All of you, shut-up! I hissed before turning my thoughts outward again. Do I text? Do I knock again? Do I keep standing here until someone comes out? Ryan hadn’t flicked the deadbolt, so I could walk straight in.
I leaned forward. The doors were thick for more than weathering harsh West Coast storms. They dulled the transmission of sound. Ryan probably stood on the other side of the door, watching me through the peephole and wishing a lightning bolt would strike me down. Barging through the door probably wouldn’t work, either. Even if it did, it would piss the pack off, not encourage them to help me.
Wick! I mind-spoke to the Alpha. We need to talk. Let me in.
Silence.
More silence.
Sweat dripped down my back. Children laughed and squealed at the nearby park and impatient motorists honked and swore at each other along the busy street a few blocks over.
Andy? Wick’s reply sounded hesitant.
Yes. I’m at the front door. Ryan won’t let me in, I said.
I waited, unable to listen through the tight seals of the door, or solid panelling. My hearing was no match for the Werewolves. After five minutes, a soft murmur of raised voices trickled through.
The door swung open again without warning. I jumped back, my body crouched and my hands flew up in a fighting stance.
“Are you here to fight?” Wick asked, with one eyebrow raised.
The sight of him sucked the breath out of my lungs. Dangerously tall and well-muscled, Wick resembled a present day Norse God, with blond hair cut short, a straight, thin nose and a chiseled jaw. But instead of ice-blue eyes, Wick’s gaze was molten brown, so dark I could melt in their chocolate depths.
“Andy?” Wick frowned at me.
“No, I’m not here to fight.” I straightened and shoved my hands in my pockets. Who knew what they’d do if given free rein. Wick might be total eye-candy, but I’d turned him down a month ago and chose Tristan.
“What are you here for then?” he asked, his voice chilled whiskey over warm cream. His expression turned soft, then hard, then soft again—a war on his face between hurt and hope. The sight of both emotions weakened my knees and turned my stomach inside out, as if a heavyweight boxer punched me in the gut.
Oh Feradea! I shouldn’t have come here.
“I’m…we’re free now,” Wick said. “Free of Lucien.”
“I heard.”
He nodded.
I nodded.
He waited.
I wanted a hole to open and swallow me up. “Congrats on your release?” I said, and mentally face-palmed. Really? Just rip the bandage off and get to the point. The longer this went on the more awkward and uncomfortable it would get.
“Yeah, uh…” Wick rubbed a hand back and forth in his short hair. He didn’t do the gesture often, only when nervous. Alphas rarely experienced that emotion. “It’s good you removed his blood bond when you did,” he continued.
Heck yeah, it was. I would’ve died otherwise. I nodded, again.
He nodded, again.
Maybe Ryan would get his wish and lightning would strike me down. At this moment, I’d gladly welcome it.
“Andy?”
“Yeah?” I asked my feet.
“Why are you here? Have you…have you changed your mind?”
My stomach dropped to my feet. I gulped. “No…I…sorry…I needed help… Ah fuck! I shouldn’t have come. I’m so sorry.” I whirled around and walked to my car as fast as possible without running.
“Andy!” Wick called out.
My hand froze on the door handle. My spine straightened. My muscles tensed.
“Don’t go. I’ll help you if I can.”
I turned slowly.
“Come in.”
Chapter Eighteen
“Nothing is more memorable than a smell.”
~Diane Ackerman
Nothing appearance-wise had changed. Wick’s house still flaunted the tasteful light-taupe painted walls and dark espresso accents. When we walked inside, the familiar scents coiled around me in greeting. His place smelled of rosemary and sugar, of Wick, laced with the intricacies of the pack and constant visitors. One smell, though, burned my nasal passages.
Christine.
As a member of Wick’s pack, Christine’s stench had always been present, but not to this degree. When I’d been held prisoner by Wick, at Lucien’s behest, the stick-insect had challenged me to a dominance battle. I won. Barely. If I’d shifted into my mountain lion or beast, things might’ve been more decisive, but the bitch had made a “no fair” comment that still rankled my pride. So I fought her as a wolf, and still won.
