The Werewolf's Wife

by Michele Hauf

  He’d caught her off guard. Good. She needed to feel as unstable as he did right now. Perhaps then her truths would rise. “I have to know, Abigail.”

  “Sure, I understand. But like I said—”

  “I know what you said, and I don’t need you to keep reminding me. Just show me a picture, please?”

  “I have a new one he sent me recently.” She went out into the kitchen and he followed. Opening a laptop on the counter, she brought up a picture file and turned the screen toward him. “That’s Ryan’s school picture, taken a month ago.”

  Slightly put off that the woman didn’t have a picture in a frame on a shelf somewhere, he peered at the computer screen. The boy had sandy-brown hair with long bangs flipped forward across his brows. He was a smiley bugger, and the smile revealed silver glints. “Braces?”

  “Just got them this summer. He hates them.”

  “They’re unnatural. I don’t blame him.”

  His face was narrow, like Abigail’s, and his eyes were pale, but he couldn’t tell if they were blue or maybe brown. He looked thin, but Ridge supposed most preteens were gawky and thin.

  “He looks like me,” she commented.

  “My hair was that color, when I was younger,” he said. “And when I had more of it. He’s a cute kid.” But he couldn’t spot a resemblance like the exact nose as his, or the same eye color. Disheartened, he sighed. “Thanks.”

  He shoved the laptop toward her and crossed his arms across his chest.

  “He doesn’t look like Miles, either,” Abigail offered.

  Hearing the other man’s name drove a silver stake through Ridge’s heart. He could feel the silver eat at his insides and needed it to stop. But it wouldn’t stop until they found the boy and learned the truth.

  “We should go,” he said.

  “The meeting isn’t until four in the afternoon. It’s only seven.”

  “I want to do a reconnaissance on the meeting place this morning. See what we’re working with. I can’t stand around with my hands in my pockets. I need to do something.”

  They had no idea what they were dealing with. He hated walking into a situation blind.

  Chapter 13

  “Stay here.” Stern brown eyes held hers for a moment, defying her to protest his gentle command.

  Surrender.

  “Fine.”

  Abigail closed the passenger door of the truck, and remained inside, watching as Ridge stalked across the street to the restaurant where they’d been directed to bring the vampire. The abandoned Italian restaurant hadn’t seen customers for years, she guessed, from the coating of grime on the front windows. The neighborhood was quiet and the storefront to the left was empty.

  Ridge, instead of trying the front door, walked down the alley, apparently looking for the back entrance.

  He was angry with her. She’d thought showing him a picture of Ryan would settle his curiosity. But the fact that her son resembled her, and no other man in her life, wasn’t what Ridge had wanted to see. She couldn’t show him what wasn’t marked on her son’s face, but rather his heart and soul.

  When Ryan studied homework and she asked him something, he wouldn’t hear her. He possessed a fierce concentration similar to Ridge when focused. And he was the kindest child, asking after the elder neighbors, and holding doors for old ladies in the supermarket, and he’d even given up his toys in the playground when other children had wanted to try them out.

  Or maybe she was making up those similarities to fulfill some wanting hole in her heart. Heaven knows, Ryan had not the finest example of a mother to lead him through life, but she had done her best.

  Tilting her head against the window, she sighed. Ryan was smart, too. He’d never been a problem child, never aggressive nor had he acted out. He was polite and thoughtful, much like some other man she knew.

  She sat forward abruptly. Two men wielding wooden bats crossed the street and approached the restaurant. They didn’t look as though they’d lost their way to the baseball game. Besides, who played baseball in January?

  They could be thugs, or even hunters, in which case, they were barking up the wrong tree if they thought bats could protect them from a powerful werewolf. Or the bats could be scare tactics, with the deadlier weapons containing werewolf-wounding silver hidden away.

  “He’s so angry, he won’t sense them coming. It’s because of me. I have to do something.”

  She jumped out of the truck and hurried across the street.

