Rogue Heart

by Samantha Wolfe

  "I'll show her what a real man can do," he says with a vile grin as he lewdly palms his groin, "and claim that sweet little cunt for myself after I beat your sorry ass."

  Instead of a verbal reply, Ronan suddenly lets out a vicious roar of rage. Then to my horror, and before I even have a chance to stop him, he charges the four men and takes the decision of what to do completely out of my hands.

  5

  RONAN

  My chest literally aches as I watch her walk away from me on the dance floor, my hand slipping from her hip where it felt like it belonged. My wolf pushes me to follow her, to stop her, to pull her close and never let her go. I can feel him writhing under my skin, seeking control, and I shove him back down with an effort of will. The wolf's feelings make no sense to me, and I don't want to acknowledge that the man in me feels them too. I've never felt anything like it for another person in my entire life, and it scares the shit out of me. There's a reason I haven't allowed myself to be close to anyone in more years then I can count. It always ends in pain and heartbreak in my experience, and I've had enough of that to last me a lifetime. I need to walk away now before I get any deeper into this...this thing, or whatever the fuck is going on here.

  Then that piece of shit calls her a bitch beneath his breath, and though I'm sure that she heard it and chooses to ignore it, I can't. The beast inside me boils up in a rage, wanting to rend and tear the fucker apart. I clamp down on my wolf with an iron grip as I continue watching her walk away, but it ends up a losing battle. I can't let his insult stand.

  I turn toward him and step into his space, then lean in close to his ear and lace every quiet word I say with unmistakable menace. "Call her that again, or fuck with her in any way, and I'll slice off your balls and feed them to you before I slit your throat ear to ear and watch you bleed out, right here...right now."

  I lean away to meet his gaze and watch his cockiness fade as I stare him down with my face set in the same dead-eyed mask I wear during a hit. I could end him without even an inkling of remorse, and he can see it clearly now.

  "Bullshit," he says with a sneer, but I know it's a bluff, thanks to his slightly wavering voice. It gives away his fear, even if I couldn't already smell it for myself.

  "Run along, boy," I say in a calm yet forbidding voice that has him unconsciously shrinking away from me. "Run along before you piss your pants in front of all these people, and they know what a coward you really are."

  His eyes widen and his jaw clenches indignantly, but he says nothing more. Smart man. I turn dismissively, and walk away from him, already scanning the room for the girl. I spot her quickly and find her pushing her way through the crowd toward the entrance, her body hunched and tense. I don't like it one damn bit, and that uncomfortable ache starts back up in my chest again. On pure instinct, I follow her without even considering my actions.

  I shove my way through the crowd after her, but she's out of sight by the time I get outside into the chilly night air. I pick up her wild honeysuckle scent and follow it along the side of the brick building and down a dead-end alley. Her trail strengthens as I approach an old rusted dumpster that nearly overpowers her sweet scent with its wretched stench. I walk past the dumpster and find her sitting on the dirty pavement next to it with her knees pulled up and her head resting on them. The scent of wolf whorls around her and her body trembles from fighting what I assume is a threatening shift. The ache in my chest pangs sharply with sympathy and worry.

  "Sugar?" I ask, wondering where that particular endearment came from since I've never used one with any woman before tonight. "Are you alright?"

  Her head pops up in surprise, and I see a brief flash of silver cross her gorgeous baby blue eyes. Without a word, and before I can do or say anything, she leaps off the ground and throws herself at me with a soft feminine whimper. I barely catch her, and end up staggering backwards into the brick wall behind me. I right myself, and her gloriously long legs wrap around my waist as she presses her sweet little body against mine. Our eyes lock, and I fall into her gaze as desire like I've never felt before ignites inside me. Her warm gentle hands slide into my hair, and I part my lips, ready to kiss the hell out of her, but she beats me to it and plants her plush mouth on mine instead.

