Layla Nash - A Valentine's Chase (City Shifters: the Pride)

by Unknown

  Even then, it took him too long to figure out what the fuck happened, but the wolf wasn't going to let their mate walk out the door without them. He elbowed through the crowd to reach her, not giving a shit about the rich humans who gave him dirty looks, and breathed a sigh of relief when he caught her just outside the door. But Meadow looked both furious and on the verge of tears as she faced him, and Rafe's heart sank. He'd hurt her. He hadn't even meant to and he made her cry.

  Rafe took a deep breath and resisted the urge to hug her to his chest to keep her warm. That slinky dress looked like sex personified, but it couldn't be very warm. "Meadow, I'm sorry. I wasn't judging you. I'm not judging you. I was just trying to keep up with the change of plans. It was a long day for me as well, and I had three or four glasses of bourbon before you arrived. I'm not trying to feed you excuses for my behavior. I was rude and I apologize for that. Can we start over?"

  Those wide eyes looked a little glassy and he cursed himself for making it worse. The wolf wanted to comfort her, to bring her some place safe and warm, and convince her to stay. He ran a hand through his hair, uncertain how to talk to her. "Let's go inside where it's warm. I'll buy you another drink and you can berate me more for being a jerk. Okay?"

  A hint of a smile passed those plump red lips but a tear escaped and was quickly brushed away. Meadow tilted her chin up in an imperious look, and she shook her head. "I think I've had enough for the night, thank you. But I'll have Olga call you, I think you'd both get along nicely."

  She turned on her heel and started to stride off but immediately bobbled and almost fell. Rafe jumped forward to grab her arm and hold her up as she grabbed her ankle and cursed. His eyebrows arched; she had a surprisingly and impressively filthy mouth. He loved her even more. And wanted to test the extent of her vocabulary in his bedroom.

  "Are you okay?"

  Meadow took a shaky breath and muttered, "These goddamn shoes."

  "Let me help you to your car," Rafe said. "Where are you parked?"

  "I don't need your help." She turned and took a halting step.

  "Meadow," Rafe said. He wanted to shake her and kiss her at the same time. "Would you —"

  "Stop." She whirled and almost fell a second time, but ignored her falter and held up her hand, her expression fierce. "I will absolutely shoot you in the balls with my taser if you get one step closer."

  He took a deep breath but capitulated. He couldn't force his help on her. And a taser to the junk didn't sound like a good way to end the night. The wolf hated the thought of her suffering, but the look on her face broke his heart. Angry and hurt and desperate to just get away. Like a wild animal in a trap as the hunters closed in. So he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Okay. Got it. I'm sorry."

  Meadow took a shaky breath and went back to staggering, one agonizing step at a time, toward her car. She made it three steps before she stopped and pressed the heels of her hands to her face. Rafe waited, unmoving. He'd damn well stand there until she made it safely to her car, regardless of how long it took. He'd stand there all night if he needed to.

  When she didn't move and the silence stretched, Rafe started to get worried. But he didn't move, didn't want to crowd her or make her uncomfortable. It was weird enough, the blind date and the dark street and hurting her ankle.

  She took a shaky breath and her voice reached him, barely above a whisper. "Are you still there?"

  "Yes."

  Meadow muttered something, then looked back at him. Her nose wrinkled as she scowled at him, and he was lost. Totally done. A flash of silver in her eyes hinted that maybe she wasn't entirely human, even though she smelled human beneath an intoxicating jasmine perfume. "Please help me to my car."

  "Of course." He eased forward, but pulled up short as she leveled a fierce index finger at his nose.

  "But just so you know, I have an air horn and mace in my bag to go along with that taser, hero."

  He laughed, wanting to hug her just for being funny, and put her arm over his shoulders so he could take most of her weight off her bum leg. "Thanks for the warning, hon."

  "Watch who you're calling 'hon,' babe," she said under her breath.

  Rafe wanted to just pick her up and carry her but figured that would provoke another tongue-lashing. Or the taser. Not that he really minded. Her expressions fascinated him. He kept the pace slow as she hobbled along, and cleared his throat. "You look beautiful, by the way."

