Last Wolf Standing

by Rhyannon Byrd

  “Safe from Simmons, maybe,” she whispered, blinking rapidly as she stared into his warm brown eyes. And in the next moment she heard herself saying, “But what about from you?”

  Something silent and powerful passed through his gaze; something that reverberated through her, touching her deep inside, where she felt it in her blood and tissues and organs, pulsing in the very core of her body. “I’d never hurt you, Torrance,” he finally said, and there was no mistaking the conviction in those simple words. “And I’m sorry as hell I’ve landed you in the middle of all this.”

  “It’s not like you meant for any of it to happen,” she muttered, ignoring what her name on his lips did to her heart rate.

  His eyes narrowed, the molten brown barely visible through the thick, lush line of his lashes. “I should have just ignored you in that damn café and walked away. But I couldn’t.”

  Since she didn’t know what to say to that, she kept silent. Another chilling blast of wind surged around them, whipping her hair around her shoulders, and Torrance shivered as she grasped at the windblown strands, then rubbed her palms together, trying to work some heat back into her numb fingers. She jumped with a start of surprise when he lowered his arm and reached toward her, but he merely grabbed her hand, running his thumb across the fragile bones, warming her skin.

  Feeling disoriented and off balance from his unexpected touch, Torrance eyed the powerful width of his chest beneath the flannel shirt and fought the bizarre urge to step closer and nuzzle the strong, tanned column of his throat with her cold nose. He had the warmest skin she’d ever felt, as if he were burning inside with an inner fire that heated his body like a fever. She sighed, watching his large hand engulf her own, his thumb rubbing across the small vein beneath her skin in a soothing gesture that struck her as breathtakingly intimate, though the touch was innocent.

  But it didn’t feel innocent.

  “You’re going to have to come with me, Torrance.” His dark gaze—full of primitive, provocative intent—was piercingly direct as he stared down at her.

  Her throat quivered, tongue flicking nervously at her bottom lip. She was so afraid, and yet, despite her fear, Torrance couldn’t deny that she was drawn to him. “I really don’t have any choice, do I?”

  “Not if you want to live,” he answered in a low, husky rumble that trembled through her system.

  She swallowed hard, her words shaky and soft. “Where will you take me?”

  That powerful stare, so warm and chocolatey brown, impossibly…vividly sexy, slipped from the top of her head, down to her toes in a long, thorough sweep, then repeated the same path until he was once again staring into her eyes, making her world spin. “We’ll go home. Up to the mountains. To my cabin.”

  Chapter 5

  She seemed to take a moment to absorb his answer, then finally nodded. The breath Mason hadn’t even realized he’d been holding released on a low, shaky sigh, at the same time a raw, powerful rush of anticipation surged through him. There was no denying that he wanted her—that his body craved her. But it was more than that. And the more was making him nervous as hell.

  Releasing her hand, Mason reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt, took out her glasses, then handed them to her. “Here, I picked these up for you at your apartment.”

  “Thanks.” She took the glasses, her cheeks flushed as she used the hem of her pale gray sweater to clean the lenses. Finally, after what seemed like a torturous, jaw-grinding eternity, she slipped them on and looked back up at him. “What will happen when we get there?”

  Mason tried to control it, but he knew the smile curving his mouth had more than a little of his wolf in it. “Let’s just get you there in one piece,” he rasped in a low, uneven tone that had her beautiful, wary eyes going wide. “Then we can figure out what comes next, Tor.”

  “I like the way you call me that,” she murmured, looking surprised by her admission. “Nobody’s ever called me Tor before,” she added awkwardly, running one hand through her hair in a nervous gesture that drew his eye. Yesterday, her hair had been braided, but today the lustrous tresses fell past her shoulders in a wild, silken mass of deep, dark red. He wanted to see her hair like that when she was under him, the fiery locks flowing over his pillows like a silken wash of crimson that caught every shimmering shift of light, while her eyes went heavy, clouded with pleasure—the image so erotic, it nearly took his breath. His mouth twisted with a wry grin, and Mason shook his head at his unprecedented reaction to her. “You do know that this is going to be hell on me, don’t you?”

