What a Werewolf Wants (San Francisco Wolf Pack)

by Kristin Miller

  Words were right there, teetering on the edge of his lips, but they wouldn’t come. He took another drink as he read the hope in her eyes. She wanted what her parents had: a marriage where two people lived the picture-perfect life, living, working, and breathing for each other. But she craved a normal reality, not one where her significant other could turn into a canine at every full moon. And that’s what Josie needed to be happy: something normal.

  “Josie…” He struggled to keep his voice emotionless as he squeezed her hand. “I can’t stand for you to see me differently, and eventually, you will. I’ll never be able to give you the life you want.”

  “I told you,” she pressed, her tiny hand sliding in his, “we can deal with the wolf stuff. I can try—”

  “Damn it, Josie, it’s more than that. It’s about this.” He pointed to Carrie and Mitch as they leaned in for a kiss. “That.” Leaning closer, he pointed to an older gentleman in the back of the room as he pulled out the chair for his disabled wife. “All of this.” He circled the room with his hand. “Marriage, children, the house with the white picket fence. It’s not a picture of reality, but it’s what you seem to want to capture anyway. You want the dream to be reality, and that’s fine,” he said, staring into her gentle brown eyes, “but you won’t find it with me.”

  Worrying her bottom lip into her mouth, Josie’s gaze skipped around the room to each of the couples. “If that’s the way you feel.”

  Last chance.

  Regret burned a hole in his chest, and he hadn’t even put the nail in the coffin yet.

  “It is.” With a deafening thud, his heart clenched to a stop. “You should call that guy—Jeff, or whatever—from the application.” Pain seared through him. “Sounds like he can give you what you’re searching for.”

  “Fine.” She stood abruptly, dropping her napkin to the floor. “I’m sure he’d be more than happy to be my date for the wedding tomorrow.”

  As she walked away and Ryder went cold, Mitch mouthed, “What the fuck?”

  Shaking his head, Ryder dived back into his dish and fumbled with the fork. His hands went numb, and a cold, clammy wave washed over him. As Ryder glanced at the empty seat next to him, reality delivered a crushing blow.

  This was what you wanted.

  It didn’t matter that he craved Josie so badly he couldn’t breathe. Or that the tension in his muscles wouldn’t release. He couldn’t think about the fact that she was the only woman on the planet who could hollow him out with a single glance. He yearned for her on every level, yet he couldn’t have her. She didn’t belong at his side, even if fate seemed to think otherwise.

  He’d pushed her away to prove the point.

  Better get used to this lonely ache.

  He’d live unmated, alone, for the next two hundred fifty years of his life so that Josie could find someone who could give her what she needed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Hello?” Carrie’s voice permeated the fog-like state that’d taken over her brain. “Earth to Josie.”

  Blinking quickly in the harsh morning light, Josie refocused on her fingers. They were still held out over the bumper for the manicurist to paint. Apparently she’d chosen hideous Big Bird yellow as the color for the wedding tonight. Bizarre. She didn’t remember that.

  “Yeah?” she said, quickly scanning the beauty shop where they’d spent the last three hours. People milled about, washing hands, painting toes, and styling hair. “What do you need?”

  “I need my sister, my maid of honor, to have her head on straight today. Are you all right?”

  Josie nodded. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because you just agreed to a stone massage after this.” Carrie winced as the stylist shoved the comb for her veil into the mess of curls on top of her head. “I get that you’re stressed and all, but we don’t have time for that. After this we have to hustle to the yacht, remember? We still have to take pictures of the bridal party before the wedding.”

  “Right. Of course.” Tension coiled around Josie’s heart. By the end of the day, she’d be walking down the aisle with Ryder. Well, not with him, but beside him, arm in arm, and that’d be torturous enough. “I must’ve forgotten.”

  Actually, she didn’t remember much of the morning. It’d passed in a giant blur of mimosas and giddy laughter. Mitch’s mother, grandmother, and a few female cousins had taken over the beauty salon, making Josie feel like the odd one out. Soon, Carrie would be a part of their family, and she’d be alone.