  Good God, her soft lips, her candy sweet taste, her glorious body on mine, it's all complete sensory overload. I can't think or feel anything beyond this moment. All my awareness is on this woman and how wondrous she feels. I want more...need more. I wrest control of the kiss from her and plunge my tongue into her mouth over and over again. I can't get enough and tighten my grip on her ass with a feral growl as I spin around and press her against the nearby brick wall. I start grinding my pelvis against hers. I'm so turned on my head is spinning, my dick already growing hard as hell. Fuck, who is this woman? I kiss my way down the satiny skin of her jaw and neck, tasting and nipping her along the way.

  "Your name," I say in a rough growl against her neck. "What's your name, sugar?"

  "L...Lyric," she replies, her sweet little body squirming around in my arms.

  "Lyric." The name sounds almost as good on my lips as her skin. "You taste so good...feel so fucking good." I'm dry humping her like some pathetic teenager now, and I don't even care.

  "Y...yours?" she asks as I slowly lick the silken skin of her neck, trying to commit her taste and scent to memory.

  "Ronan." I tell her my real name, not even capable of remembering the alias I decided to use on this job.

  I reach the spot where her neck and shoulder meet, and bite her, worrying at her skin with abandon and drinking in her appreciative moan. Her fingers tighten in my hair painfully, and she pulls me closer in encouragement as she starts grinding against me.

  "Ronan, please," she says, begging so sweetly.

  The sound of my real name on her lips has me instantly trembling in reaction. The need to be inside her hits me hard and brutally, and the sheer scope and depth of it manages to jolt me back to some semblance of awareness. This makes no sense. This isn't normal. This...this is downright terrifying. I pull my head back and meet her lust maddened eyes. I shake my head in confusion.

  "What are you doing to me?" I ask as I struggle to catch my breath. "Fuck...what is this?"

  "I...I don't know," she answers with wide startled eyes, and I suddenly get the odd sense that she's hiding something from me.

  "I do," a smug male voice drawls out from behind me before I can even question Lyric about my suspicion. "This here is what you call a perfect opportunity for a little payback."

  I set Lyric back on her feet and spin with her safely tucked behind me to find that piece of shit hick from the club. And the dumbfuck isn't alone. He brought three of his hick friends with him too, and they all look eager for a fight. Fuck, I was so caught up in Lyric that I didn't even sense them approaching. I'm instantly pissed, at them and at myself.

  "And maybe we'll see about having a little fun too," he says in a suggestive tone that's easy to interpret as he glances at Lyric with a smirk.

  "You touch her and you fucking die." I bristle furiously that he even suggested going anywhere near Lyric.

  "I'll show her what a real man can do," he says, smiling obscenely as he grabs his dick, "and claim that sweet little cunt for myself after I beat your sorry ass."

  Suddenly, I'm charging forward with a bellow of rage as a possessive fury explodes inside me at the mere thought of any other man touching Lyric. My wolf surges to life with a fierce and bestial urge to shift and tear them all limb from limb, to revel in their fear and panic as I end them all. I only manage to rein the beast in and come to my senses at the last second just before I reach them. I know I can't kill them without drawing undo attention to myself or go at them at full strength without giving my identity away as a trueborn to Lyric. But I can sure as fuck hurt them. Even holding back, these dumbfucks are no match for me.

  I go after the ringleader, ignoring Lyric's frantic voice calling out my name to stop. I easily dodge his first cl
umsily thrown punch at my face, and plant one of my own in his gut. When he doubles over with a hard grunt, I latch both hands around the back of his neck and pull him into a clench hold with his head pressed to my chest, then knee him in the ribs. When the next fucker comes at me, I spin and plant a vicious kick to his knee with a sickening crunching sound. He instantly drops to the pavement howling in pain as I smirk in satisfaction. I turn again, keeping the guy I'm holding on to between me and attacker number three, as number four comes in from my right. My next hard kick connects with his balls, and he falls down, groaning as he clutches at his groin. Yeah, I fight dirty. As far as I'm concerned, all rules are off when it's four against one.

