Wrath

by Lana Pecherczyk

  Still thinking about how well Alek had responded to teaching, Wyatt pulled his shirt and pants off, then got into the bed. Before he shut the light off, he checked his Yin-Yang tattoo, marking its perfect symmetry and balance with an odd sense of pride.

  Sara had never given him this sort of peace. With her, it had always been as though he was afraid to mess up. She’d kept their apartment in perfect order—towels lined up, can labels facing the front. There had been a sense that something would always be around the corner, something to mess up the order.

  Evan was right. Being around his mate, even just enjoying her company and having her feet shoved under his thighs for warmth, was a soothing experience. He felt replenished and rejuvenated, ready to take on the world.

  Wyatt scrubbed his face. He’d just called her his mate. Wow. He didn’t even mince words or skirt around it. Mate. Like two animals in the wild. Not just any mate, but a fated one. One in billions. Mate. He said it a few more times in his head to test it out. Each time he conjured a visual of Misha’s heart-shaped face and bright cupid’s bow lips. She always had a rosy look about her, bright eyes and a happy vibe. Little pink nose.

  Yawning, he drifted.

  He almost missed the sound of the door opening until someone came tip-toeing in.

  With a profound sense of déjà vu, Wyatt tensed. Was she drunk again?

  “Wyatt?” she whispered loudly. “Are you awake?”

  He turned the bedside lamp on, careful not to crush it.

  She stood before the closed door, still wearing her attire from the day. The same clothes she’d peeled off before they’d—heat flushed his skin as he remembered what an asshole he’d been, rutting her like a wild animal in this very bed. He caught her worried gaze.

  What’s wrong?

  He sat up.

  She bit her lip and averted her eyes. “Can I sleep here?”

  A lump formed in his throat.

  “Just sleep, I swear. I don’t want another night on that horrible sofa, plus… I don’t want to be alone.”

  He shifted the duvet on the opposite side of the bed. She climbed in, pulling the cover up to her chin, laying stiffly beside him, staring at the ceiling. He switched off the light, casting the room into darkness.

  When he laid down, he found he couldn't sleep. He was hyper-aware of her body next to him. Couldn’t get the memory of her nakedness from his mind, but he didn’t want her to know, so held his breath and flexed his toes. Eventually, the sound of her breathing evened out as she fell asleep, and Wyatt gave himself permission to turn on his side and study her.

  Beams of soft moonlight peeked through the gaps in the curtains. It was enough for him to make out her profile. Her lashes were like wings, shadowing her cheeks. Her nose dipped from her forehead and then scooped back out in a perfect arch. There was a little knob at the end that gave her features just enough of a difference to make her a curiosity. Then there were her lips, perpetually rosy, as though she were always flushed from the rush of just being kissed—or fucked. But what he liked most was her curly hair spread on the pillow. Wild, carefree and… resilient. Happy. Just like her.

  With her optimistic outlook on life, her loyalty to her family, her patience and vivaciousness, he was drawn to her. It was as though she was made for him—the warrior of wrath.

  No. He frowned. That wasn’t right. It was Wyatt who was made for her. She was born naturally, a twist of nature, two lovers coming together. It was he who was made—created—to need someone like her. To protect someone like her. To want her with every fiber in his being. It was he who would break if he lost her.

  Raw emotion crushed his chest, soon followed by concern, and a trickling sense of fear. There were things she hadn’t told him, or her family. Hiding. Secretive. She didn’t fool him. The fire today hadn’t relieved her as much as the rest of her family. She was still afraid, and she’d come to him for comfort.

  She trusted him.

  Fifteen

  After years of combat training, Wyatt had learned to sleep at the edge of consciousness, ready to move within a split-second’s notice. So when Misha woke next to him the following morning, he roused. And when she slowly and quietly got out of the bed, trying not to disturb him, he became curious.

  Dawn’s pinkest hues came through the curtains, so where did she have to be so early?

