And Jericho Burned: Toke Lobo & The Pack
Page 4
“Let go of her,” Restin said. “Now.”
“This is between Lucy and me,” Stoker replied. “So butt out of our business.”
“Business? Have you forgotten our mission?”
“My mate takes precedence,” Stoker said.
“She’s not your mate yet.”
“As far as I’m concerned, she is. That’s all that matters. She’s not going back to New Sinai. I’m sending her to Loup Garou, where she’ll be safe.”
“As long as you’re single, you’re part of this team, and you will follow orders,” Restin said in a low, dangerous voice. “She has to go back to New Sinai, because we need someone inside.”
“Why don’t you let Randy recruit one of you?” Lucy asked.
Silence filled the room as the men exchanged wary glances.
“You haven’t told her,” the curly-topped blond said.
Stoker glared at him.
“Told me what?” Lucy’s head ached from trying to find the logic in the conversations flowing around her.
“I suggest you mind your own business, Omega,” Stoker said.
The tension in the room rivaled the tension at New Sinai.
Lucy tilted her head to gaze at Stoker. “You promised.”
“I’ll always keep my promises to you.” Stoker stroked her cheek with one knuckle as he scowled at Restin. “I have to get Lucy’s sister out of New Sinai. She’s my sister-in-law. Family. I have no choice.”
“You aren’t married yet,” Restin reminded him.
“Are you questioning my instinct?” Stoker practically bristled with anger. “Do you challenge pack law? Or do you need a refresher course in our priorities?”
What on earth was pack law? The band had its own rules for marriage? Then Lucy remembered his claim of being a werewolf.
Nah.
“Pack law doesn’t apply in this situation. She’s human.”
Stoker’s eyes narrowed. “Want to tell that to the pack alpha and his mate?”
What in the world had she gotten herself into? “Uh, guys?”
“I could kill you for that,” Stoker continued. “There are witnesses who would back me.”
Young Blond Curls laughed nervously. Blond Mustache elbowed him in the ribs.
“No killing,” she said, her voice shaking.
Restin turned on her. “Get used to killing,” he growled. “It’s our way of life.”
She should be disgusted, but there was something else, something she didn’t quite grasp–
“Maybe you’d better tell her,” the young blond blurted.
“I did,” Stoker said, his gaze never leaving Restin.
“Tell me what?” Lucy asked.
“And she’s not human, she’s a butterfly,” Stoker continued in a deadly serious tone.
The lamp dropped from her numb fingers.
“I don’t care if she’s a queen bee. She has access to New Sinai, and we need in,” Restin said.
She couldn’t go back. “Are you going to let him throw me to the wolves?” she asked Stoker.
“The wolves will protect you,” Stoker snapped. “Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said to you?”
Lucy swallowed a whimper. Maybe Idaho was some kind of alternate reality zone.
Stoker must have heard her distress, for he tightened the arm around her waist. His muscles were like steel. “Were you really going to bash Restin with the lamp?”
She nodded.
The corners of his mouth lifted, as if he were trying to smile. She had the craziest impression that he was pleased.
Restin rolled his huge blue eyes. “If Miss Callahan doesn’t go back to New Sinai, how are you going to rescue her sister?” His tone was smug.
“Leave that to me.”
Restin shook his head. “Not if it interferes with my mission.”
Stoker’s already tight muscles stiffened.
Restin continued in an almost conversational tone—as opposed to his usual confrontational one. “There’s no reason the two can’t be combined.”
“I’m off the task force,” Stoker reminded him.
“Not until you mate, and I believe you said you were going to do things a la human—with an engagement before nuptials.”
His smug tone irritated Lucy. He sounded too much like Charles-the-Fink, her ex-fiancé.
“Rescuing her sister will be much easier if you’re still on the team,” Restin continued.
Stoker emitted a low growl, and Lucy blinked. “It’s too late. Her scent is already a part of me.”
Anger flashed in Restin’s crazy blue eyes. “Impossible.”
Lucy echoed the sentiment. “I don’t have a scent. I need a shower after a week in New Sinai, but that’s temporary stench.”
Stoker looked down at her. His dark eyes contained depths she could never hope to fathom. “You do,” he quietly responded. “You smell green.”
Understanding clicked like the clichéd light bulb. Back on familiar territory, her insides ceased quaking, and her self-preservation instinct kicked in.
