by Michele Hauf
“That surprises me. You’re a young wolf. Too young to have racked up a number of enemies.”
“You’re not counting last night.”
“I suppose. But who else? Is it from the recent events that took place after the Saint-Pierre wedding?”
“Yes and no. I don’t regret slaying Amandus Masterson, but I do regret killing Blu Masterson’s father, if you can understand that.”
“I do. You did a brave thing by standing not only for the wolves but the vampires as well, and the Council recognizes that bravery. If you ever need anything from them, I’m sure you’ve only to ask.”
“What does the Council do, exactly? And what would I ask of them? They’re an enigma. They’re like the fictional watchers who observe and record but never interfere. And yet, they will stick their fingers into the fray every once in a while, stir things to a storm, and then deny they were ever involved. They’re not a governing body, so what are they?”
“We are…” She searched for the proper description, but realized it wasn’t so easy to put the Council into a neat sentence or two.
“Exactly! You don’t know yourself, and you’ve served on the Council for how long?”
“Couple decades. We watch and enforce rules, but never make laws. The paranormal nations need guidance and government, so we do our best, but we’d never become vigilante about it. Some punishment is necessary to prove a point though.”
“Sounds like a complicated job. And then they won’t even help their own? That’s wrong.”
“I don’t want them to know about this because…”
Her soft coconut scent drifted under his nose as he made a study of Abigail’s pain. It was deep, and thick, perhaps deeper than he could ever know.
“Because they don’t know you have a son,” he guessed. “Why the secrecy? You’ve told me you have a private life, and I can understand that. But surely the Council doesn’t have a rule against you having a family. Hell, Nikolaus Drake and Ravin serve together on the Council, and they’re married and have a son.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Man, I wish you’d trust me enough to clue me in on the complication.” He rapped the steering wheel impatiently. “Is it something that could help us find your son?”
“I don’t think so. Ridge, it’s a touchy situation. Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“We’re going to have to talk about it, sooner or later.”
“No, we won’t.”
“I’m saying yes, we will.” His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel and he cautioned his anger.
“Just because you’re helping me doesn’t mean you get to tell me what to do.”
“Oh, I know that. Trust me, I know. You’ve got me by the balls, witch. One wrong move, and I expect you really will geld me.”
“Don’t say things like that. I don’t have you by anything. I asked for your help and you agreed. I didn’t force you. You’re such a man.” That last statement came out in a vitriolic spew, and when he expected an angry scent to rise from the witch it felt more fearful, which disturbed him.
He wasn’t sure what she’d meant. You’re such a man. Of course, he was a man. Otherwise he’d be a chick.
Women. Maybe he didn’t want to figure them out.
He pulled the car to the curb at a stop sign. “Maverick’s inside that café.” He honked the horn, and beyond the Café Perk sign a man waved at them. “Hope he has the courtesy to bring us out some coffee.”
“Do you always get your way?” she asked him, stress audible in her tight voice. “You think you can tell me what you want and I’ll do it?”
“You’re the one ordering me around, remember?”
She gave him a pouty lip, and it infuriated him how women could be so contrary.
“Look.” He turned on the seat to face her petulant pose. “I know you’re hiding something from me, and for reasons beyond my better judgment, I am willing to play along, even if it means things are going to get more dangerous than last night.”
“Why would you do that?”
He turned off the engine and looked her over. All glowing blue-and-black hair and bright blue eyes he’d dreamed of too many nights to number.
The dreams were always better than reality had been. The two of them were never drunk in his dreams. And he never wolfed out, which ended up scaring her. But sometimes, she accepted him in his werewolf form, and they bonded.
Yes, his dreams went that far. Stupid wolf.
But a man didn’t control his dreams, did he? It wasn’t wish fulfillment, just… Hell, he didn’t know how to interpret them.
Yes, he did.
So he’d say it, because he couldn’t not say it. “I like you, Abigail.”
Her lips parted. Those big, dewy eyes grew larger. Devastating.
“More than a man who has been scarred by you should like you, that’s for sure. And I’d do anything you ask of me. But that’s because you deserve it, and not because I’m trying to make you like me.”
“I like you.”
“You—” He replayed what she’d blurted out. “You…” She’d said she liked him. “You do?”
A big grin curled his mouth. He straightened it out, but it curled right back, so he had to look out the windshield or lose his cool completely.
“Don’t get all excited. Like is simply the opposite of not liking. I like you as a man, as I’ve explained. You are exemplary. Strong and focused. Honorable. Anyone would like you.”
“Unless they’re from the River pack.”
“They’ll get over it. And if not, you didn’t need their approval anyway.”
“If I had it, then maybe I could convince them to stop the blood sport.”
“You really do care. I marvel over that.”
“Why? Because a werewolf can be concerned for vampires? It’s not right that others should suffer because they don’t look like us, or have different beliefs or different methods to survival.”
“That’s true, but most men talk a good game. They are in it for themselves. They try to live upright lives, but when it comes to proving their beliefs they let fear overwhelm them and fall from integrity.” She rested her head on the car seat, her eyes going soft and dreamy. “I wish I’d known you centuries ago.”
