by Anne Marsh
Her eyes light up and she yanks her camera out and starts clicking away. I just hope like hell that no one was dumb enough to take a shit close by.
“They come back,” she says quietly. “A pack likes to revisit the places they brought down something good, even after there’s no meat left on the bones.”
So she’ll be watching this site. Just great.
I make some notes of my own. Jace is gonna need to know about this, and someone will have to pay T.D. another visit. Wolf needs to learn that some rules aren’t optional, a point I plan on emphasizing with my fists. Sucks to be him. When I’ve learned what I need, I hunker down and wait for Poppy to finish up.
Frankly, people spend less time in a place like the Louvre, where at least there are a million goddamned paintings and something to look at. She measures and catalogs each and every fragment of bone, and then she proceeds to comb the surrounding brush in a painstaking and thorough manner. Since I’ve erased the tracks, however, she comes up empty and frustrated.
It’s almost sunset before we head back. The frogs and crickets kick up a racket, calling back and forth. Most of them are just looking to get laid, so I feel their pain. An owl calls, getting in on the action. For a while, we just ride, the boat slicing through the water as the sky turns orange and then darkens.
And then Poppy sort of sighs, curls her legs up on her seat, and looks at me. Yeah, I can just about see the questions forming on her lips. I figure she’s gonna ask about the kill site, feel me out to see what I know, or maybe make some suggestions about where we head tomorrow.
“Lunch with J.K. Rowling or Stephen King?”
The fuck? I shoot her a glance. “You wanna give me some context on that?”
“If you had to choose, who would you share a salad with?”
“J.K.” The woman gave werewolves a bad rap. Her Fenrir is a slavering monster that eats children. Might never qualify as a saint, but I’d also never pull that shit.
Poppy nods and zones out for a moment. She’s quiet but I’m not gonna make the mistake of thinking she’s done with the Q&A. The woman loves her questions. Sure enough, she pops another one out two minutes later.
“Adopt a baby platypus or a koala?”
“Are we playing some kind of game here?”
Because I’m downright certain that the only kind of game I play is chase—and I’m always it. Poppy frowns at me like I’ve just spit-roasted the koala and served it up with ketchup.
“We’re getting to know each other.”
Most women, their Q&A covers the size of my dick, my bank account, or my pull with the club. Maybe they branch out and ask about my favorite Friday night hang out or my preferred brand of booze. Figures Poppy would have to be different.
“Come over here.” Boat’s not gonna drive itself, so she needs to work with me. She stands up automatically, and then the frown gets deeper. I can practically hear her hitting the brakes.
“Why?”
“Spanish Inquisition’s a hands-on project, babe.”
She sort of stares through me as she thinks that over. I’d rather she look at me and fucking see me for who I am, but that’s not gonna play well. She’s hunting for wolves, sure, but I’m a little too much of a good thing. Plus, given how eager to please she is and how much I’m enjoying this shared time, I don’t want to run her off. Not anymore. Kind of don’t feel good about what I’ve done behind her back because I like my shit to be upfront, but I’ve made my choices. Gonna have to live with them, too.
“Still waiting for you to get that cute little ass over here,” I point out.
She frowns and then shakes her head, like she’s shedding any worries, and then she actually does it. She pads across the deck, stopping a foot or two away from me. My lips twitch. Not like I couldn’t catch her. We already established that. So I do what I want to do, and haul her carefully into my arms. She’s so fucking small compared to me—her head barely hits my shoulder.
“Shouldn’t you be driving the boat?” she squeaks.
“Got it.” I shift her until she’s between my arms and the steering wheel, her back tucked up against my chest. This way I get to hold her and bring us home. We’re almost there, so I plan to make the most of my time. Her hair tickles my face, little tendrils escaping the ponytail she’s bundled it into. Not staring at her is impossible. She’s beautiful, sure, but she’s also got this quiet strength I like way too much. Push Poppy and she might bend, but she won’t break.
She stands there stiffly for a moment, not quite sure why I’ve called her over. I bite back a snort. Not like there’s much doubt because if my dick gets hard when she’s all the way across the deck, it’s really rolling out the welcome now that she’s up close and personal.