There were motives she’d overlooked in her initial reaction to Randy Butler, motives she learned the hard way through her relationship with Charles-the-Fink. She should have recognized Randy’s game sooner; after all, he’d gone through Michelle’s portion of their parents’ estate quickly enough.
Stoker, however, had nearly slipped under her defenses. The ‘green’ fixation betrayed him. Like everyone else, he wanted her greenbacks. Her money.
She had so wanted to believe in him.
“What’s wrong?” Stoker asked. “Does green offend you?”
She’d stiffened without realizing it, and now made a conscious effort to relax. A little. “No.”
His gaze turned quizzical, unbelieving.
“Why don’t I book a room for Miss Callahan,” Restin suggested, “so you can consider the facts without distraction.”
“You do that.” Stoker switched back to steely anger faster than she could inhale. “But because we need another room after you destroyed this one’s door. But book only one room, because Lucy stays with me.”
“You know that’s a bad idea,” Restin said.
Stoker bared his teeth in a mockery of a grin. “Not as bad as leaving her alone for you or Randy Butler to get to, so forget it.”
“Omega can stand guard.”
“I said no.”
“I could order you—”
“Your order would mean less than nothing. In fact, you would be punished for issuing a command counter to pack law.”
A muscle in Restin’s jaw throbbed. “Fine,” he said. “Just don’t mark her yet.”
Stoker closed and locked the door of the new room after Luke dumped his belongings on one of the beds. How dare Restin try to interfere with mating? One of these days, he was going to find his mate and have to apologize to everyone he’d offended with his arrogance.
Stoker squared his shoulders and turned to Lucy. They had some serious talking to do. She obviously hadn’t understood what he’d told her. Didn’t fully grasp his secret.
He wished he’d had a chance to run through this particular discussion with Tokarz first. Tokarz, who’d recently mated with a human, had gone through hell before finding bliss with his Delilah. Stoker had seen the immediate aftermath of Tokarz’s revelation, and it hadn’t been pleasant. A younger individual might have been scarred for life.
He wouldn’t wait as Tokarz had, telling his mate the truth after marking her. Lucy deserved better.
“You guys kill a lot, huh?” Lucy asked. Her green eyes glistened like leaves after a rain.
“It’s not what you think.”
“I know, I know. You work for the government
. It’s your job to ensure truth, justice and the–”
“I used to work with the government,” Stoker corrected.
“What’s the difference?” She crossed her arms over her breasts, closing herself off from him.
“I was never on their payroll. I never answered to them.”
Was it his imagination, or did she become more wary?
“You live on what you make from the band?”
He waved off her question, a distraction he didn’t need right now. He wasn’t sure where to begin. “What I’m going to tell you has to stay between us, okay?”
Something glinted in her eyes. She nodded.
“You ever hear of the French Revolution?”
“Uh, yes.”
Okay, he’d made a bad start. “My family came to America to escape the guillotine. We made a pact with the new country: service in exchange for sanctuary.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh?”
“As long as my family has sanctuary, the males must serve. Until they marry.” He used a word she would understand.
Lucy looked confused. “So if you marry me, you can stop serving? I’m an out for you, like flat feet?”
He was mangling the explanation. Why else would she be so upset? “No. I’m not saying this well. I’m not Tokarz. I can’t use words like he does.” He tried to find a better way to tell her, but the only reasonable answer was to show her. Remembering how badly Tokarz’s mate had initially reacted, he said, “Don’t scream. You have to promise me you won’t scream.”
A quizzical expression on her face, she nodded.
He started unbuttoning his shirt.
“Wait a minute.” Her voice trembled.
“I need to show you something.” He dropped the shirt to the floor then worked on his belt buckle.
“Um, no.” Lucy shook her head. If he hadn’t been standing in front of the door, she might have bolted.
“It really isn’t what you think.”
“Right. You’re a guy, you asked me not to scream. I can guess.”
The rasp of his zipper filled the silence between them. Easing the metal teeth over his need to mate was tricky.
The changes in his body since finding Lucy were unfamiliar, and that included what strained his fly. He understood the why and how, but understanding and actual experience were vastly different realities. This was nothing like waking up in the morning and needing to piss.
Lucy whirled around and hunched her shoulders.
Stoker shed the rest of his clothes until he stood as naked as the day he was whelped. He glanced down, amazed at how much his private parts had grown. No wonder Lucy seemed frightened. He’d be afraid of something that big, too.