  Sleeping next to her had been painstakingly awkward. With his body so aware of her presence, and his mind slowly coming to terms with her importance to him, all he could think about was touching her. He’d wanted to pull her into his arms and take solace in her warmth, to give in to his baser instincts. But even with his thoughts pushing him toward her, there was a nameless resistance, like a rubber band, and he wasn’t strong enough to break it. Regardless, he was smart enough to know when he was getting the brush off. She was trying to sneak out like a thief, meaning; she resisted more than him.

  As Misha fumbled for her shoes on the floor next to the bed, Wyatt sat up. His sudden movement caused a little chirp of fear from her mouth. When her mind caught up with her eyes, her hand fluttered to her throat.

  “Jeez, Wyatt. You scared me. You’re like the waking dead.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at her shoes. Leaving so soon?

  “Um.” She gulped, tongue running over her bottom lip as her gaze raked down his bare torso. Then, catching herself ogling, she bit down and looked away. “Yeah. Look. I had a great time. Like, really great, but this between us, whatever we had yesterday is finished.”

  Brush off. Loud and clear.

  Except… he wouldn’t accept it. Yes, he resisted, but he was also drawn to her. She didn’t know it yet, but they weren’t done.

  “I’m not good for you, Wyatt.” She tied her unruly bedroom hair into a top knot.

  She should wear her hair down. The blond ringlets stuck out, but he supposed it only made her more lively. He wanted to tug on that hair, bring her down to his lips, lower. She blushed when she caught the simmering lust in his gaze and a heatwave of hormones engulfed him so suddenly that he almost lost focus. His skin prickled as his body produced pheromones. His scent became stronger. It was all part of the package his mad scientist mother made of them to help trap a mate.

  He couldn’t say he was completely averse to the pheromones, not if it got her to change her mind, and that made him an even bigger bastard than he thought.

  Misha caught his scent, her jaw dropped and her eyes fluttered closed. She inhaled deeply.

  “God, you smell amazing,” she groaned. “It’s unfair.”

  She didn’t know the half of it.

  Wyatt shifted toward her side of the bed, uncaring that his arousal clearly showed through his boxer shorts.

  “I’m sorry.” She put her palm out. “I’m a one time only kind of girl.”

  Now that was unfair. He pointed at his bed. You came back to me last night.

  “Yeah, but that was in the same day, and we didn’t actually repeat the—you know—so I’m counting it as one time. Please don’t push me on this.”

  Wyatt held his palms out in surrender. Fine. Lifting his hands to rest behind his head, he leaned back on the pillows. It was a pose he knew held maximum visual effect, putting his physique on display. She tried not to gawk, and he loved the heat coloring her cheeks. He would get to the bottom of her resistance. Couldn’t be any worse than his, could it?

  She looked everywhere but him.

  He tried clearing his throat, testing the sound. He wanted her attention but didn’t want to—how did she say it?—push her on this.

  Misha glanced over at his throaty sound. Once he was sure she watched his face, he asked. What are you doing today?

  She laughed and shook her head. “Okay. Small talk. No problems. I’ve got yoga classes today. You?”

  He shrugged.

  “Okay. Great. Thanks for the chat.” Misha walked to the door, and every atom in Wyatt screamed for him to not let her go, but he was incapable of stopping her.

  Ju
st before she stepped through the door, she tossed a glance over her shoulder. “It was nice knowing you, Wyatt. Thank you for everything you’ve done for my family.”

  And then she left.

  It was nice knowing you?

  What the fuck?

  A growl of frustration tore from him, and it sounded clear cut and so precise that he shocked himself. He tensed as he brought his finger to run over the ridge of his scar. Was it possible his vocal cords had regenerated enough to return his voice? Rumor had it they were all created with advanced regeneration abilities. Mary and Flint had seen scientists in the lab play around with jellyfish, salamander and starfish DNA, among other things. The man who’d bankrolled their experiment had wanted to test out their regeneration limits by cutting off a limb, but they had been only children. Hearing the ultimatum of the mad man, Mary had moved her plan forward to extricate them from the lab. The day Evan was born, she’d spirited them all away, except it hadn’t gone according to plan. His biological mother had by then realized how wrong the entire experiment was and decided to stay back to burn the place to the ground. Sensing her despair, his eldest sister had run at the last moment to their mother, right when the elevator door was closing. Explosions ripped apart the lab before anyone could retrieve his sister—Daisy. They’d named her Daisy because she’d loved flowers.