  * * *

  He did not like leaving Abigail alone in the truck, but, despite the seemingly abandoned streets, the neighborhood did stir with activity, so he needed to scope out hiding spots, places where lookouts could be posted. More likely, he found it harder to walk away from the woman than usual. What was that about?

  Had their making love put his brain into orbit over the witch?

  Rarely did he indulge in one-night stands. He generally did not make love to a woman unless they’d been dating a few weeks and she meant something to him. Sex was not easy or free; it was a sacred thing a man must respect.

  He hated that she’d so casually dismissed their tumble in the sheets as mere sex. It had been much more to him. It had been his means to speak without speaking, to open himself to her without having to explain or expect or even react. It had simply been him, open and exposed.

  He respected Abigail, and hell, if she would have him, he’d be first in line to be her lover, her boyfriend—anything beyond the warrior knight she thought she needed.

  Because a knight’s armor could be removed, plate by plate, and beneath stood but a man. And how that man stood, how he held himself, how he walked through the world told everyone exactly who he was, and what gave him purpose. He needed to be that man for Abigail. He wanted to be that man. Someone who would protect her, and take care of her. Someone to be a father to her son, no matter the boy’s paternity.

  Really?

  He paused in the back room of the restaurant. The haze was broken by a stream of dusty light pouring in from the storefront windows out front. Looking around, he considered his thoughts. Yes, he could entirely put his head around being a father to the boy, even if Ryan was one hundred percent witch and had no relation to him whatsoever.

  You’re grasping for anything you can get now. She’s made you desperate with her witchy voodoo magic. Shouldn’t you have higher standards?

  His standards were high. And he knew a good thing when he saw it.

  Something burned his shoulder. Ridge slapped a palm to it, and spun to face two men wielding baseball bats. He’d been skimmed by one of them.

  “We got us a two-faced werewolf,” one of them said, cracking a cocky grin.

  Fellow wolves, he decided from their aggressive scent and the smell of fear dangerously entwined with cocky playfulness. He recognized one of them from the River pack. What were they doing slumming in the Cities?

  “Boys,” he said, putting his hands up palms out to show compliance as he sniffed the air. Only two of them. He sensed no others hiding or nearby. This would be a piece of cake. “Didn’t your mother tell you it’s not wise to swing a bat at another man unless you’ve got the legs to outrun him?”

  They both chuckled, and one of them swung his bat menacingly close to Ridge’s face. “You’re the one who’s sticking your nose into all the other packs’ business. Longtooth-lover.”

  “You’ve learned poorly from your betters,” Ridge said, angered that such prejudices still existed in this day and age. “There’s no reason for you to treat vampires the way you do.”

  “We like to watch them rip each other apart. Just like we’re going to rip you apart.”

  “Yeah,” the other snorted. “That’ll teach you!”

  Ridge dodged the swing of hardwood, but heard a female shout, “Oh, no you don’t!”

  As soon as he heard Abigail’s voice, he ducked. Though angry that she’d not listened to him, he was smart enough to know she wouldn’t have wandered in here without g
ood reason.

  Magic whirled through the air, lifting both weres and flinging them against the tiled wall. A baseball bat clattered across the cracked concrete floor, landing at Ridge’s boot. He grabbed it and stood, smacking the bat in his palm sharply. Seeing Abigail gesture again, he quickly ducked.

  “Let me handle this!” he yelled. “Keep your magic holstered!”

  She walked to him and looked down at where he crouched. Blowing at her fingertip, she winked at him. “Just rounding them up for you, Hoss.”

  Holding back an admonishment over her theatrics, he shoved Abigail down behind the counter, then swung around the corner and aimed for the approaching were. His aggressor wielded a weapon that glinted silver. He would not be foolish enough to use a silver weapon, would he?

  He slashed at him, and Ridge blocked the silver blade with the bat. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he warned.

  “Try it, and you’ll fail. Unless you sic your pet witch on me again. Not man enough to do your own fighting, eh?”