Christine also wanted Wick, but he’d wanted me. She’d hated me ever since.
Things had changed, apparently. With her scent more present and ingrained, it meant Wick had been passing this last month in her company.
A sharp jab stabbed at my heart, sucking the air out of my lungs.
Wick and Christine.
I had no right to be jealous. But…Wick and Christine?
Another pang sliced my chest, and I wheezed to get enough air in. Get it together, woman! You can’t let him see you this way. Or smell it.
When we rounded the corner, I went to throw my purse on the kitchen counter, as I used to do, only to find another purse already staking claim on the space. I stared at the peacock blue and green contraption, probably designer. Waves of Christine’s stench wafted from the sleek leather shell and gold-link chain straps.
The house opened up to a large living area where large bay windows allowed natural light to flood the area, and contradicted the wild nature of the resident.
“Hello, Andrea.” Christine’s nasally voice fractured the silence, and I turned slowly to see the shewolf sprawled comfortably on Wick’s large L-shaped couch. An attractive, skinny, model-type woman, with thick dirty-blonde hair and a ski-slope nose, she wore designer everything, at least as far as I could tell. Never been a brand name kind of girl. What was the point? Half my clothes ended up in shreds.
Ryan took his place by the front doors and folded his arms. He kept a disgusted expression plastered to his face, just in case I misunderstood how much he despised me.
When Wick entered the living room, Christine unfurled, and gracefully stood, all lanky arms and legs.
Break them, my beast growled. Like twigs.
Well, that was unexpected. The beast hated Wick for what she unrealistically perceived as a betrayal, but I guess she hated Christine even more.
“Wick, darling,” Christine drawled as she sashayed non-existent hips to him. “I know you feel…a bit responsible for this…woman, but should the pack really get involved with her business? We just won our freedom, we should focus our attention elsewhere.” Her body pressing against Wick’s gave little doubt as to what she thought Wick should focus on.
I waited, clenching my fists at my side, so hard my nails partially shifted and claws sank into the flesh of my palm.
“Let me decide what’s best for the pack,” Wick said, his whiskey and cream voice gruff, but not rebuffing. He turned to me, without detaching Christine. The sight of her latched onto him like an oversized accessory, made me want to break every limb of hers as the beast suggested, then run from the house crying.
“Andrea?” Wick said. “What can the pack do for you?”
I tried to ignore his torn expression, one mixed with smugness and pain. I had no right to judge him, no right to be jealous, no right to wish him ill. The pain and betrayal he caused me were not his fault, but that of Lucien’s. I chose the other man. I chose the easier and safer path.
And I’d hurt Wick, deeply.
Still proving himself a good man, he was willing to help me, despite my faults and despite our past.
“Andy?” Wick asked, taking a half step forward. He faltered when Christine’s body remained clung to his torso.
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “Sorry.”
Christine’s lip curled up into an ugly sneer.
“I wa
nted to know about King’s Krank, Lucien’s possible involvement with it, and whether you knew of SRD agent Nagato’s visit to the horde.”
Wick nodded, his expression shuttered. “To my knowledge, Lucien had no involvement with King’s Krank, although I heard mutterings he planned to look into the supply chain. He didn’t like someone slipping into the drug scene within his territory without his permission, or without getting a cut. As for Nagato, he came to ask Lucien similar questions, namely his involvement with KK and whether Lucien knew who was behind the drug. I wasn’t privy to the whole interview because Lucien took him into his private chambers for further discussion. Nagato left in one piece, though. I saw him leave. No harm came to him from his visit.”
“Ah. Okay.” I stashed the information in part of my brain while another part struggled to figure out what this information meant. What else did I need to know? Nagato met with Lucien, then left for another meeting, then Allan and Clint were sent away and Lucien was killed. Connection? Probably.
“Does that help?” Wick asked, interrupting my processing.