  At that point, the ringleader I still have in a clench hold manages to land a weak punch to my ribs, and I retaliate with another knee to his belly, knocking the air out of his lungs. Dumbfuck number three picks what he sees as an easy opening and attacks with a telegraphed hay-maker any novice fighter could see coming. Idiot. My swift and precise kick catches him in the chest, and he stumbles backward into the building. The back of his head smacks hard against the bricks, and he slumps down the wall into an unconscious heap on the ground. Then to finish things off with a bang, I knee the ringleader in the face, drop an elbow to the back of his head and let him fall into a limp pile at me feet.

  It's all over in seconds, and when I look toward Lyric, I find her just standing there staring at me in wide-eyed and slack-jawed shock. I open my mouth to say something to her, but still as I hear an approaching siren in the distance. "Son of a bitch," I say instead.

  I need to get the fuck out of here now. The smart thing to do would be to take off and never see Lyric again, but the mere thought has my chest aching once more. My feet feel glued to the ground. I just can't leave her. So instead of doing the smart thing, like I've always done in my life before, I step toward her with my hand held out expectantly.

  "Come on, sugar, we gotta go," I tell her. I don't know if those sirens are for me, but I'm not taking the chance some dumbfuck heard us in the alley and called the cops. I have too much at stake here to have the police breathing down my neck, even if my alias is rock solid.

  She blinks rapidly with furrowing brows, then looks back and forth between my hand and my eyes with a wary expression. I don't blame her. She doesn't know me. Why should she trust me? But even though she really shouldn't, I inexplicably and desperately want her to.

  "Please," I say, the foreign word feeling strange to me. I've never begged for anything in my life, except to have my family back, and it didn't get me squat.

  She studies me carefully for a moment, then seems to see what she's looking for with a nod of satisfaction. She takes my hand without hesitation, her long graceful fingers lacing with mine, and the ache in my chest subsides in an instant. All feels right with the world as the breath I was holding lets loose in relief. Thank God.

  The siren wails again, breaking me free from my reverie. I turn to lead Lyric out of the alley, picking our way around the four dumbfucks I defeated so easily. Nothing seems out of the ordinary as we exit the alley, but that doesn't mean shit. I'm not taking any chances, so we're still getting the hell out of here. Lyric stays right with me as I hurry across the lot and head for the Mach 1. I approach the passenger side and pull out my keys to unlock it, then help Lyric into the low bucket seat. I feel a little bereft as I release her hand and close the door. I shake my head at the odd feeling as I walk around the car to the driver's door. What the hell is going on with me?

  I climb into the vehicle and note Lyric's appreciative gaze sweeping around the immaculate black leather interior of the old Mustang. It pleases me far more than I like to admit. I shake my head again and sigh quietly as I start the car, then get us the hell out of here before I can wonder too much about the wisdom of what I'm doing.

  6

  LYRIC

  Instead of letting myself wonder what possessed me to get in this car with a virtual stranger, I stare at Ronan as he drives his beautiful old Mustang. I don't even try to hide it. The man is something to behold, a dangerous and mysterious beacon of male perfection that attracts and draws me in like no one ever has before. The strength and skill he displayed fighting those jerks to defend me doesn't hurt his allure any either. My she-wolf is especially pleased to know the man can handle himself so well, considering he's human.

  I let my eyes caress his features, taking in his strong jaw and high cheekbones, and those decadent full lips that rocked my world not that long ago. I can almost still feel them kissing and nipping at my lips, jaw, and neck. I can almost feel the sweet torment of him rocking his erection against my core through our clothes. I think if we hadn't been interrupted, I would've actually orgasmed from it. Just thinking about finding release with him, rather than my own hand for the first time in my life, has my libido flaring up again to throb between my thighs.

  Ronan breathes in and lets it out with a full body tremor as he shifts in his seat and tightens his grip around the steering wheel. "Stop looking at me like that, sugar," he demands in that divine gravelly voice of his, "or I'll have to pull over and do something about it." He doesn't even bother to shift his eyes from the road to look at me.

  "And that's a bad thing?" I ask as I smirk at his sexy profile in the dim lighting inside the car.