  Swinging up his leg, Ridge connected with the man’s hip and sent him flying, but winced as the shing of metal sounded and he felt something pinch his upper thigh. He slapped a hand to his thigh. His jeans had been cut open, but he didn’t feel any blood. If the silver had cut through his skin—

  An electric charge of magic zipped past his ear and attacked the other wolf as he charged toward him, connecting at his chest as if jumper cables igniting a battery to life. The wolf was slammed against the wall, arms and legs shuddering, and dropped. An outlet beside him popped and sparked, hissing out smoke.

  The other wolf had passed out. Ridge disarmed him, taking the blade and finding no other weapons tucked away.

  The one Abigail had zapped stirred and groaned, clutching his smoking chest. Ridge limped over to him and toed his leg. “Amateurs. Get your asses out of here before I aim for your brain.”

  The wounded wolf dragged himself to a bent and staggering stance. His leg wasn’t bleeding. Ridge had hit him in the meaty part of his thigh purposely. He kicked at his buddy. “Get up, dude!”

  The twosome wobbled out, cursing and swearing revenge.

  Though they had gotten the jump on him, Ridge would never admit that. His mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of that damned witch. Even when she wasn’t flinging about magic, she still managed to discombobulate him but good.

  He had to smirk at that. He really was falling for the baddest witch in the Midwest. Be still, his idiot heart.

  “You’re going to let them go?”

  He reached back with his free hand and clasped Abigail’s hand. “I’ve no fight with them.”

  “They were going to kill you.”

  “For something they can never begin to understand. They need to get smart, and no silver blade will do that for them.” He flipped the blade in his hand and caught it by the wood handle.

  The wounded wolf slapped a hand in the doorway and turned to flip off Ridge.

  “Tell your principal I’ve no fight with him,” Ridge called after him. “But I will continue to protect those you torture!”

  Abigail touched his thigh and he flinched at the unexpected touch, but not because it hurt. “You going to be okay?”

  He studied the damage through the cut blue jean material. “Didn’t break the skin. Whew.” He shrugged her off and tossed the silver blade under the counter. “I’m a little nervous now they might try to return during the meeting. They must have followed us here. I don’t understand that.”

  “You think the packs are gunning for you?”

  “I suspect so. I’m certainly not at the top of anyone’s friend list lately.”

  “I’ll set up wards,” she said. “I can’t ward the whole building, because that will prevent the ones we need to meet from entering, but I should be able to keep those two out.”

  He grabbed her by the waist and kissed her. It felt natural to hold her now after they’d shared so much earlier this morning. She fit into his embrace as no one ever had. “Much as I should paddle your behind for jumping in when I had things under control…”

  She lifted a brow.

  “Thanks for having my back.”

  “No problem. Someone has to keep an eye on your backside.”

  “I was talking about my back.”

  “Yeah? I was talking about your backside.” She slapped his ass, and strolled by him toward the front door, where she winked, then turned to perform the warding spell.

  * * *

  Abigail insisted they return to her house to wait, but Ridge convinced her to stop by the burger joint along the way. Back at her house, he carried in bags of hamburgers and fries and wolfed into them without waiting for her to get settled. Halfway through his first burger, he pushed a bag toward her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and dug out a wrapped burger. “I should have let you handle that situation yourself.”

  “Yes, you should have. You have a spectacular knack at emasculating me every chance you get.”

  Ready to protest, Abigail sighed, and admitted, “I have control issues.”

  “No kidding.” He chomped down a handful of veggie fries.

  Feeling a sense of helplessness standing in his accusing stare, she couldn’t stomach food, and shoved it away on the counter. “All right. It meant something to me. Are you happy?”

  He huffed, and sucked down a long draw from his supersize Coke.

  “The sex,” she explained.

  “I know what you’re talking about. You’re trying to make me feel better. You don’t have to lie to do that. I’m a big boy. I am a master at handling rejection, trust me on that one.”