“Yes, sort of. Nagato is my only lead on a case, and he’s gone missing. No idea where he headed to after Lucien’s?”
Wick shook his head. “No, but he kept checking his watch. He must’ve had another appointment.”
“Is that all?” Christine’s nasally voice punctured the room.
Ryan snorted from his guard post.
My skin itched to shift. “Um, no, actually. How soon after Nagato’s visit were Allan and Clint sent away?”
Wick frowned. “Not long. Lucien sent them off the next night.”
So Lucien was definitely involved somehow with KK, but Wick had spoken true when he said he knew nothing about it. A lie would’ve stunk up the room. What had Nagato and Lucien discussed to result in Lucien’s death? “Thanks for helping. That’s all my questions.”
Christine pushed off Wick and folded her arms. “You could’ve phoned for this information.”
I nodded and started toward the exit. “True, but I didn’t think anyone would take my call.”
Wick turned as I passed him, eyebrows scrunched.
“Thank you for your help,” I said. “I’m…I’m glad you’re well.”
Wellness is a relative term, Wick said, using mind speech for privacy. It would be best if you kept your distance from now on.
Another stab to the heart. I nodded and sucked back the sob threatening to bubble up my throat. I understand. Take care.
You too, Carus. The formality of his tone and words cinched the moment and acted as the death knell for our relationship.
Chapter Nineteen
“What we have once enjoyed we can never lose… All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.”
~Helen Keller
Exhaustion normally reared its ugly head in many ways: sore muscles after a workout, a weird buzzing sensation as if I consumed one cocktail too many, slower, slurred speech, or droopy eyes. With drained energy after a long day, I wanted either a nap or an extra-strength cup of coffee. Usually, I pushed through fatigue and allowed my supernatural glands time to pump out more adrenaline to pull me over the proverbial finish line.
Not today.
Maybe it was the emotionally draining conversation with Donny, maybe the charged banter with Tucker, maybe the high of Stan finding Patty Cake, followed by the low of discovering Stan found him in the morgue, maybe all the lifeless eyes and soundlessly screaming faces from the morgue, maybe seeing Wick, or maybe seeing him move on with a woman I hated.
“Tired” did not cover it. Nor did exhausted, or fatigued. What plagued every cement-block step of mine as I plodded up the walkway to my apartment needed its own category, something not cured with caffeine or a snooze on the couch.
The night lights on the street flickered on as the sun set and darkness shrouded the neighbourhood. I unlocked the door to the building and then, shortly after, the one to my apartment. The familiar smells of my home wrapped around me as I closed the door and rested my head against it. Crippling exhaustion left my muscles beyond sore, and turned them into pudding, so boneless, they no longer seemed functional.
I dropped my purse and staggered into my apartment. My place opened to the dining and living room. A Wereleopard Alpha lounged on my couch. The sight gave me the energy boost required to complete the final steps and close the distance.
“Hey,” Tristan said.
Without a word, I flopped on top of him. My body sagged and tension flowed from my muscles as weightlessness consumed every cell of my being. I sank into Tristan and the soft sapphire blue T-shirt matching his eyes. My attention drifted into a dark haze, fogging over any conscious thoughts, and sleep slid through my veins. Moving right now would take a Herculean feat.
A trickle of energy teased my neurons, the mist slipped from my mind, and my body began to hum with vitality. My eyes fluttered open.
“How are you doing that?” I mumbled into Tristan’s chest.
“As a feline Alpha, my leopard can call your mountain lion, to heal, to link, to command, not that I would choose the latter.”
“Leopards and mountain lions are hardly the same species.”
“No, and your exhaustion would be an easier fix if they were, but they’re both feline. I can do similar things for Werelions and Weretigers. Any feline Shifter, really.”
“Oh.” I didn’t like the idea of him helping other women like this.
Tristan chuckled. “There’s nothing sexual about it, Andy. That’s just the nature between you and me. A normal link, like a pack link, doesn’t have any sexual physicality to it.”