  "Don't patronize me," she said.

  "I'm not." He glanced at the cars that lined the street, wondering if one of the fancy German cars was hers. He thought the cheerleader was a model, but since he hadn't seen a file on Meadow, there was no telling what she did for a living. "I wonder why Paula didn't match me with you, instead of your roommate?"

  She snorted and gave him a sidelong look. "Please. That lady doesn't recruit anyone over a size four, sweetheart. Because guys like you never date anyone over a —"

  "Don't judge me either, Judgey McJudgerson." Rafe met her sideways look of his own, and raised his eyebrows in challenge. "You don't know me any more than I know you, so let's slow-roll the assumptions?"

  Her lips compressed to a thin line but she said, a little grudgingly, "I'm sorry."

  "Don't mention it." Rafe squeezed her hand where it draped over his shoulder, and held her a little closer. "And you're exactly my type, for the record."

  Color flushed her cheeks and she looked away, though she nodded at a beat up Toyota half a block away. "That one is mine. I can make it from here, thank you."

  "It's just half a block, and I have to go that way anyway, since my car is over there." A small lie. Just so he could hold her a little longer, prolong the conversation. Maybe get her phone number so he could call her instead of having to go through the insipid roommate. "Besides, it looks like your ankle is swelling up pretty badly."

  She muttered a few more curses, and pinched the bridge of her nose. Despite trying to control her breathing, a few hiccups and tears escaped. "Damn it. I don't need this."

  Rafe paused as she gathered herself, and he took a deep breath near her hair, so he could remember her scent forever. "I can drive you to the hospital, or call you a cab if you can't drive, or call your damn roommate to pick you up, since she owes you that. I've got a first aid kit in my car, too, so I can wrap it if —"

  "You're kidding." A soft laugh escaped and she almost smiled as she looked over at him. "You really are a hero, huh?"

  "Just a boy scout," he said. "I like to be prepared."

  "I'll be fine." Meadow frowned at her car in grim determination. "I'll get home and take some aspirin and it'll be fine. Just fine."

  He wondered why she had to talk herself into it. But Rafe didn't want to press. He sensed he'd already reached her limit for trusting a strange guy on a blind date, and one who'd insulted her from the first minute as well. So he vowed to just be her crutch for that long half-block to her car, step by agonizing step. "What do you do for a living, Meadow?"

  She shook her head and her tone lowered, and he knew immediately she wasn’t telling the whole truth. "I work in a bookstore."

  A bookstore. An odd thing to lie about. The wolf perked up, though, and sensed a chase. A hunt. Searching for more information, or at least truthful information. Rafe paused as her fingers dug into his shoulder and she hopped on her uninjured foot, and he held his breath at her pain. "This is stupid," he said under his breath, and she gave him an outraged look.

  "I beg your —"

  Before she could get any further, he ducked a little, put one arm behind her knees and kept the other around her shoulders, and picked her up. She didn't weigh enough to even make him blink, but by the death-grip of her arms around his neck, she must have expected his knees to buckle any second. Rafe cleared his throat. "I'd like to breathe, please."

  She immediately loosened her grip but made a strangled sound instead. "P-put me down."

  "You can't walk," he said, shaking his head. "And I'm not going to let you freeze your a
ss off because you're too stubborn to let me drive you or get your car for you. So. Here we are."

  And indeed, they were already in front of her car. Meadow stared at him, nose-to-nose, and Rafe's heart stopped. He'd never believed in love. Never wanted it and eventually thought it would never happen to him. Until her. Until she walked through the crowd and stole his heart. He wanted to kiss her so badly his head ached.

  "You can put me down now," she whispered, hazel eyes wide as she searched his face.

  "I don't want to," he said, and didn't even care that it sounded like a creepy thing to say. He'd only known her for fifteen minutes. Thirty, tops. And he wanted to carry her around forever.

  A hint of a smile touched Meadow's lips, then it was gone and a sterner expression returned in its place. "I still have my taser."