  “What is?”

  His gaze rolled down the delicate lines of her body, lingering over the precious, provocative details, while his pulse roared in his ears. “Being near you.”

  “Oh,” she breathed out softly. Mason could hear her fear in that single word, as well as caution…but there was also a touch of satisfaction, of interest.

  He hoped to God he could control himself, because it was that last part that was going to kill him.

  She was on the petite side, making him feel like a damn giant beside her, but for some reason it only upped his excitement. Since the day he’d first satisfied his body’s need for sexual release, Mason had adamantly avoided women her size, always feeling clumsy around them, too aware of how much bigger he was, how easy it would be to get too rough with them.

  But not this time.

  No, the primitive, wild side of his nature was raising its head and howling with feral anticipation, breathtaking fantasies burning like molten, flame-red embers through his mind, until she made a small, nervous sound in the back of her throat.

  Before he could say something to reassure her, Jeremy walked over, flicking a quick look at the sturdy silver watch on his wrist. “It’s getting late. If you two are ready, we should hit the road.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, knowing they needed to make the mountains before nightfall. “Let’s get out of here.”

  * * *

  A minute later they were packed up in a rugged black Tahoe, the mud caked on its bumpers and wheels attesting to the mountain cabin Mason had mentioned. The interior smelled of luxurious leather and warm, male musk, as well as the earthy scents of the forest, making Torrance want to draw the heady mix into her lungs and hold it, enjoying something that was so elementally appealing—and yet so different from anything she’d known in life. Jeremy had offered to drive, snuffling a soft laugh under his breath when Mason readily accepted the offer and climbed into the backseat with her, making the large space seem almost cramped with his long legs and broad shoulders, not to mention the warm, vibrant energy that surrounded him.

  “How long will the drive take?” she asked as they headed west, toward the mountains that ran through western Maryland and eastern Virginia. A steady case of nerves jittered through her system, and she found herself rubbing her damp palms across the tops of her thighs, toes curling girlishly within her shoes.

  “Shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours, but it depends on traffic.” Mason sat with one arm braced along the door, dark eyes scanning the street, probably watching to see if they were being followed. He looked dark and dangerous, as if he could handle whatever life threw at him, reminding Torrance of how thoroughly opposite they were from each other. Yet she couldn’t deny that being close to him felt impossibly right. The fear was still there, she knew—but her powerful, breathtaking attraction to him continued to battle against it, demanding her focus.

  Noticing the dark circles under his eyes, as well as the lines of strain that bracketed his sculpted mouth, she said, “You look tired.”

  Another wry grin tipped the corner of his lips as he laid his head back against the seat. “Not sleeping for two days will do that to you.”

  “You stayed up all night watching the house?”

  “Yeah,” he rumbled, and then, as if he wanted to change the subject, he said, “Do you have any family? Anyone who will want to know where you are?”

  “No, my mother died when I wa
s twenty. There’s an aunt and uncle somewhere, but we’ve never kept in touch. I haven’t seen them in more than a decade.”

  “Friends?”

  “Only ones through work, and Mic will let them know that I’ve…gone out of town. What about my apartment?”

  “I’ve sent a crew in to clean up,” he explained. “I asked them to pack up some clothes for you, so they should show up sometime tomorrow.”

  “That’ll be good. Michaela loaned me these for today, but they’re all I’ve got.” And they obviously didn’t fit right. Mic had a killer figure…while the growth spurt Torrance had always hoped would round out her hips and chest had never arrived. Still, she loved the outfit Mic had let her borrow, the flowing skirt and soft cashmere sweater making her feel like a gypsy.

  “You should have your stuff tomorrow by noon, at the latest.”

