Hunted (Riley Cray)

by A. J. Colby

“Go to sleep, Riley,” he said brushing my hair back from my forehead before leaning in to place a tender kiss against my temple.

  “Not...tired...” I protested even as I snuggled into the pillows and drifted into sleep’s waiting embrace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  COLD, DULL LIGHT danced across my eyelids, flickering in the darkness like ripples on a moonlit pond when I awoke, content for a moment to lie quiet and still. The house was filled with a myriad of unfamiliar smells and sounds, but as I drew in a breath I found myself surrounded by the warm molasses scent of Holbrook, the smell of him so strong it was like my nose was buried in the crook of his neck, hovering above the fluttering pulse in his throat. I could almost sense him close by, the overwhelming presence of him making it difficult to pinpoint his location.

  Reaching out a hand across the mattress in search of him, I sucked in a sharp breath, every muscle in my body crying out in protest. Lying perfectly still I focused on the various aches and pains plaguing my battered body, performing a mental assessment of my injuries. The last traces of the Wolfsbane was still working its way through my veins, slowing my healing to an almost human pace, and making me feel like a big steaming pile of crap.

  My limbs were leaden and sore as if someone had strapped twenty pound weights to my wrists and ankles, and the stitches in my side pulled and tugged with every breath I took. My cheek still sang with a deep ache as my body worked to reknit the fractured bone.

  Johnson. That giant fucking douche nozzle, I cursed, wanting to feel the familiar burn of rage in my gut, but only able to muster up an impotent flicker of irritation.

  It seemed even the wolf was still feeling too craptastic to be truly angry, lurking somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind and body. I reached out for her, gently testing our connection, and released a deep sigh of relief I hadn’t realized I was holding when I found it intact, albeit weak. I’d heard about extreme cases of Wolfsbane poisoning and the permanent damage it could do to the link between human and wolf.

  A case had made the national news a few years ago when a scorned woman had drugged her werewolf boyfriend with Wolfsbane. During the trial she’d claimed she only meant to give him enough to make him sick, but in her ignorance had given him an almost deadly dose. Rather than killing him, which would have been the merciful thing to do all things considered, the Wolfsbane had instead irreparably damaged the connection between his two halves, leaving him consumed with the need to change but unable to shift. He’d explained to doctors in a brief moment of lucidity that he could feel the wolf inside, could sense its emotions, its fear, but couldn’t communicate with it. In the end, the only peace he’d been able to find was a silver bullet in his mouth.

  I shuddered, remembering the haunted expression on his face splashed across the TV screen in vivid color, and thanked whatever powers were listening that I hadn’t suffered the same fate.

  The light spilling around the edges of the drapes was pale when I cracked my eyes open, glimpsing shadows of an unfamiliar room. Drawing in a deep breath I let the overwhelming scent of Holbrook ease my sluggish mind despite the foreignness of the bed. I grasped at faint memories of him carrying me through the house and tucking me in, the sheer sappiness of it all making me grin like a besotted schoolgirl. I guess even werewolves can be romantics at heart.

  Levering myself up out of bed I bit the tip of my tongue to keep from crying out, the familiar coppery taste of blood in my mouth helping me to focus on forcing my limbs into motion despite the pain tearing through every inch of my bruised and battered body.

  If I ever get my hands on Johnson again, he’s going to wish he’d never drawn his first breath.

  Bracing a hand on the headboard I hauled myself up on shaking legs, the tug of the stitches in my side making me gag against the sudden wave of nausea that made the room spin around me. Breathing through the dizziness I forced myself to take one step and then another, moving across the room like an arthritic eighty year-old.

  If only someone had remembered to leave my walker close at hand.

  Following the path I remembered in foggy flashes from the night before, I slowly shuffled through the house, hoping I might find Holbrook with a steaming cup of coffee waiting for me at the end of my journey. Instead I found an empty living room and silent kitchen bathed in cool, morning light. Padding into the room I couldn’t restrain my moan of relief when I spied a fresh pot of coffee sitting on the counter, and more importantly, my bottle of painkillers.