  None of the seven had tested themselves to see if they could regenerate. Strangely, over the years of their training and combat missions, none of them had lost a limb or even a finger. They were too good at what they were created to do. They’d been shot, stabbed, concussed, knifed across the throat… but the limits of their healing hadn’t been pushed quite to the extent of what he’d recently faced. When Grace operated on Wyatt’s throat after Sara had sliced it, she hadn’t been hopeful he’d regain use of his voice, but there was a chance, she’d said. You never know with the human body.

  Did he dare to hope now?

  Did it matter?

  Wyatt wasn’t sure how long he stayed in his room. It wasn’t until Alek knocked on his door that he got out of bed. The boy wanted to continue his self-defense training, and with nothing else for Wyatt to do, he obliged. Dressing himself, he joined the kid down in their kitchen for what started as a light breakfast, but ended with Wyatt cooking a gourmet egg-white omelet with French toast and fruit. He couldn’t help himself. It had been a while since he’d had a home kitchen all to himself. The only other person awake was Ciocia, who ushered the two of them outside the minute he’d eaten his last spoonful of fruit.

  When it was just the two of them on the driveway, he mouthed, “Do you know where your sister has gone?”

  Alek shrugged.

  Yeah, Wyatt never expected him to know, but it was worth the ask.

  Right, then. Time to get physical. Wyatt spent the next few hours teaching Alek how to read his telegraphed attacks before he made them. A drop of the shoulder, a twitch to the side… it all helped the boy learn to use his eyes to the best of his ability. Next were heel palm strikes, groin kicks, elbow strikes. The kid’s appetite for learning was insatiable. He reciprocated by teaching Wyatt a few more hand signs. It made communication between them easier. At the end of their session, he gathered the courage to ask the kid where his sister taught her yoga classes.

  The instant he received the address, Wyatt was like a new man. He had a goal and a purpose: he needed to see her.

  He showered, ate a delicious ham and dill pickle sandwich in the kitchen made by Vooyek, then donned his helmet and took off on Betty. The coy looks Misha’s family had given him before he left made him realize Alek had told them he’d asked about her whereabouts, and perhaps they’d even registered that she’d stayed in his bed last night. Rather than be embarrassed, Wyatt was more interested that none of them objected, meaning Misha’s resistance to him was not from family judgement. It was something else.

  Sixteen

  When Wyatt arrived at the address Alek had given him, he was surprised to find a decently refurbished warehouse in the city center, just outside the prestigious Quadrant, and not far from his family building—Lazarus House.

  The warehouse bricks were a blend of orange and red, with cream rendered features running around the windows. Two enormous topiaries sat on either side of a double glass door that displayed the words Health Studio with white stickers. The street was clean and respectable. No homeless people, no rubbish floating around.

  It was a nice neighborhood.

  Parking Betty in front of the warehouse, Wyatt tugged his helmet off and tucked it under his arm. Sun glinted in his eyes and he squinted, bypassing the two sweaty women chatting in front of the double glass doors. He strode to the door and pulled. It didn’t budge.

  For a minute he thought he’d pulled instead of pushed, but then a woman spoke in a deep smoker’s voice. “Studio is closed, hon.”

  He turned to find an older woman staring at him as she pushed a strand of bright blue hair behind her ear. Next to her stood a younger woman, also in yoga attire. Her round eyes seemed familiar—he jolted with recognition. It was Lilo, Griffin’s girl. The reporter.

  He blinked away his shock. She didn’t know what he looked like, or who he was. Did she? Even if she did, what did it matter that his family knew he was here? Probably nothing. Evan had already found him working at Misha’s family restaurant.

  “Are you okay?” Lilo asked, brow furrowing.

  Hell, he’d been staring while his brain went into a frenzy.

