The Wolf Princess: The Wolf PrincessOne Eye Open (The Pack)

by Karen Whiddon

  “Your call,” she said.

  “My call? Fine. We sleep here.”

  She studied him. The stark beauty of his profile, silhouetted in the waning sun of winter, made her ache. Even now, seated so close to her, he had an air of isolation that seemed almost physical.

  She couldn’t stand it. Wolves ran in packs. A solitary animal was unheard of. How could she make Carson understand he was no longer alone? She was with him now. Suddenly, fiercely, she wanted to break through his barrier and touch him, really touch him. More deeply than merely her fingers on his skin.

  Glancing at him, she saw he was watching her.

  “Brenna…” The warning in the way he spoke her name told her he somehow knew. No longer caring, she climbed in and scooted close, heart thudding in her chest, never taking her gaze from his face.

  With a sound—a cry of resistance?—he reached out and met her halfway. Though no doubt meant to stop her, his touch felt oddly gentle. His hands tight on her shoulders, he held her off, but for only an instant; then he slowly slid his hands down her arms to bring her closer.

  “Brenna,” he said again, breathing hard. At first she thought the movement had caused him pain. Then a quick glance at his fully aroused body assured her that what he felt was an entirely different type of pain.

  He spoke her name again, and she understood this was his way of giving her a second chance. She could pull away now if she wanted. Pull away? She would sooner die. Instead, she leaned into him and moved her lips over his, openmouthed, an invitation.

  With a groan he captured her mouth with his, hard, demanding and…searching? Yearning. Or was that only in her head, a projection of her own emotions onto him? She didn’t care.

  Both trembling, they kissed, tongues intertwined, bodies straining. Passion arced between them, as strong and as violent as the winter lightning that sometimes rent the sky. She let her bewilderment, anger, confusion fuse into this one point of contact, mouth to mouth, Carson to Brenna, mate to mate.

  Mate to mate? No! This was nothing so serious, no bonding, no binding, not mating at all.

  Fighting panic, she raised her head. He grabbed her hair and pulled her back, claiming her with a deep, searing kiss. He drank of her, taking her essence into him and exchanging his own. Such a thing, new and fascinating, thrilled her, making her already-overloaded senses reel.

  Mate? No, this couldn’t be what it felt like, couldn’t be what it seemed. Animal instinct, nothing more.

  To her mingled relief and disappointment, Carson finally lifted his mouth from hers. The cadence of his harsh breathing matched her own.

  “We’d better stop.” He ground out the words, his eyes smoky with a heat equal to hers.

  She didn’t answer, not so readily capable of speech as he, afraid that if she opened her mouth she would end up begging him to make love to her. Instead she jerked her head in a tiny nod, wondering why she felt such an aching sense of loss.

  Chapter 11

  Carson decided that he needed to get Brenna to go. Anything to keep his already overheated body from reacting to her incredible sensual lure.

  Damn. Now was one hell of a time for his libido to go into overdrive.

  Closer to finding his family’s killer than he’d ever been, so near to the end he could taste the sharp, metallic tang of victory, Brenna was a distraction he could ill afford. If he were a different man or a less cynical one, he would have laughed out loud at the bitter irony.

  Instead he found himself wanting to weep.

  Damaged in so many more ways than the small stab wound in his side, he had no right to take what Brenna so passionately offered. Not now, not ever. Used up, hollow, he had nothing to give in exchange. The quick fix of a one-night stand would create more problems than it would solve. Despite her self-sufficient attitude and attempts to appear tough, Brenna was a forever kind of girl. An emotionless, no-strings-attached, sexual encounter would hurt her. His wife had been the same way.

  Brenna shifted, running her hand through her long, dark hair. Watching, he realized he knew the exact texture of each smooth strand. He thought how erotic a silken curtain her hair would make, cascading over them when they made love.

  When? How about if they made love?

  No. They would not make love. Ever. He shook his head, tearing his gaze away from her. Damn! He still wanted her. Badly. He groaned out loud.

  “Are you all right?” Her concerned expression told him she’d mistaken his frustration for a sound of pain.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” Steeling himself, he gave a pointed glance at the front seat. “If we’re going to sleep tonight, one of us needs to move up front. It’s crowded back here.”

  “Crowded?” Her cool tone matched his. She studied his face, probably trying to figure out what made him tick. He couldn’t blame her. One minute he was all over her, the next he couldn’t get far enough away.

  Tough. Squaring his shoulders, he looked at the growing darkness outside the window. He couldn’t afford to get distracted—not by her, not by anything. He knew what mattered. Finding the killer, whether Alex or some other man. Finding him and bringing him to justice. Nothing else.

  His priorities firmly back in place, Carson refused to watch as she started to scramble forward between the two front seats. He was admiring her perfect rear end—in the abstract, of course—when she appeared to have second thoughts.