  For a moment he considered refusing, but common sense prevailed and he carefully eased her back to the sidewalk so she could balance on one foot as she unlocked the battered car. Rafe eyed it dubiously. "Are you sure that's safe to drive?"

  "It better be," she said, and tossed her purse into the car before facing him. She set her shoulders, as if about to deliver bad news, and Rafe braced himself for something terrible. Instead, she stuck out her hand. "Thank you for helping me to my car."

  "You're welcome." He shook her fingers, not wanting to crush her hand with the wolf howling in his head because he let her go. "Meadow, I —"

  "Don't," she said, and flushed. Her forced smile cracked his heart a little. "It's fine. Have a good night."

  She lowered herself into the car, wincing as she tried to move her ankle in those dangerous shoes, and he could only stare in disbelief as she started the car and chugged away into the night. He caught a glimpse of the license plate but not enough before he was left standing there, stunned, as his mate disappeared around the corner.

  Chapter 4

  By the time I got home, my ankle had swelled to the size of a softball, almost a volleyball. I could barely haul myself up the stairs to the apartment Olga and I shared, and I grumbled in frustration when I saw the note she left on the kitchen table: a cheerful message that she would be gone for the weekend with the rock star and there wasn't any food in the fridge because they needed snacks for the road trip.

  Awesome. Because signing the note with a smiley face made it okay that she emptied the fridge of groceries I'd bought only two days earlier. With the last few dollars hoarded from my paycheck. I wouldn't see the next paycheck for another week, so it looked like dollar store noodles for dinner again.

  I threw the borrowed heels into her room and vowed to never wear anything taller than a flip-flop ever again in my life, then hobbled into the kitchen to make an ice pack. And discovered she'd taken all the ice and not refilled the trays. For a moment, I stood on the cracked linoleum with my hands over my face and tried not to cry. This was not where I'd planned to be at twenty-four. My plans had been much bigger, much grander. Change-the-world kind of plans.

  A deep breath helped steady myself. I dug a mangy bag of peas out of the back of the freezer and wrapped it in a dish towel as I limped back to my room. Like the night could get any worse; I sprained my ankle, used the last whisper of gas in my car, had no food in the house, and yelled at the most handsome man I'd ever seen in real life. Who then walked me to my car. And carried me the last block.

  I groaned and flopped onto my bed, worming around until I pulled off the fanciest dress I owned and hurled it onto the floor. Propping my ankle up on a couple of stacked pillows almost distracted me from the desperate embarrassment of the look on his face when he called me judgmental. I shaped the peas around the swollen ankle and covered my face with a pillow. Unbelievable.

  But underlying all of that was a degree of uncertainty that the night actually happened the way I remembered. My memory played tricks on me sometimes, especially when I was stressed out. I had to leave school because of stress and anxiety and the threat of being committed for 'exhaustion.' I didn't need to freak out about something like that. I needed to focus on getting better, staying better, and going back to school so I could finish my degree and get a good job. Get a safer car and a nicer apartment and a better life. All the things my imagination threw at me were just distractions.

  I hardly slept, not due to pain but because my mind kept playing the night over and over and over, until every word he'd said burned in my memory. And I replayed the conversation a dozen different ways, wishing I'd been funnier or more out-going or a little more open-minded. Wishing I'd gotten his number or given him mine. Getting lost in the easy strength of his arms as he picked me up and carried me, like it was nothing. Like he could have carried me for blocks and blocks without breaking a sweat.

  Despite only the one gin and tonic, I still felt hung-over when I got up to go to work. And promptly fell on my face as I stepped on my bad ankle and it stabbed fire all the way to my brain. Holy hell. I curled up on the floor and cursed, trying to think through the tears and the pain. Adrenaline surged until I was sweaty and clammy and seeing stars. Obviously I couldn't go to work, even if all I did was sit at my table and read palms and tarot all day. I wouldn't even be able to fake telling the future with my whole leg throbbing like the wannabe rock star's bass line.