  Searching through the cabinets, wrapping one hand around my throbbing ribs as I stretched out on tiptoes, I pulled down a mug.

  “Who the hell keeps their mugs on the top shelf?” I muttered, cursing Holbrook’s height.

  My hand trembled as I filled my mug, but miraculously I was able to get most of the coffee into the mug rather than all over the counter. After mopping up my mess I dumped several packets of sweetener and a ton of milk into my coffee, not even bothering to stir it before taking the first sip.

  “Oh man, that’s heaven.”

  Popping a couple of pills into my mouth, I leaned against the edge of the counter and allowed myself to luxuriate in the potent coffee sliding down my gullet to warm my belly. Several long sips later, I finally began to feel something resembling coherent thought as the caffeine and pain pills went to work. As the fog in my mind lifted, I turned my thoughts to the conspicuous absence of my protector and furry companion.

  I’m sure they’re off doing some male bonding or something equally asinine and unfair, I thought, the sting of rejection flaring back to life in my chest.

  Curling both hands around my mug, I wandered over to the large bay window overlooking the backyard and gazed out at the snow covered grass stretching into nothingness beyond a thick layer of fog. I sensed trees trailing off into the distance and a large stretch of open ground, but could barely make out anything more than five feet past the end of the deck.

  I was about to turn away from the window when movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Craning my head to peer around the edge of the window I saw Holbrook on the back porch. He was bundled under a blanket next to a fire pit, sipping a cup of steaming coffee as he gazed out at the backyard and whatever secrets it held. Much to my irritation Loki was curled up in the hollow between his knees, eyes slit in bliss as he kneaded the blanket.

  “Traitor.”

  As if he had heard me, Loki stopped and turned his violet eyes in my direction. Spying me through the glass, he immediately hopped down and dashed to the back door, forcing it open with his rock-like skull. Slamming into my legs with the force of a freight train, and purring just as loud, he rubbed against me with an exuberance I hadn’t seen from him before. My shoulders slumped with guilt, and I instantly berated myself for my petty thoughts.

  “I missed you too, buddy,” I said with a smile, bending as much as my battered ribs would allow to trail my fingers from his nose to the tip of his tail.

  “He kept guard over you all night,” Holbrook said from his spot on the deck, his gaze still fixed on some distant point in the fog.

  I’m such a humongous ass.

  “Thanks, buddy,” I said, giving Loki another scratch behind his ears before venturing outside.

  “How’d you sleep?” Holbrook asked without looking up, his voice thick and rough. I couldn’t be sure but I didn’t think the thickness was just from lingering drowsiness.

  “Like the dead,” I replied.

  Without saying a word he scooted over on the deck chair and lifted up the edge of the blanket, revealing a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt and plaid flannel pajama pants. Moving as fast as my aching legs would allow, I slipped under the blanket at his silent invitation, curling up against his side. Tiny jolts of electricity ran up and down my body where we were pressed against each other, the tickling sensation growing as familiar to me as the sugary scent of him.

  Despite the warmth of Holbrook’s body against mine, there was something distant in his manner, a stiffness in his shoul
ders that hadn’t been there before. I could only assume he was waging an internal war over what to do about Johnson. As much as I still hurt, I figured that what he was feeling was a hundred times worse. I knew what it was like to be betrayed by someone you trusted; after all, I had thought I was in love with Samson when he had torn my life apart. But I hadn’t worked alongside Samson for years the way Holbrook and Johnson had, I hadn’t trusted him with my life every day.

  Swinging a leg over him, ignoring the stab of pain that shot through my middle at the movement, I straddled his hips. I paused at the sight of the Glock in its holster sitting next to his coffee cup on the small side table beside the chair, and then set my cup down beside it.

  “I won’t let anything else happen to you, Riley,” he rumbled as if in response to the furrow in my brow, one hand grasping the hair at the back of my skull as he pulled my lips down to his. That was when I felt it, the blistering fury that seethed just beneath his calm exterior, causing his fingers to tremble where they flexed on the bare skin of my hip. He needed the willingness of my body as much as I needed to feel the strength of his.