“Wasn’t around then. And what difference would that make, anyway?”
“I don’t know.” She stroked a finger along his arm, which he wasn’t about to move, because he suspected she’d stop it if he did. “Back then I wasn’t so insistent on pushing the world away. I might have been more open to the idea of us. But then again, I’d be too obsessive, so nix that.”
“Why do you do that? Push people away.”
She shrugged. “Because it’s safer. It’s completely opposite of how I used to be, and when I was obsessive and needy that wasn’t working so well for me, so now I’m trying this. It’s what I do, okay?”
He touched her chin and stroked her petal-soft skin with his thumb. Flowers had never felt softer. “It’s not okay. You’re too pretty to cower from all the world has to offer.”
“I never cower.”
“True that. But you know it’s not good to close yourself off from others. There’s a difference between being safe and being compulsive. You’ve gone from one extreme to the other.”
“You think so?”
“I’d never tell you how to act or put yourself out in the world. You gotta do what works for you. But how is it working for you, Abigail?”
She sighed, and turned away from his touch. “Swell. Just…swell.”
Dean Maverick opened the back door and slid across the seat. “Buddy! How’s it going? Got you some coffee.” The wolf handed forward two paper cups of coffee covered with plastic lids. “Miss Rowan, nice to meet you. You like it dark?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said and took the coffee without taking her eyes from Ridge’s. She was thinking about what he’d said, and he could tell it disturbed her. He’d breached the w
alls she’d erected around herself for safety.
And that made him feel swell.
* * *
“So we’re just going to wait?” Abigail paced at the back of the truck. She tugged up the fur coat collar against the brisk cold.
Under the pretense of taking a jog to explore the area, Dean had run the three miles to the River pack’s compound intending to see what information he could learn, and if they would allow him entrance. The sun had begun to set; they’d needed to wait for dark.
“I feel so helpless,” she said, and realized the confession was not something she would have made to anyone. How had she become such a weeping Wilma around Ridge? She was comfortable around the werewolf. And that disturbed her sense of control.
Ridge, quiet and calm, as always, leaned against the truck bed, his head bowed and eyes closed. His breaths misted from his nose in soft clouds of condensation. Not ignoring her, but rather alert and focused, he listened, taking in the surroundings, the chitter of birds scanning the snow-blanketed wheat field for a stray seed, the cars swishing by on the nearby freeway. Any unexpected noises, like a wayward werewolf out patrolling the area.
Arms crossed over her chest against the chill, she paced, marking the snow-packed gravel road with her boots, wondering why it was so easy for him to be calm at a time like this.
Well, she knew why. He didn’t have a stake in this matter. As far as she knew.
Don’t think about that. It can never be real.
“Abigail,” he said softly.
When she didn’t stop pacing, he grabbed her and wrapped her in his arms.
She didn’t need a hug. How dare he always try to control her?
She started to push away, but he held her firmly. The big lug was trying to be the one in command and she wasn’t about to surrender to those golden-brown eyes of his that entreated her. And then, as if struck by magic, she put her head on his shoulder and succumbed to his quiet strength.
One broad hand spread across her back, pressing her against the hardness of his solid, sure frame. He felt real, warm and safe. Mercy, but she needed this.
“You can’t push everyone away,” he said.
She huffed out a breath that could have become a sob had she not already cried too many tears earlier.
“This is the best I can do for you right now,” he said. His gentle strokes up and down her back soothed when she hadn’t realized she’d needed a soothing touch. “I don’t like not having the control, either. This standing around waiting stuff is not for me. But I trust Maverick. He’ll learn what he can. We must be patient.”
She nodded as he stepped away to give her the distance her rigid conscience wanted, but that her soul no longer craved. The last time she’d felt so safe and protected—it had been in the nineteenth century, surely. A time of comfort and prosperity for her, a time when she’d had ample lovers and not a care.
Why had it been so long since she’d felt that way? Shouldn’t a woman always feel safe? She’d never thought about it before, had been so busy existing and surviving. Being a mother. Serving the Council. Practicing her magic. Keeping others at a distance. Protecting Ryan.
It wasn’t working at all for her, and she wasn’t near to being swell, as she’d said to him earlier. It was…frustrating. She wasn’t this person.
But she was no longer the hyperneedy Abigail Rowan, either.
Who the hell was she? What did she need? And did this man want to give her what she didn’t know she wanted? He’d already given her an unconditional promise to help. She could expect no more.
But you want more.
Abigail sighed and shook her head against her intrusive thoughts. Just keep your head on straight, she cautioned. You can consider the whole relationship thing later. Preferably much later.
Ridge was right; there was nothing either of them could do until Maverick returned from recon. Wrapping her arms across her chest, she hugged herself, wishing she’d the fortitude to have remained in his embrace. But then, that would have required she face the relationship thing head-on. And that way lay obsession.
A sudden spray of snow showered her head and shoulders. She spun about to find the instigator of the sneak attack with a sheepish grin on his face—and another snowball in his gloveless hand.