“Gator?” She wriggles, trying to find something a little less hard to lean against. Yeah. Good luck with that.
“Yeah, babe?”
“Chocolate or Twizzlers? Captain America or Thor?”
She runs those last two together. Maybe she’s finally run out of air? Dunno. She’s got me tied in knots. I don’t run after women—when I need companionship, there are the working girls at the club. And plenty of pass-arounds out at the clubhouse. They’re willing to pretend my scars aren’t that bad in exchange for cash or an invite to the club’s next party. I’m not a relationship guy; I don’t like others in my space… and that’s fine with them. They want the cash or the social standing, and it’s a straight-up trade. Poppy is different, and I’m not sure I like it. But I know I want more of her.
Unfortunately for me, it’s our stop. The island gets bigger and bigger, and I bring the boat into the dock. Poppy ducks beneath my arm and grabs the ropes to tie us up. Even though we didn’t find her wolves, she looks happy. Or maybe she’s still thrilled over the stripped-down set of bones from one of T.D.’s hunting expeditions. She knows what those bones mean.
She turns to climb out of the boat, but I’m not ready to let her go yet. I hook a finger in the back of her jeans and tug her backward, turning and lifting her so her ass is planted on the dock. Then I step forward, pushing between her legs. Kind of wish we were still out there looking for her needle in a haystack. Of course, it’s my job to make sure she doesn’t find anything, which sucks. Poppy’s too trusting. I said I’d help, and she took me at my word.
Sucks that she’s gonna end up disillusioned.
She stares at me, forehead puckering, as she tries to figure out why she’s sitting on the dock. Kinda cute, how naïve she is. I lean into her, my arms coming down around her.
“We’re back.” She tries to wriggle away but hits my hands instead.
“You running away from me again? You ever think about staying put, babe?”
Answer’s clearly no because she wriggles some more. Fine by me—every time she moves, her ass and her tits come into close contact with me.
“If I ask, you’ll let go.”
I fucking hate that she’s got me pegged. I remove my arms from around her, another thing to add to the hate list. I’d much rather be touching her. Still, I can’t reform entirely, not overnight, so I slide a hand up her arm and over her shoulder, curling my palm around the back of her neck. And then I lean in and kiss her as gently as I can. This is Nice Me showing her that there’s more to me than the bastard who chased her down the other night and chained her up. I trace her lower lip with my tongue, silently asking permission to come in.
She’s the dangerous one, I realize.
I kiss her, keeping my palm loose and easy as I breathe her in. Poppy’s the best damn kisser. Her hands somehow end up on my chest, her fingers curling into the cotton of my T-shirt. Not sure if she’s pulling me closer, or getting a handle on me so she can move me somewhere else, but that’s okay. We both know she can do whatever she goddamn wants, and if she asked right now, I’d give her a blanket yes. Head back to Baton Rouge and fuck our deal? Yes. Track down the wolves she wants so badly? Yes. Drop to my knees and eat her sweet pussy? Hell yes.
I step
back before I can vote for D, all of the above. She stares at me, her lips swollen and slick from our kiss, her breath coming quicker. She’s gorgeous. Her dark hair is rumpled, curls escaping from the ponytail. Her eyes are soft and warm, so I pretend she’s thinking about me and she likes her thoughts. She looks… welcoming.
Like home.
Like a place I’d really like to belong.
I’ve never met anyone like her, and now that I have, I have no idea what to do with her other than fuck her, protect her, and make sure she gets every goddamned thing she wants. Which is a problem because she wants my pack, even if she doesn’t know it, and I can’t let her put them in harm’s way, either. For just a moment, I imagine telling her the truth. That she’s stumbled across werewolves and could she pretty please walk away from her grant and research because we need to live on the down-low.
Yeah. Fucking genius plan there.
I vault up onto the dock and pull her carefully to her feet. She doesn’t say anything to me about that kiss, so I’m not gonna either. She didn’t say no. That thought somersaults through my head as I take her hand and tug her down the dock and back up to the house.