  She nodded, and a softly charged silence settled between them, while they stared across the short space separating their bodies in the backseat. The country music Jeremy had turned on played softly in the background, and time just seemed to slip away. Torrance didn’t know how long she just looked at him, soaking up the mouthwatering, masculine view that made her feel all hot and hectic inside, while his heavy-lidded eyes moved over her face, before finally settling on her mouth. The longer he stared, the more her lips tingled.

  “You should get some rest,” he finally murmured. The low, scratchy sound of his whiskey-rough voice shivered across her skin, melting through her senses, giving her that hot-beneath-the-skin feeling again. “The last two days have been hard on you.”

  She laid her head against the seat and closed her eyes, willing herself to relax—but she could still feel Mason’s dark eyes watching her, taking in the rise of her chest, every slow, calculated breath that she forced herself to take. Knowing that she wouldn’t sleep, she finally opened her eyes and said, “Do you mind if I ask some questions?”

  Mason lifted his brows, looking somewhat cautious, while Jeremy called out from the front seat, “Let’s hear ’em, doll face.”

  She rolled her eyes at the outrageous nickname, but couldn’t help grinning. “Well, you said yesterday that you were different from Simmons. Other than the obvious—I mean, he’s a total creep and you guys seem relatively sane—how are you different from him?”

  With his elbow propped on the door, Mason rubbed his long, scarred fingers across his mouth and stared out the window as he explained. “We’re wolves—werewolves, like him—but we’ve never been part of our birth pack. Before Simmons went rogue, he was a full-fledged member of the Silvercrest Lycans.”

  Something in his tone warned her that this was…shaky ground, but Torrance didn’t back down. No, she needed to get as good a handle as she could on what she was dealing with here. “Why aren’t you members?”

  Jeremy steered the SUV onto a two-lane highway, then spoke up before Mason could answer. “Because we’re half-breeds, meaning one of our parents is human and one is Lycan, or werewolf. In mine and Mason’s case, our mothers are human and our fathers are wolf.”

  “So your werewolf fathers married human women?”

  “Yeah,” Mason replied, his voice mild despite the tension riding his big, powerful body.

  Shocked by this bit of news, Torrance took a moment to simply watch him, appreciating the way the afternoon sun shone through his shaded window, putting him in a soft, natural spotlight. She liked the way his ragged jeans hugged the hard, thick muscles of his thighs. Liked the way the soft flannel he wore fit across those wide shoulders and the rigid biceps in his powerful arms. Heck, despite her fear of what he was, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t like it all, the whole unbelievable package.

  Realizing she was staring at him again, she jerked her gaze back to her lap. “Your mothers must be pretty amazing.”

  “They are definitely that,” Jeremy agreed, sending her a lopsided grin in the rearview mirror when she looked up at the sound of his voice.

  Glancing at Mason, she asked, “So what are your parents like?”

  “Attached at the hip,” he snorted, turning his head back toward the window after a fleeting look in her direction. A golden streak of vibrant sunshine cut briefly through the now quiet storm clouds, setting the deep auburn tones of his hair alight. Her fingers tingled with the blossoming desire to reach out and run her fingers through the windblown strands; feel their warm, silken heat against her skin. A heady, erotic vision of wrapping her fingers in that gorgeous hair and pulling him down for a hot, wet, openmouthed kiss burned through her mind, until his next words pulled her back to reality. “They’re so wrapped up in each other, so in love, it’s damn near disgusting.”

  Whoa. Something sharp and disturbing skittered through her system at his muttered words—and from the front seat, she heard Jeremy rasp a soft curse under his breath. Carefully, without inflection, she said, “You think love is disgusting?”

  “Naw,” he grunted, looking frustrated as he cut her a quick look from beneath his lashes, as if he wished he could take back the uncomfortably revealing words. “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Then what is it about your parents’ relationship that makes you…” Her voice trailed off, not knowing quite how to phrase her question. Despite the strange connection between them, he was still essentially a stranger to her.