  The thought scared the hell out of her.

  And when had she gotten her hair styled? Had she spaced through the whole thing? Brushing her hands over the tendrils of hair falling around her face, Josie glanced in the mirror at the stylist’s station across the room. She looked like Shirley Temple, a head full of curls, with blonde and chestnut strands highlighted throughout.

  “And we’re not finished talking about that date of yours, by the way,” Carrie fired, watching Josie in the mirror. “Just because I had to disappear to the opposite end of the shop for my toes doesn’t mean we were done discussing it.”

  “Date?”

  Carrie scoffed. “Jeff Dumpster. The guy meeting you at the wedding tonight.”

  Oh, right. “Dumphry.”

  “Yeah—him,” Carrie snapped. “I thought you were coming stag so you could hook up with Ryder.”

  “That’s the thing about a relationship, Carrie.” Josie sighed. This was humiliating. “Both people have to actually want to be with the other. It’s a funny thing.” Man, her sarcasm ran deep. She couldn’t help it.

  “But Mitch says he’s crazy about you.”

  She glared at her sister’s reflection. “Then he has an odd way of showing it.”

  As the stylist arranged the veil around Carrie’s shoulders, she smiled in approval. “Maybe he’ll come around when he sees you with Jeff Dumpster at the wedding.”

  “Dumphry.”

  “Whatever.” Carrie sighed heavily. “Where’d you find him on such short notice, anyway? If he’s an escort, you can tell me. No judgment here.”

  “God, Carrie, he’s not an escort. How desperate do you think I am?”

  “On a scale from one to ten?”

  Josie snatched a foot scrubber from the table next to her and chucked it at Carrie’s back. “Don’t you dare answer that.”

  “I can answer whatever I want. I’m the bride.” She pulled her shoulders back proudly. “This is my day.” When Josie didn’t respond, Carrie said, “What does he do?”

  Drive her wild? Piss her off and turn her on?

  Oh, wait, Dumpster—Dumphry. “He’s a doctor.”

  Carrie’s eyes lit up. “Well, that’s a start.”

  “And probably an end, too,” Josie said, as the manicurist finished painting the topcoat. “On paper he’s everything I’ve ever wanted. He’s stable, wants a big family, loves the restaurants, music, and movies that I do.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “He’s handsome. An eight on the hotness scale, I would say.” Josie shrugged. “He doesn’t have the dark and mysterious vibe that Ryder has, but whatever. I don’t need that. It’s just…”

  “Really freaking hot,” Carrie finished. “I see it, too, but it’s not the most important thing.”

  He’s not Ryder. That’s the most important thing.

  “Know that tingly feeling you get when you first see someone?” Josie whispered. “That kick in your stomach and the flutter in your chest? It’s not there with the new guy.”

  Carrie slid off the chair and stood in front of Josie’s nail station. “You of all people have such a great sense for knowing when two people would work well together. Today is your hundredth successful match. If you don’t feel like this Dumpster guy is going to be ‘it’ for you, why are you wasting your time?”

  Josie sighed, but her chest went tight. “Because I’m tired of being alone. I’m sick of people laughing at me for being the single matchmaker who can’t find love h
erself.”

  “Ah, Josie, no one’s laughing at you.”

  “They might when they watch the Martha Silverstone special.” Her heart pounded as tears threatened to fall. “I want to find someone, fall in love, have this crazy connection with him, get married, and have a bunch of wild kids. And I found that connection. Or at least I thought I had.”

  Carrie wrapped her arm around Josie’s shoulder. “Did you tell him how you feel?”

  “He doesn’t want that future, so he doesn’t want to hear it,” she said, draped in Carrie’s veil. “From me, or anyone. And I can’t give up that dream. I can’t set up another hundred couples, watch them fall in love and get married, and be left behind. And then you’re going to blend with Mitch’s huge family, and I’ll really be alone.”

  “That’ll never happen. Don’t even think it.” Carrie kissed her cheek and then straightened to fix her veil. “I love you, Josie. And soon you’re going to find someone who has all the qualities you need, someone who’d rather die than live without you.”