She didn’t say no.
For right now, that’s plenty.
Gator
“You got an update for me?” Jace’s voice fills my ear. What with the nightly calls, you’d think the two of us were dating.
“Need to pay our boy T.D. another visit. Poppy found a wolf kill. I erased the tracks, but she’s smart. She knows what it is, and she’ll be all over that area from now on. On the one hand, if she concentrates like that, it’ll be easier to shut her down, make sure she doesn’t see shit she shouldn’t. On the other hand, T.D.’s a wild card. Since he’s trying to set up as an Alpha, he won’t be in any kind of mood to listen.”
Jace gives a grunt of laughter. “Fucking make him if I have to.”
“And I’d be happy to help, but it won’t stop Poppy from going evidence-happy collecting the clues he’s dropping left and right. Plus, she’s motivated. She’s on some kind of two-week deadline; either she proves she’s found wolves once and for all, or the plug gets pulled on her funding.”
“Sounds like our problem’s solved then.” Satisfaction fills Jace’s voice. “Don’t need to scare her off or make her think twice—just keep spinning her in circles for a few more days, and she’ll be gone.”
“Still think we should check out T.D.,” I say. That wolf’s got his paws all over this, and he needs to rein it in.
Jace exhales. “Will do. If he wants to set up shop, he needs to find and hold his own territory, not poach on ours. And he’s gotta play by some rules. Can’t be coming out to humans.”
Yeah. Fuck that shit. T.D.’s been a perennial topic of conversation at our clubhouse lately. He’s moved out into the bayou to some place optimistically called Rose Bayou. Sounds like the best of Hallmark, but it’s more dilapidated cabin in the middle of nowhere than spa retreat. He’s also been collecting wolves. Ordinarily this wouldn’t be a problem. If you’re a lone wolf who hasn’t pledged allegiance to an Alpha, you can either continue to run alone and stay out of pack territory, or you can pick a leader and follow him. I made my own choice centuries ago, and I haven’t regretted it.
Not gonna fucking start on the regret train today, either.
I deliberately destroyed some of that evidence Poppy needs.
But I can’t shake the thought of her up and losing her grant, of her getting fired from a job she clearly loves. Sure I’d wanted her gone and out of my bayou. I like my alone time, and I have a pack to protect. It was two-for-fucking-one in my eyes. Then she all but teared up when her backers called. Told me she had two weeks to put up or shut up, and then she made it clear that she wasn’t in this wolf hunt for the money. I can respect that. Poppy believes that what she’s doing counts for something, so she’ll keep right on doing it until she can’t anymore. I feel like shit in comparison. Jacking up her stuff is gonna hurt her, plus it makes me as bad as her ex. He KO’d her job chances, too.
No getting around it—Poppy’s changed me. It’s like she’s some kind of disease, a mutant bacteria creating a fundamental, cell-level shift in me. And it’s not a magazine-worthy make-over, either. I’m the pack’s enforcer and I have a job to do. I can’t afford to be distracted by Poppy. She thinks I’m helping her out, that I’m a nice guy somewhere deep down inside. Yeah. Only thing I’ve got hiding are blue balls and my wolf. She won’t want either.
Not sure there’s any way she wins this one, though. Not like I can waltz the fuck on up to her and tell her that she’s got werewolves rather than regular wolves in her bayou. And she’d have to question why I was telling her anyhow. I’m the dick who’s demanded that she stick by him in the bayou for a week if she wants to keep hunting wolves, but I’m also the guy responsible for her failure. If she finds out, she’ll knee me in the balls, not drop to her knees to show my dick some love. I’m not Grade A dating material. Women tend to take a pass on scarred guys.
So the question is, if I had a shot at something with Poppy, would I take it?
Got a bad feeling the answer’s fuck, yeah.
I saunter around the porch, following the trail of light spilling out the windows of my library. Since I’m perfectly happy sitting in the dark—and I’m outside, not in—pretty sure I’ve found Poppy.