“Just trying to lighten things up,” he said, and tossed the other snowball between his hands.
“I see that.” She dusted off the snow from her shoulders. “And I didn’t even flinch.”
“Because you didn’t see it coming. Flinch now, witch.”
She dodged the incoming snowball and it missed her arm by an inch. While bent over, she managed to scoop a palmful of snow in the process. Quickly patting it into a ball, she threw it at Ridge while he was bent, claiming another weapon. It landed the center of his back, and he popped up and gave a playful moan.
“I have much better aim than you,” she called, already forming another snowball. “I thought you were freaked by me throwing things at you?”
“Only the things I can’t see,” he said, and tossed another loose-packed snowball that, despite her ducking, landed on her arm in a splatter of cool, wet flakes.
Snow showered her face and quickly melted, leaving tiny kisses of water on her skin. It cheered her up, and she was thankful for the distraction.
Ducking behind the truck bed while Ridge was down preparing another weapon, she crept around the hood of the truck, and when she thought she had the sneak attack, he leaped around and hit her with a snowy bomb directly in the gut.
She feigned death by wobbling and clutching her gut, and then dropped backward onto the high, soft snow bordering the ditch. Winter kissed her face in a spray of snow.
“You win!” she declared. “But you had the advantage of smell.”
He bent over her to offer her a hand up. “I can smell your perfume a mile away. It’s kind of woody, outdoorsy in a way I like. With a weird touch of coconut. What is it?” he asked as he tugged her up and brushed the snow from her hair and shoulders.
“The coconut is my shampoo. My perfume is vetiver. It’s supposed to calm tension and anxiety.”
“I see.” He brushed snow from his arms. “And how’s that working for you?”
This time, instead of offering a lie, she punched him in the arm. “You know how it’s working for me, so don’t feign ignorance.”
He looked off over the horizon. His razor-short hair, where snowflakes had landed and were melting, twinkled in the twilight. She loved the way he was instantly stoic and calm. His place in the world was solid and sure. Nothing could unhinge him, and it put her to awe.
“We should have tried,” she said suddenly to the protective warrior wolf.
“We?” He blew out a slow breath, taking measure of the silence that followed. “You mean then? Us?”
She nodded. “It may have worked. It may not. But we’ll never know now.”
“We could know.”
They could. But that would require she stop pushing and start pulling toward her the one thing she wanted most. Her tender and confused heart wasn’t ready to surrender to that yet.
“If I let you think too long you’ll talk yourself into all sorts of dark and lonely corners,” he said.
Ridge tilted down his head and kissed her. His mouth was cold and slick with melted snow and he tasted like winter and everything she had never known she’d wanted. His lips teased and made her want more. His touch was tentative and unsure, but he gave her another kiss, lingering at the corner of her mouth.
An ache she’d never had before burgeoned in her belly. It was pure want, unabashed and unrelenting. She recognized it because it was something she’d often pined for when she dreamed.
Abigail rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him solidly on the mouth, tilting her head to synchronize with his opposite tilt. He tasted like coffee and his body, hard and warm against hers, felt right, so supposed-to-be, that she forgot about things troubling her and dashed her tongue under his upper lip, daring him to da
nce deep into her.
A growl of want from the virile wolf accompanied a shift of his hips and a slide of his hand across her back. He held her firm, his fingers brushing her breast from the side. Her coat was wool, and thick, but she did not miss the sensation of his touch. It was direct and purposeful. Commanding. She was consumed by his presence as he framed her protectively, and with an urgent hunger she agreed to answer.
He broke away from the kiss. “Don’t say this is wrong.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I need this from you, Abigail. More than I thought.”
“Me too.”
The wolf lifted her and she wrapped her legs about his hips. Crushing her breasts to his chest, she felt her nipples bead against the hardness of his form. His kiss grew harder, more demanding, and she wanted to feed his rough desire. Fingers curling about the back of his neck above his coat collar, she stroked the short hair up across his snow-moist scalp.
She imagined it had been like this then. In Vegas. As quickly as they’d made contact some kind of crazy, passionate flame had ignited, bonding them in a wicked, drunken coupling. They weren’t drunk now, but she felt that same crazy passion invigorate every part of her being. This man was the flame she could never dream to completely master.
And he was the only flame she dared touch for any length of time.
Arching her back and melting her body against his, she offered herself to him. The wolf moaned at her mouth and deepened the kiss with rough enthusiasm. His hands gripped tightly, making her feel as if he owned her, and he would do with her as he wished.
“Goddess, yes,” she whispered. “Own me.”
“Never,” he murmured. “I only want to be worthy of you.”
“Oh, Ridge, I need you to take what you want, what you deserve,” spoke her heart before her mind knew it. But the confession felt right. True.
“No, this is wrong,” he suddenly gasped. “I never take from women.”
Damn him! He was ruining this. “You should. You deserve it. I don’t mind, Ridge, please…”
“Maverick. He’ll be back soon.”
“He’s been gone ten minutes. You’ll sense when he’s close. You really want to stop kissing me?”