“Oh,” I breathed and snuggled into his chest. His arms came around to hold me against his hard muscles. “Where were you? Why didn’t you answer my texts?”
His heartbeat sped up a little, but his voice came out smooth and calm. “I was investigating something and had my phone off. Sorry. I would’ve texted a few hours ago, but apologies are better in person.”
“You could’ve just let me sleep and apologized later.”
Tristan took a deep breath. “I could have, but I also wanted to talk.”
My body stiffened.
“Not that kind of talk,” he quickly added.
“What kind, then?” I clambered off Tristan, and we both straightened to sit side by side on the couch.
His nose twitched and he hesitated, opening his mouth, only to shut it again. An intense sapphire gaze scrutinized my face and the tension from Tristan’s shoulders eased away. “You saw Wick?”
Not what I expected. Not even sure if Tristan had intended this subject as his talk. He read me so well, unlike any person I’d met.
“It’s all over your face…and your scent.” He pulled his shoulders back. “Are you having second thoughts?”
My head jerked up, and my stomach lurched. How could he think that?
“We haven’t bonded, yet, Andy. But when we do, I want you to be sure. There’s no room for a third person in a mate bond.”
Definitely not the time to mention Sid’s enforced dream. “I’m not indecisive, Tristan. I chose you. I want to be with you. Hell, I have been with you.”
Tristan’s serious face cracked and a small smile tugged at his lips. His chest rumbled with a purr. “Yes, you have.”
I nodded and scooted closer on the couch so our thighs touched.
Tristan leaned in and twined his fingers with mine. “Why do you look so pensive, then? Do thoughts of Wick plague your mind?”
I swallowed and looked at our clasped hands. “It was hard to see Wick. To see the pain I caused, but also to see him moving on, and which direction he’s chosen to move toward.”
“You don’t approve?”
“Absolutely not.”
A pause. A squeeze of my hand. “Would the woman make any difference?”
“What do you mean?” I frowned.
“You know exactly what I mean. This woman, she could be anyone, maybe even someone you’d like and be frien
ds with under different circumstances, but she’s going to be Wick’s, and the quality of the woman matters little, it’s that she exists.” His hand continued to hold mine, but his grip slacked a little.
“I know, but—”
“Let it go, Andy.” Despite his words, his tone was soft, gentle.
“Huh?”
“Let it go. Let him go. Let him rebound with whatever woman, or women, he wants. If you meant it when you said you chose me, it means you have no say in Wick’s life. He needs to move on just as much as you do.”
I sighed. What he said made sense. I still didn’t like it, but Wick deserved happiness, even if I didn’t agree with the happiness he sought. My muscles grew weak, and my heart dropped in my chest. I’d made my decision a month ago. Tristan was right. I had to let Wick go.
“Was this what you wanted to talk about?” I released his hand to hold my own on my lap.
Tension tightened his shoulders again. “No…”
“Did you cheat on me, do you want to cheat on me, or do you plan to leave me?” May as well throw it out there. I held my breath and waited for his response.
“Never.” He looked appalled. After sitting with his mouth gaped open for a silent second, he reached out and grasped my hands, squeezing them a little too hard. “Never.”
Truth. Thank Feradea! My shoulders relaxed. I liked direct questioning, and I liked that Tristan never tried to evade answering, either. “Then whatever you want to talk about can wait.”
“Andy—”
I pushed my finger against his full lips to stop whatever he planned to say. I probably wouldn’t like this talk he planned to have, but frankly, if he wasn’t cheating or leaving, I didn’t care. Not right now. I wanted his skin on mine—to feel the heat of his body as he thrust into me, to see his loving eyes close as he found a rhythm belonging only to us.
My gaze drifted down to his chest. The blue shirt fit him well, but not like a glove. I dragged my finger from his mouth. He nipped at it, but let my finger go. I slipped my hands up his shirt and along his smooth skin, exploring each divot and curve of his muscled torso.
Tristan sucked in a breath. “Your fingers are cold, woman.”
Shift Work (Carus #4) Page 12