  Cradling his face in my hands, I lengthened the kiss, turning the hungry need of his lips into a slow exploration. He fought it at first, his teeth grating along the swell of my lower lip, but I ignored his insistent pull. Running my fingers through his thick hair, I rocked against him in a slow undulating movement, letting him know how much I wanted him, but that I wouldn’t rush the moment. Soon enough he gentled, letting me show him where and how I liked to be touched, how I liked to feel his teeth against my throat while his fingers danced between my thighs.

  The minutes stretched out between us, peppered with gasping sighs and desperately questing fingers until I was fit to burst with the need to have him inside me.

  “I need you now,” he growled, pulling at the elastic of my underwear.

  “I know,” I whispered, sinking down into him.

  * * *

  We stretched out together beneath the blanket, my ear pressed against his chest listening to the steady thump of his heart, until the post-orgasmic rush of endorphins began to ebb and my body let me know that it had taken quite enough abuse from me in the last few hours. Cursing and swaying like a drunken sailor, I disentangled my limbs from Holbrook’s, pulling the blanket with me, wrapping it around my shoulders like a shawl.

  “I’m starving. Come make me breakfast,” I commanded, sidestepping out of his reach when he made to pull me back down into his lap.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said with a chuckle, pushing himself up from the chair with far more grace than I had. Passing our now cold mugs to me he collected his holstered weapon and led the way back into the house.

  After refilling our mugs I lounged against the counter and watched him gathering eggs, bacon, and thick sliced bread, admiring the way his shirt draped over muscled shoulders and the “just fucked” state of his hair. I was sure that mine, on the other hand, looked like I’d spent the night sleeping in a ditch.

  Chugging half of my coffee fast enough to give myself a wicked case of heartburn, I found my body buzzing with energy and the need to move even as my collection of aches and pains begged me not to. Maybe it was a side effect of trying to burn off the Wolfsbane, or the lingering endorphins inspired by Holbrook’s knowledgeable hands and lips. All I knew was that I needed to move.

  Taking Holbrook’s preoccupation as an opportunity to do some exploring, I set aside my coffee and meandered down into the living room. I hadn’t seen much of the house the night before, what with my drug-induced haze and all, and figured I might as well do a little nosing around.

  Wan winter sunlight filtered in through the large picture window in the living room, filling the room with cold light that drained all the color from the room. Still, it couldn’t erase the warmth of Holbrook’s personality that was as much a part of the room as its walls.

  There wasn’t an overabundance of furniture, his design aesthetic leaning towards bachelor minimalism, but it still managed to feel homey and comfortable. In addition to the recliner that Loki had obviously claimed as his new perch, the furnishings were limited to a dark leather couch that sat facing a brick-faced fireplace that I was betting saw a hell of a lot less use than the enormous flat screen TV mounted on the wall above it, a low coffee table, a saddle draped over a wooden frame, and a large fish tank.

  Ambling over to the fish tank I bent over to look inside. Like most people, I’ve always found watching fish to be relaxing. Peering into the tank I didn’t see anything except sand and rock at first, all of it awash in bright bluish light. I was about to ask Holbrook if he’d invested in stealth fish, or just liked to keep an empty tank, when one of the strangest looking creatures I’d ever seen floated up from behind a rock formation.

  “Whoa!” There was nothing even remotely relaxing about that thing.

  With a large rounded body and a pair of tiny yellow fins that looked far too small to propel itself through the water it looked like a deranged science experiment gone awry. Dark bulbous eyes stared at me from a face tipped with a long, dog-like snout that ended with an almost comically small mouth. I say almost, because the hard line of teeth in that tiny mouth looked as though they could easily remove a finger.

  “This is one seriously weird looking fish you’ve got,” I called over my shoulder, tapping my finger on the glass.

  “Oh, that’s Steve. He’s a Dog Faced Puffer,” Holbrook replied.

