. There was a longing on his face—a longing that Reagan had felt himself—that he still felt.

  The female detective had distracted his brother—dangerously so. Just like Sylvia had distracted him. Lives had been destroyed and lost because of his distraction. What would Warrick’s distraction cost him?

  Reagan tensed, readying himself in the shadows—not for a confrontation with his brother. Warrick was completely unaware of his presence. But he was unaware of the others watching him, too.

  The man was a tracker; Warrick James was known in their pack, and all other packs, for being able to pick up the coldest of trails. But tonight the only scent in his head was hers.

  Couldn’t he feel the hostility of the others?

  Reagan
could.

  That was why he was ready to rush to his brother’s defense. He knew Warrick wouldn’t welcome his help. He’d probably attack him instead. So Reagan held back, waiting to see if he was needed.

  Finally, Warrick tore his gaze from that window and slipped off into the shadows on the street as he walked away. Reagan waited to see if the others followed him. But they stayed behind—beneath her window.

  Maybe Warrick wasn’t the one in danger. Maybe it was the human detective.

  What had she learned? Enough to get her killed?

  *

  Paige closed the door as the bar manager/relief bartender stepped inside her office.

  “I’m needed at the bar,” Sebastian said. “It’s getting busy out there.”

  She didn’t care about Club Underground, at least not tonight. “Not as busy as it’s been back there,” she said, gesturing to the room at the end of the hall—that secret room where her surgeon husband helped the creatures of the underground.

  Sebastian shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Ben and I have no secrets anymore,” she reminded the man who most people thought was her brother. He was actually her father. But he looked younger than her and he always would because of when he had been turned so many centuries ago.

  “Then you already know…” He stepped closer to the door.

  “I know what Ben knows,” she said. “That Kate found poor Bernie dead in the alley. And that she shot that…” She’d only gotten used to the vampires—to being one herself. She couldn’t bring herself to consider what other creatures were out there. “And Ben saved him.”

  “He wouldn’t have died from her bullet,” Sebastian assured her.

  “Then Kate’s in danger from him,” she said, “if she can’t defend herself from him.” But there were very few creatures of the underground that Kate could kill with her gun. It would take a stake or…

  Sebastian said nothing.

  “You told Ben that Kate is in danger from him,” she prodded her father.

  Sebastian cursed, but there was a twinkle of amusement and approval in his blue eyes. “You two really don’t have any secrets anymore.”