  “Yeah. I guess I got my hopes up that Ryder was the one. I felt things for him that I thought were undeniable…and then he proved me wrong. He seemed to deny them pretty easily. If he felt a fraction of what I did, he’d be the one dancing with me tonight instead of Dumpster.” Her heart ached fiercely. She rubbed where she was raw, but couldn’t soothe the pain. “That doc has got some huge shoes to fill.”

  Leaning close, Carrie whispered, “At least he doesn’t have to fill four of them like Mitch does.”

  The whole thing was still so strange. She’d panicked while Mitch shifted two nights ago, but once she saw him as a wolf—and then talked things over with Ryder—waves of serenity had washed over her. No matter what he was—man or wolf—he’d never hurt her. And Mitch would never hurt Carrie.

  It was the only truth she knew for certain, and the only reason she wasn’t totally against the marriage moving forward.

  “Whatever happens, we’re family,” Carrie said. “It’s one of the most precious gifts we have in this life.”

  “Speaking of gifts.” Careful not to smudge the freshly dried paint on her nails, she pushed back from the table and retrieved her purse from a bench on the side of the room. Removing a small blue-and-white wrapped package, she handed it over. “For you and the lucky groom.”

  Carrie swooned. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

  Yet she tore into the gift anyway. As the paper fell away and Carrie opened the box, her eyes went wide.

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  Carrie held up two tickets to La Bohème for the Christmas Eve show. “We’re going? Me and you?”

  “Me and you.” Josie wrapped her arms around the only family she had left in the world and squeezed. “I told you we were going to make new memories. Who cares if Mitch doesn’t like the opera? His loss is my gain. And if he changes his mind between now and then, he can use the second ticket to take you.”

  Squeezing her tight, Carrie sighed. “I love you so much.”

  “There’s more,” Josie said.

  Pulling back, Carrie lifted up a thin sheet of tissue paper. And then her laughter filled the salon.

  “Earplugs.” Unable to control her giggles, she pulled out a bright pink pair. She could barely talk through her hysterical fit. “For vapor lock?”

  Josie winked, chuckling with her sister. “Just in case.”

  “You’re the best,” Carrie said, draping her arm around Josie’s shoulder. “Now let’s get out of here. This is a big day for both of us. I’m marrying the man of my dreams, and you’re about to become the most successful businesswoman in the area.”

  Carrie compared the two as if they were equal, but they weren’t. Not by a long shot. She’d gladly give up her business for good if it meant she could be marrying the man of her dreams, too.

  It was too bad Ryder had made it perfectly clear that wasn’t going to happen.

  With a shaky breath, Josie focused on the future in front of her: a business that was about to boom and a wedding date with a perfectly normal doctor who most definitely did not howl at the full moon.

  It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but it had to count for something.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Squinting into the early-afternoon sunlight, Ryder lined up his shot on the ninth hole on the Presidio Golf Course. Rather than spend the morning and afternoon stressing, Mitch had requested they squeeze in a game of golf before he said his vows.

  Under normal circumstances, Ryder wouldn’t have complained about playing a round with Mitch on a brisk Sunday morning.

  But not today.

  The sickness from hell had fallen over him this morning. His insides were soured, spinning on high speed. He was crippled by rattling nerves. Migraines with teeth had pierced his temples and wouldn’t release him.

  Everything inside him was begging to run to Josie, haul her against him, and apologize for being such a douche. But he couldn’t, not now. He’d blown away any chance they could’ve ever had by pushing her into another man’s arms.

  His entire body revolted at the thought, tensing, chilling, and weakening his middle.

  What the hell had he been thinking?

  And what was he doing on the green, pretending to give a shit about hitting under par? Running on fumes with less than two hours of sleep made his swing tight and his putting game pathetic. He was slicing every damn ball and chasing it back and forth over the green. Every time he tried to focus on his drive, images of Josie would stream through his mind, blinding him. When he tried to measure the distance on the putting green, she’d creep up again, calling to him in that honey-sweet voice of hers. She was the ultimate distraction, and she wasn’t even present.