  “I love them. I think they’re great,” he explained quietly, his low voice barely audible over the heavy sound of the tires upon the road. His left hand flexed and fisted where it rested atop the hard-muscled length of his left thigh, revealing his obvious tension. There was something here, something important, but Torrance couldn’t put her finger on it. “They’re the best parents a kid could have ever had, and believe me, I gave them their share of grief.”

  Running the tip of her finger over a crease in the natural leather of the seat, Torrance followed the meandering line while trying to follow the path of his thoughts, reading the meaning behind both what he said…and what he didn’t say. “So you love them, but something about them makes you uncomfortable?”

  “Yeah, I guess it does,” he admitted, blowing out a rough breath. “I think if one of them died, the other would just lie down and follow. It’s like they…breathe life from each other.”

  She watched his hand slide from his thigh, lying relaxed…and yet somehow expectantly on the seat between them…and her breath held, wondering if he would reach out and clasp her fingers, twining them together. Her heart lurched, feeling tight and heavy in her chest, her pulse fluttering like a schoolgirl’s at the thought of holding hands with him—but she was honest enough with herself to admit that she wanted it. That she wanted this hard, rough warrior to reach out for her and simply hold her hand within the strength of his own, sharing his heat, his touch, the way he had in the parking lot. “I imagine growing up and witnessing that kind of commitment could lead to a person feeling one of two ways.”

  “Yeah?” She could feel his gaze on her finger, watching as she followed the crease in the leather.

  “Hmm. You either crave the same kind of connection for yourself…or spend your life swearing that you’ll never let yourself become so vulnerable.”

  He gave a low grunt, which she supposed was all the reply she was going to get, then crossed his arms and turned his attention back to the repetitive line of trees beyond his window.

  Wrapping her arms around her middle, Torrance stared out her own window, at her lap, the back of Jeremy’s blond head, wondering what to say next, thankful when he hit the indicator and began pulling off the highway.

  “We’re going to need to stop and fill the tank in this baby before we go any farther.”

  They pulled into a station attached to a roadside diner, and Mason immediately opened his door, giving the impression he was making an escape. “I’ll grab us some coffee. Sit tight.” And just like that, he was gone.

  Torrance chewed on her lower lip as she thought about their odd conversation, and as if they had a will of their own, her eye
s tracked his progress across the small lot, following his long, masculine movements with an avid, hungry absorption. She loved the thick muscles that flexed against his jeans as he moved, the shape of that incredible ass, and the bulge of his bicep as he pulled open the door. Loved the way the wind blew the dark strands of his hair around his head. Loved the rugged cut of his jaw and the sharp profile of his nose.

  “If you weren’t such a scaredy cat, you’d be throwing yourself at him, enjoying him for as long as you could have him,” she whispered under her breath, fully aware that it was true…and hating it. The guy could have any woman he wanted—hell, he probably did have any woman he wanted—probably had them morning, noon and night. Yet here he was, with her.

  It didn’t make any sense, because if she’d learned anything in life, it was that a handsome face didn’t stay for the long run. With a sharp pang in her chest, she remembered Clint, one of the few men her mom had dated whom she’d liked having around. He’d been so sweet and attentive, playing games with her, taking them on outings—but eventually he’d left, just like the rest of them. No matter how much they’d seemed to enjoy her charismatic mother, in the end they’d all moved on. Every single one of them. And Torrance had learned from the lesson.

  Men didn’t stay.

  If she got past her fear and became involved with Mason Dillinger, there was every chance she’d end up with her heart broken. She knew it. He’d grow bored with her, and then he’d wander. She’d seen it happen so many times as a child, she knew the routine by heart.

  It didn’t matter that he ignored the perky blondielocks behind the counter of the diner who kept swishing her double Ds in his face. And damn it, why was she even thinking about it? It’s not like she…wanted him. Right?