  She kept talking, but Wyatt zoned out as he checked Lilo up and down. She seemed nice. Attractive. Her hair was a mess, and she had mascara smudged at the edge of her eye. The strap holding the mat slung over her shoulder was knotted. She was a disarray, not the kind of girl he thought Griffin would date, but then again, Misha wasn’t the kind of woman he pictured himself with.

  Wyatt tapped the words on the glass door, hoping his intention was clear.

  “It’s closed.” The blue-haired woman’s gaze turned suspicious. She no doubt wondered what a black clad man who rode in on a motorcycle would want with a yoga studio.

  Not missing a beat, Lilo caught the tattoo on his wrist as his hand came down from the glass door. Her intelligent eyes darted to the scar on his throat, then back up to his eyes with a gasp.

  “So,” she said, with an incorrigible smile, “this is going to sound strange, but are you by any chance related to Griffin Lazarus? Because you look so familiar and, my goodness, you both have similar features, and that tatt—ahem—I mean you have… you know what? Never mind I asked.” She cut herself off when her eyes landed on his tattoo again and she glanced warily at her friend.

  She was mindful of their family secret. Wyatt respected that.

  Lilo waited for him to answer.

  He nodded. Yes, he was related.

  Her eyes lit up. “Oh my God, so you must be Wyatt. You’re the only brother I haven’t met. I’m so excited to meet you. Griff said you were on, um, you were on sabbatical or something—”

  Right. Sabbatical.

  “—he’s going to be so excited you’re back.” She gasped again. “Oh, and Evan. He’s always talking about you. Have you been home yet? Is this a surprise? Should I keep my mouth shut? I don’t want to ruin anything. Although, I must admit, I’m pretty terrible about keeping secrets, aren’t I, Bev?”

  “It’s true. She’s terrible.”

  “Unless the secret is super important.” Lilo held up her pointer finger. “And then I’m like a vault. So tight, that you could put state secrets in there, I swear.”

  Wyatt was stunned into silence. She talked. A lot. He blinked back at her, taking it all in.

  There was a pang in his chest when he realized he’d missed so much in the months he’d been running. This woman sounded so familiar with his family, more so than him. And apparently, she was good friends with Misha.

  He tapped the door decals again.

  “Here,” Lilo said, whipping out a tiny notebook from her bag. “I always keep a
notebook. You know, reporter thing. I work for the Cardinal Copy. Write down what you’re asking. It will be easier.”

  He wrote Misha’s name down.

  Surprised eyes hit him. “You know Misha?”

  He nodded, then wrote: Do you know where she is?

  Lilo bit her lip. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone, but I guess you’re family.”

  Wyatt’s heart clenched.

  “She’s gone to her other job.” Her voice held a conspiratorial tone.

  Other job?

  Unease prickled the back of his neck.

  “If you hurry, you might catch her.” Lilo pointed down the road. “She takes the monorail. But please don’t tell her I blabbed. She’ll have my cajonies in a vice. She can be quite…”

  Wyatt stopped listening and shoved his helmet back on. He paused. Shit, that was rude. He lifted his visor and pointed down the road, just to confirm.

  Lilo nodded. “She left literally seconds before you arrived. I don’t know much about the place, except it’s in Little Russia.”

  Wyatt gritted his teeth, nodded his thanks to Lilo and started his engine.

  “Is everything okay? Misha told us about the fire,” Lilo asked.

  He didn’t have time to chat. Revving the engine, he snapped his visor down. With one last look at Lilo and her blue-haired friend, he nodded. Yes, Misha would be okay. Especially if he had anything to say about it.

  “Tell her to return my calls!” she shouted as he tore down the street, leaving them behind.

  Little Russia. Wyatt tried to ignore the dark insecurities creeping into his mind. She’s hiding things from you. A second job? She’s not who you think…

  When he arrived near the station, he slowed and parked so he could surveil without distraction. Catching sight of Misha waiting at the station platform, he couldn’t move. Instead, he waited until she got on the train, then drove to the station near Little Russia and waited across the street, still on his bike, helmet on, visor down.