  He briefly glances at me as a corner of his mouth twitches with a threatening smile, a smile I suddenly find myself intent on drawing out of him. Something tells me it's a rare event. His attention returns to the road and several moments pass in silence. I'm getting the feeling that Ronan isn't much of a talker. Good thing I am.

  "Where are we going?" I ask.

  "Somewhere safe to lay low for a bit," he answers as he checks the mirrors for the umpteenth time since leaving The Spur and Buckle. Paranoid much?

  "So...who taught you how to fight like that? Because that was badass." I realize I took the wrong tack when his expression instantly shutters.

  "An old friend," he replies with little inflection, and I can see a sharp flash of pain in his eyes. I hate that I caused it and try again.

  "Do you always go around kissing girls in dark alleys and kicking ass to defend their honor?" I ask next.

  His lip twitches again. "No." More silence, but I'm getting somewhere now.

  "So what does a man with your particular set of skills do for a living?" I watch his face shutter again, his jaw clenching this time, and quickly add, "Are you some sort of superhero or white knight running around saving women in distress?"

  "No," he replies, still not amused. "Definitely not that." He doesn't elaborate at all and presses his lips together as tension thrums between us.

  Damn, getting anything out of him is like pulling teeth. Well, if he isn't going to share, I'm going to take the initiative. I reach toward the glove box, intent on finding out more about this man for myself, like an address or his full name.

  "Hey!" Ronan barks out as he grabs for my hand.

  But it's too late as I pop it open to reveal a holstered gun tucked inside. I stare at the thing in shock for a moment. I'm not afraid, since guns are pretty much useless against a trueborn werewolf, but it sure does pique my curiosity. He breathes out an angry huff, then growls and leans over to slam the glove box closed with a loud smack.

  "Are you always this nosy?" he asks, the muscles in cheeks clenching and unclenching.

  "Yes," I reply as I cross my arms defiantly and glare at him. "You're obviously not a cop, or we wouldn't be avoiding them, so what's the deal with the MMA moves and the gun?"

  We stop at a light, and he twists in his seat to glare back at me with hard intimidating eyes. "Are you always this infuriatingly persistent?"

  "According to my family, yes," I say. "Just dangle a mystery in front of me, and I'm a dog with a bone."

  He narrows his unbelievably gorgeous eyes.

  "You're the bone and I'm the dog," I say, not intimidated by him one bit, and lean closer with an arched brow. "Grr." I shake my head for emphasi
s.

  At this point, I'm expecting him to look at me like I'm crazy. I get that a lot from most people. But he doesn't. Instead, his eyes widen in shock for a beat and then he actually snorts out a laugh, and yes...oh yes, a small smile lights up his handsome face. It fades quickly, but I consider my mission accomplished and lean back into my seat with a smug expression. He shakes his head with an adorably bemused look on his face as the light turns green, then continues driving in silence for several minutes. When I can't take it anymore I speak again.

  "In the hope that you'll reciprocate, I want you to know that I'm twenty-one," I tell him. "I'm a Leo, and my favorite color is blue."

  He presses his lips together and shoots another quick narrow-eyed glare my way.

  "Come on," I say, cajoling him. "It's only fair you give me something." I can see his expression softening just a bit, so I push a little more. "Please, Ronan."

  I watch him shiver slightly, then sigh softly in resignation as his glare fades. He finally nods. "I'm thirty-five, and uh, I think I'm a Capricorn." He shrugs. "And I like blue too."

  "Now was that so bad?" I ask him with a smile.

  He glances at me again, this time with actual warmth in his eyes. "No," he says, his gravelly voice a little softer than usual. His eyes heat and flash down to my lips for a moment before he looks back at the road again.

  I realize that we're on the outskirts of Harrisville now, and I still don't know where we're going. I'm about to ask, and probably irritate him again, but he flips the turn signal on as we approach an old motel on the left. He turns into the lot of the one-story pale brick building that looks like we drove into a time machine back to the 1980s. He drives along the line of identical white doors, then pulls into a spot in front of the last motel room and shuts off the car.

  "Well, now," I say as I eye the door directly in front of us with an arched brow. "This is awfully presumptuous." I give him a pointed look.