  “But I don’t want you to feel rejected by me.” She touched his arm, and he stopped eating. It was as if she’d touched a switch in him, and only now could he come down and really listen to her. So she took advantage of his attention.

  “Lying in your arms. Making love with you… It did mean something to me, but I’m so stupid about trying to keep my emotions in check and not fall into the same old obsessive patterns, that I did it again. I pushed you away when all I really want to do is pull you to me and hug your big burly body, and bury myself against your quiet and kind strength. Oh, Ridge.”

  He dropped the burger onto the paper and drew her into his embrace, and she found her way into his strength with a sigh and a sniffle.

  “It’s difficult for me,” she said against his chest. “I need to work it my way, and sometimes that way is wrong.”

  “You’re doing fine, sweetie.” He nuzzled into her hair and hugged her until nothing mattered but the sound of his heartbeat and hers, tapping rhythm against one another. “You’re doing amazing, actually, considering what you’re going through. I shouldn’t ask you for anything when all your energy needs to be focused on your son.”

  “Two more hours,” she said with a glance to the digital clock on the oven. “You should finish before the food gets cold.”

  “You eat, too.”

  “I will. I think I’ll make a veggie sandwich.”

  It took them only moments to eat. Still one hour and fifty minutes of waiting. This would be the longest stretch of time she’d ever had to endure if she couldn’t find a distraction.

  “I’m impatient,” she announced after washing the last plate. She wiped her wet hands on her slacks and took the towel from Ridge, who had dried the dishes at her side. “And when I get antsy I need to do something.”

  “Turn on the TV,” he suggested. “Must be a movie or something we could watch. That should keep your mind off things.”

  “I don’t have a TV.”

  He gaped. “No? That means no Monday Night Football? Hell.” He scratched his head, then flashed her a confused twist of brow. “Is that because of you and the electricity thing?”

  “No. I can watch TV without it blowing up. But I prefer to use magic in the house, so I keep the electrical stuff to a minimum. You haven’t vacuumed until you’ve sat on the couch, feet up on a pillow, directing th
e vacuum with but a flick of your fingers.”

  “Think I’ll pass on flicking fingers. No TV,” he murmured, obviously too stunned to take that one in completely.

  “I imagine you must have one of those big screens?” she asked.

  “Not yet, but that’s my plan. Get a big six-footer in the compound and watch the Vikings games in high-def.”

  She sidled up to him and gave his arm a playful squeeze. “You would have made a great running back. Or a pitcher. Or, well, I don’t know sports. I’m using the only terms I have.”

  “I used to row, actually. I loved rowing the boat on a quiet lake when I was a teen. Haven’t done it for years.”

  “Interesting. I didn’t think the canine breed went in for water.”

  “I’m lupus, not canine.”

  “Right. Sorry.” She trailed her fingers down his chest, finding it the best distraction in the room. Moving closer to him drew his body heat to her as if a flame, and she pressed her hips to his. “Mmm, I think I can find something to waste a little time.”

  “Abigail,” he said on a moan that told her he’d be perfectly fine with whatever trouble she got herself into.

  And why not? Sex earlier had ended on a sour note, and she was determined to change that to sweet.

  She undid his jeans. The scar on his abdomen started above the waistline, and she traced it, kneeling before him to examine it closely.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, then kissed the top of the scar. His abdomen flexed with his intake of breath. “Maybe a few kisses will make it better?”

  “You can try,” he groaned through a tight jaw.

  Pulling open his jeans revealed brown curls and she tangled her fingers through them as she delivered another kiss, a little lower on the scar. “It’s so thick.”

  “Uh.”

  The taste of his skin, the tensing of his muscles, his groans; she had him exactly where she wanted him. Her thoughts abandoned the dire—if for a moment.

  She tugged down his jeans and his penis sprang up proudly, boldly, a thick shaft of steel wrapped in velvet skin. The head of him was deeply colored and she cupped her palm over it as she kissed the bottom of the scar, but inches from his heavy rod.