Sure enough, when I look through the glass, she’s bent over the long wooden table that runs down the center of my library and reaching for some book or other. She’s got this intent look on her face as she flips a page in the volume nearest her, as if maybe the secrets of the universe are just a page flip away. The way she’s spread out? Fuck me, but I’d be all over her if she gave me the nod.
Not like she’s wearing something see-through and lacy from Victoria’s Secret. Fucking awesome to pretend, though, that she’s bending over like that because she knows I’m watching and that the move drives me wild. Her little pink T-shirt rides up, exposing a sweet inch of skin between her hem and her pink-and-white plaid pajama bottoms. My head (two guesses as to which one) turns the temperature up on that fantasy by imagining her shoving her pants and panties down so that she can lift her ass in my direction.
She grabs yet another book and drags it toward her, flipping through the pages. A small frown creases the skin between her eyebrows. Wish she were flipping through dirty librarian porn, but more likely she’s got another book of maps.
Poppy’s always working. I study her, trying to put myself in her place. Never spent much time in school myself. Grew up in a time and place where only the clergy got an education, and then when shit changed, I was too busy fighting and making sure no one hurt those who belonged to me. Not like I’ve never cracked a book, but I’m all self-taught while Poppy’s been busy collecting a string of letters after her name. She’s way too fucking smart for the likes of me, but she also feels a little otherworldly. Like she’s so busy living in her head and figuring out life’s mysteries that she hasn’t spent all that much time actually living. She’s always hiding out in a lab or a library or even my bayou, and I’d be willing to bet she’s spent about as much time with living, breathing people as I have. She’s a little reserved, a little cautious about venturing out into the world.
Bet she’d love running in wolf form. Bet she’d make the sweetest, hottest little bitch on legs.
Wonder how she’d feel about having the big bad wolf chasing her ass. Might be an actual option we could explore. Yeah, I need to try that one on her for size. See how she feels about being my prey. Bet she’d fucking love running with me, too, and I’ve got to shed this skin real soon because I can’t breathe when I can’t run.
Nothing like a balls-out run to put everything in perspective.
Since the window’s open to let the air in, vaulting over the sill’s easy enough. Don’t need to bother with a door this way. She doesn’t hear me coming, so I just stand there and look at her for a bit. Have to say that the glasses perched on her cute lit
tle nose are working for me. She told me the other day she can’t see what’s right in front of her unless she’s got her glasses on. Standing with my back to the wall, I drag her scent deep into my lungs. Gonna make her part of me one way or another. She flips a page in the enormous book of maps she’s got spread out on my table and frowns. Got all sorts of teacher fantasies playing through my head now that aren’t helping any with the state of my dick.
I need to fuck her, bad.
Shove those pajama bottoms down, tear off her panties, and slide balls-deep inside her. Fuck her hard until her tits and her palms are bouncing on my table and she doesn’t give a good goddamned about those maps she’s glaring at. Probably would finish scaring her off.
Fucking love it when I can get a two-for-one in my line of work.
My dick tightens further, shoving against the front of my jeans. No way she misses what I’ve got for her. I’ll fuck her, make her come, and then make her leave. Best plan ever.
I shove off the wall. “You ever take time for fun, Poppy?”
She turns, throws my own goddamned book at me, and shrieks.
Guess we’ve moved onto the scare portion of tonight’s agenda after all.
Poppy
“You ever take time for fun, Poppy?” The voice comes out of nowhere. Figures Gator owns a haunted library. Instinctively, I turn and throw an armload of anything I can reach. I did not sign up for ghostly encounters of the paranormal kind, thank you very much.
And then I realize it’s just Gator.
He snags the map book out of the air. The library’s mostly dark, it’s late, and he’s big. And somehow, seeing him all wrapped up in darkness and shadow just makes me realize how attractive he is. He’s all hard lines and black ink, controlled power sauntering toward me in a slow, steady rush. My heartbeat pounds in my ears (and somewhere way farther south and between my legs) as he just keeps on coming, and all the chemistry that I’ve been denying comes rushing to the forefront. It’s like someone just turned on the biggest tap of them all, and now I’m drowning in sensation. Totally not fair.