  Lining up, twisting back, Ryder geared up to swing.

  “I’m loving the new you,” Mitch said in Ryder’s backswing. “I’m kicking your ass all over this fairway.”

  The ball hooked, arching far and wide off the fairway. Planting his club on the ground, Ryder shot his friend a nasty glare. As Mitch looked up from the scorecard, his gloating smile fell.

  “Not today, all right?” Ryder tossed his club in the bag and plopped into the golf cart. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “I can tell.” Hopping out of the cart, Mitch lined up his shot, eyed the runway carefully, and shot straight down the center of the green. “Does it have something to do with a certain matchmaker?”

  “Think you’re clairvoyant now?”

  Tossing his club in back, Mitch slid into the driver’s seat and took off to their next shots. They bumbled along over well-mowed grass, on a pathway barely wide enough for the cart. Gusts of wind hauled over the next mound, but Ryder barely registered the chill. He was already covered head to toe in gooseflesh. Had been all morning.

  “I hear Josie was pretty torn up after the rehearsal. Carrie spent the better part of the night on the phone with her. She said she’d never heard her sister like that.”

  Shit.

  Like a serpent, guilt wove around his lungs and squeezed until he couldn’t breathe. “Don’t tell me that.”

  He ached for Josie, to be with her and hold her close. He hated being the one to cause her pain that way, but a little agony now was better than heart-wrenching, soul-searing pain later, right?

  Son of a bitch, he wasn’t sure.

  “What’d you say to her?” Mitch asked as they sped closer to Ryder’s ball.

  “I told her I wasn’t the right guy for her.”

  “But you are.”

  Ryder dropped his head to his shoulder and glared. “Can we drop it?”

  “You said it yourself. You’re fated mates.” Mitch jerked to a stop. “Don’t know why you’re denying it so hard.”

  Without another word, Ryder marched up to his ball. Took a deep breath that came out as an exasperated rasp. Tried to shake the tension out of his shoulders. Tried again. And again. Damn, he was tight. He eyed the hole carefully, cocked back, and s
wung. Even when something was planned so carefully it fell apart. He’d lined up right, aimed true, and any other day he would’ve whacked the hell out of that ball. Today though, it veered right into a sand pit.

  “Damn it,” he roared. “Can’t catch an effing break.”

  And then he chucked his club as hard and as far as he could. It twirled and spun in the air, coming to land on the opposite side of the cement pathway. Hands on his hips, Ryder charged down the hill toward the pit.

  “Ah, you don’t need that club anyway.” Mitch eyed where it fell, and then, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.” Mitch drove beside Ryder as he marched down the fairway. “Whatever’s brewing in your head isn’t healthy for you, and your golf game. Or your pocketbook, for that matter, if you’re going to throw out your club after every swing.”

  As Ryder reached the sand pit and eyed the ball jammed into the side of the mound, he jerked the appropriate wedge out of his bag. Stormed to the pit, jaw clenched tight. Took aim. Hacked at the ball. Sand flew in a dust cloud, right up into his eyes.

  “Son of a—” He rubbed his eyes, burning them further. “I can’t fucking see.”

  “It’s not the sand’s fault,” Mitch grumbled. “You couldn’t see with your eyes when they were clear, either.”

  Eyes burning as if they were on fire, Ryder pointed his wedge at Mitch. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Josie was perfect for you, brother. You’re not going to be able to stay away from her—you can’t. It’s the laws of Luminary attraction. You’ll get weaker, and sicker, the longer you’re apart.”

  “Two people are not meant to—”

  “I know you keep rambling about the same thing, but how are you going to feel when Josie moves on with someone else?” His words might as well have been a lance, stabbing straight through Ryder’s chest. “She will move on, you know. Women like Josie don’t stay single long.”

  “It’s too late.” On a pained growl, Ryder took a second hack at the ball. He missed, sinking it deeper. “Damn it. She’s already found someone else.”