  “Steve?” I said soundlessly, raising an eyebrow at the peculiar looking critter who gazed back at me with large, dark eyes. I have to admit, tough werewolf badass that I am, it kind of creeped me out.

  Deciding I’d had enough of Holbrook’s creepy-ass fish, I turned my attention to the saddle in the corner of the room. It was a thing of beauty, all glossy tan leather that looked like it had been hand-tooled and well used.

  “Do you ride?” I asked, fingering the time worn leather on the pommel, breathing in the rich scent that was a mixture of horse sweat, leather conditioner and the ever pervasive scent that was simply Holbrook.

  As my fingers caressed the finely carved details on the skirt my mind raced with the mental image of him sitting on it, the leather snugged up against the curve of his ass, the sculpted muscles of his thighs gripping the powerful beast beneath him the way mine had gripped him. Warmth washed through me, coloring my cheeks and making a thin finger of sweat trickle down my spine. Sure, I hadn’t been getting any action on a regular basis until Holbrook swept into my life a few days ago, but my hormones were running even wilder than normal. What was it about this man that turned my hormones up to eleven?

  Has it really been that long since I got close to someone? I thought, and then realized that I couldn’t remember the last time I had shared something with someone besides a quick romp that left me feeling dirty. Holbrook had been the first man in a long time that I’d been attracted to for more than just his cute ass. Though his ass is damn fine.

  “Not too often since I joined the agency, but I rode a lot as a kid. I grew up on a ranch so I think I knew how to ride horse before I learned how to ride a bike,” he replied from the kitchen, oblivious to the thoughts running rampant in my mind. “How about you? Do you ride?”

  “What? Oh...no, I’ve never really been comfortable around horses. They always seemed so big,” I answered, shaking off my lonely thoughts, deciding that they deserved closer examination at a later date. I knew I’d become a bit of an introvert but I was getting the sense that at some point I’d switched over into being a recluse territory.

  At least I haven’t started hoarding cats. Yet.

  Horses had always intimidated me when I was growing up, their massive size and unknown strength terrifying to a kid that was on the small side. There had been plenty of kids in the area whose families had horses, and I’d been invited several times to go riding, but the powerful animals had scared me in a truly visceral way, so I’d always come up with some lame excuse about why I couldn’t go. Eventu
ally they’d stopped asking. I guess even then I’d had trouble being around people.

  “Seems kinda silly now, seeing as I could probably take one down in a matter of seconds,” I added, the words slipping from my mouth without a thought.

  It was the uncomfortable silence that followed that clued me in to the fact that I’d said something wrong. Looking up from where my fingers were stroking the saddle I found Holbrook staring at me from his spot beside the stove, his eyes wide while his mouth hung open in surprise. A spatula was hanging limp and forgotten in his hand as if he’d been frozen. Running back over my words in my mind I blushed again, this time in mortification.

  “Fuck!” I hissed under my breath. “Sorry, sometimes I don’t think about the crap that comes out of my mouth. My Nana always said I had a chronic case of verbal diarrhea.”

  “It’s alright, just um...caught me off guard, you know?” he tried to reassure me, but I glimpsed the shadow of discomfort in his eyes before he turned his gaze back to the eggs in the pan.

  Well done, jackass, I scolded myself, grimacing at the expression on his face. This is why you can’t have nice things.

  “I’m...ah...gonna go take a shower,” I said as I beat a hasty retreat to his bedroom, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers and hide away until the whole mess had blown over. I figured that shouldn’t take more than a decade or two.

  “You’re not hungry?” he called after me. Was that a hint of relief coloring his voice?

  “Not really. I’ll grab something later,” I replied, unable to turn around and face him, afraid that I’d see disgust on his face again, or worse yet, that he’d see the hurt on mine.

  Darting into the bedroom I shut the door behind me, and sagged back against the wood. Fighting the ache of frustration blooming in my chest, I felt like such an idiot for saying something so stupid, but even more for believing that something might finally be going my way.

  I should have known it would only be a matter of time before I said something stupid.