“Turn around,” he said, his voice a harsh rasp.
“I don’t need to inspect your equipment.”
Interesting word. He’d have to remember it.
“I need to show you something, and it’s not my equipment. I’ll tie my shirt around my waist, so you’re not offended.” He hoped he wouldn’t tear his favorite shirt before he was done.
He scooped the garment from the floor then used the sleeves as a belt. “There. All covered.”
He felt ridiculous with the fabric tenting out in front of him, but he certainly didn’t want to offend his mate’s modesty. “Turn around now. Please.”
She peeked over her shoulder, not turning until she confirmed he’d covered himself.
“You promised you wouldn’t scream,” he reminded her.
She nodded.
His energy looped back on itself, doing the DNA dance perfected by his most ancient ancestors. Because of the waning moon, his cells had to dance a little harder. Still, they nimbly went through their contortions.
Lucy’s green eyes widened. Her mouth gaped as she stared.
Stoker braced himself for her reaction.
Chapter 3
What the . . .?
Everything appeared to undulate behind the waves of heat swathing the shabby motel room. Pressure built in Lucy’s head, her ears rang, and something odd happened to her vision. But not spots. And it only affected Stoker. Maybe she was staring too hard.
She blinked several times, trying to clear the mirage of hair sprouting, of Stoker’s lean height compacting shorter, squatter. His hideous pastel paisley shirt floated to the floor.
Her knees gave out. She dropped to the carpet, her heart racing, and her mouth dry. “Oh my God.”
Stoker looked like . . . he wasn’t pretending. Or else she’d fallen into some kind of Idaho reality-warped rabbit hole.
Stoker wasn’t role playing!
He–or a facsimile thereof–approached her warily, as if unsure of his reception.
Well, duh! No wonder he’d warned her not to scream.
Lucy tamped down both her fear and her stunned delight as her fingers dug into luxurious black fur.
Stoker Smith was an honest-to-goodness werewolf.
Oh, this was so cool, and she was so jealous. Her life was filled with moments when she wished she could change into a butterfly and flutter into the sunset.
Instinct assured her that Stoker wouldn’t hurt her, and he remained still under her exploration until she scratched behind his ears. Then he licked her cheek.
“A doggy kiss?” Her laugh sounded shaky, even to her own ears. “I prefer your human kisses.”
As if she’d issued an invitation, the air around them shimmered once more. Heat blasted her skin. The spaces in her skull felt as if they were expanding. Her sinus cavities throbbed, and her ears popped. He morphed again.
“I prefer human kisses, too,” he whispered against her lips. He rolled until she was under him, pinned to the musty carpet. Before she could react, his oh-so-manly mouth claimed hers. His erection pressed into her belly, as his tongue explored the contours of her mouth. Sexual energy zinged through her. Desire like she’d never known flooded her body.
Until she tried to breathe. His shoulders blocked her air. Any second now, she’d lose control. “Up, boy.”
Stoker growled then said, “I’m not a dog.”
No, he wasn’t.
“And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m already up.”
Oh, she’d noticed all right. She’d have to be blind and paralyzed not to. Stoker was quite an impressive man.
“Let me up,” she said, as fingers of claustrophobia gripped her. She pushed at his shoulders, but he was too big to budge.
He groaned, but rolled off her.
She averted her head and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to look at his sleekly muscled body with the silky black hair whorling over his broad chest. He was a temptation she had to resist in order to survive Idaho with her soul intact. She couldn’t afford to invest in another man who considered her a source of income.
She waited for the hiss of a zipper, but it never came.
“You can open your eyes now.” He sounded hurt.
She glanced at him through her eyelashes. He’d pulled on his jeans. His shirttails covered his front, although his erection hadn’t subsided at all. No wonder she hadn’t heard him close his fly: the zipper wouldn’t go over his condition.
“Now do you understand?” Beads of perspiration glistened on his forehead.
“You’re a shape shifter,” she said as she scrambled to her feet. She sat in the only chair in the room, avoiding the bed and anything to do with it.
“You’re my mate.” He swallowed, throat muscles working.
“Explain the concept of mate,” she said in a shaky voice. “I have a feeling it’s a little different than wife.”
He nodded, his body visibly taut. “Marking you is forever.”
She’d been afraid of that. “Explain marking.”
“
The first time we join.”