  I crawled to the bed and fished my cell phone from where it disappeared in the sheets. I managed to compose myself enough to call my boss and tell her I couldn't make it in. Luckily I didn't call out often, so she didn't push for details. And then I stared up at the ceiling, at a loss. With Olga gone, there weren't many people I could call for a ride to the emergency room who wouldn't also decide I needed a psych consultation while I was there. The only person I knew would help, without hesitation or qualification, was my Uncle Smith.

  He wasn't really my uncle, but he'd been friends with my parents for as long as I could remember. When I moved away from home, he remained someone I could lean on when I needed help. So I dialed his number with shaky fingers, and held my breath as it rang. My ankle throbbed more, until I almost couldn't see straight. As soon as he answered, something about his voice made me tear up more. Relief rushed through me: he would fix it. He would know how to make things better. "Good morning, Miss Meadow. How are you this fine day?"

  "I need some help," I said, and my voice wobbled and cracked.

  I got the impression immediately that he was moving fast, deliberate and calm as always but certainly on his way. "Of course, my dear. Where are you? What's wrong?"

  "I'm at my apartment," I said. I took a shaky breath and an almost-laugh escaped. "I'm sorry, I just hurt my ankle and my roommate isn't here and my car isn't —"

  "Don't apologize for anything." The sound of a car starting almost hid Smith's words from me, though he managed to sound soothing. "Just elevate it, and ice it if you can. I'll take you to the emergency room. I'll be there in ten minutes."

  "Thanks, Smith," I said, and the line went dead. I covered my face and felt sorry for myself for a good couple of minutes, then knee-walked over to my closet to dig out acceptable clothes. I'd learned a long time ago that doctors took you more seriously if you dressed nicely. Show up in ratty jeans and without makeup, and they judged you before you ever had a chance to speak. Every movement sent another flare of agony through me until I could hardly see, but I managed to inch my way to the living room to unlock the front door.

  Then I passed out on the couch. I woke up to find Smith placing ice packs around my ankle and wrapping them in place with a bandage. He smiled at me, eyes creasing though a hint of worry clouded his expression, and gently patted my shin. "How on earth did you do this, Meadow?"

  "I borrowed Olga's shoes, and then tried to walk in them." I covered my face and tried not to think about the awful date. "Do you think it's broken?"

  "It might be." Smith handed me a beautiful carved wooden cane, the intricate details blurring as I looked more closely at them. "Use this to balance, my dear. Up you go. I called ahead so they will be waiting."

  "Leave it to you to
have connections at the emergency room," I said, and held his arm to balance as I hopped toward the door.

  The trip from my apartment to the emergency room was hazy. I couldn't have explained how we got there if my life depended on it, and when I finally shook off the disorientation, we sat in a private room in the emergency area. Smith sat next to the bed where I lay, my ankle propped up and wrapped, and I watched as a nurse gave me an IV of painkillers and antibiotics. He fielded call after call on his phone, speaking tersely with cryptic answers, and it reminded me how busy he was. How many people relied on him or wanted things from him. And yet he'd come straightaway when I called. I blinked slowly and bit back a yawn.

  Smith, his iron gray hair perfectly combed, folded his hands over his middle as he put away the phone and studied me with a mild expression. "So where were you going, wearing those ridiculous shoes from your roommate?"

  "A date," I said, and sighed.

  A hint of a smile touched his mouth but faded. "You don't look excited about the date."

  "It wasn't really my date." My head flopped back on the pillow and I stared up at the ceiling and the metal tracks for curtains and medical equipment that ran like snakes around the room. "And it didn't go well."

  "Oh?"

  That was all the invitation I needed to recount the awful date to Smith, who was an excellent listener, and fill in all the things I should have said and done. An aggravated noise escaped before I could bite it back, and I covered my eyes. "And now I think I should have at least given him my phone number, maybe given him a chance, but I didn't and now I'll never see him again."

  "What did you say his name was?"

  I lifted my head to peer at him through half-closed eyes. "Why?"

  "I'm just curious, Meadow." But I knew him better than that. Uncle Smith was never just curious. He worked as a private investigator. He investigated everything.