  After a pause, she moved into the driver’s seat, fastened her seat belt with a click, then started the engine and pulled onto the road, tires spinning, all without even once looking at him.

  “What the—”

  “We’re going back to the motel.” Her no-nonsense tone told him she meant it. “Phelan will need to go out, and he’ll need to be fed.”

  He’d forgotten about the puppy. “We’ll get him and take him with us.”

  This time she did look at him, a quick, hard stare that told him not to give her any flak. “We’re staying there. I don’t like this graveyard.”

  Suddenly tired, he didn’t feel like arguing. He had to try, anyway. “I told you, the motel isn’t safe.”

  “Is anywhere? I mean, come on. This gang seems to know where we’re gonna be before we do.”

  He sat bolt upright, causing another painful pull to his side. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

  “Of what?” Her exasperated tone told him that she still wasn’t buying whatever he had to say.

  “A tracking device.” He didn’t bother searching the inside of the Tahoe. It had to be in a wheel well or underneath. When they stopped again, he would find the damn thing and yank it off. “They’re tracking us.”

  “Sure they are.” Now she sounded as though she thought he was delusional. “And maybe little green men are hiding under the seats.”

  Though he really shouldn’t care what she thought, for some reason her snide comment rankled him.

  “Even your brother said they weren’t taking any chances I’d get near them,” he reminded her. “This way they can be sure.”

  Silence while she digested his words. Finally she gave a slow nod. “Alex is usually right,” she said.

  He hated that it took a mention of Alex to make her pay attention.

  Back at the motel, they both emerged from the Tahoe in silence. His side aching like hell, ten times worse than he let on, Carson bent over to inspect the undercarriage of the vehicle.

  “What does a tracking device look like?” she asked.

  Straightening, he dragged his hand across his dry mouth. His rib cage was on fire. Perspiring heavily for no good reason, he straightened. The entire world swayed and tilted on its axis.

  “It could look like anything.” He heard himself speaking as if from a distance. “Most likely—”

  He saw a burst of black; then the ground rushed up to meet him.

  Change of scenery. Inside the motel room. Ugly green shag carpet. Unmade bed and lumpy pillow. How much time had passed? Confused, he tried to lift his head, and the roo
m spun.

  “I’ll bet that hurt.” Brenna’s voice, soothing and low, sounded close to his ear.

  Swallowing, he opened his eyes and found her. “What happened?”

  Her expression seemed grim. “You passed out. I had to drag you inside.”

  She was lying. Had to be. No way could she, all of five feet tall and a hundred pounds soaking wet, manage to move his bulk.

  “Who helped you?”

  Ignoring the pain in his side, he watched the emotions flit across her face. Worry, confusion, frustration, then, finally, comprehension.

  “You don’t think I could have moved you by myself.” Not a question. She wasn’t stupid. She knew it would be a Herculean task, even for a much larger female. He said nothing, waiting.

  “I’m very strong.” Color stained her cheeks. He wondered why she would lie to him, especially after what had just happened. Then a thought hit him, a possibility so infuriating that he pushed himself up on his elbows to glare at her.

  “Alex?”

  Instantly her entire posture changed to one of watchful alertness. “What about Alex?”

  “No.” He had to grind his teeth to keep from shouting. “Did your brother help you get me inside?”

  “Of course not.” She waved his suggestion away, shaking her head and sending her dark hair flying. “No one helped me.”

  Another thought, equally plausible, equally bad. “The guys in the room next door? The federal agents? Damn.” Surprised he wasn’t in handcuffs, he let himself fall back onto the pillow, rubbing his eyes to clear the cobwebs. The blackness receded, then surged again, causing him to keep himself immobile, fighting to keep from drifting in and out of consciousness.

  When he opened his eyes, Brenna had moved away. He could hear her rustling through a plastic bag on the other side of the room. With an effort he managed to lift his head and next, his aching shoulders. With his elbows for support, he struggled to sit up again.

  “Here.” She propped two pillows behind his back. “Maybe this will help.”

  He didn’t thank her. Since even his own traitorous body wanted to betray him, he fought the grayness and concentrated on the fiery ache in his side.

  “Aspirin?” He croaked the word with a grimace. He still meant to find out how she had gotten him inside, though right now all his efforts were focused on not passing out.

  “Here.” She brought him three pills and dropped them into his palm, then handed him a can of diet cola. “I still think we need to go to the hospital.”

  “Where’s your dog?” Deliberately changing the subject, Carson choked down the aspirin, washing them down his dry throat with the lukewarm cola.

  Recognizing the word dog, the small animal placed his front paws on the side of the bed, cocking his head in enquiry.

  “Have you fed him?” Carson let the puppy sniff his hand, then lick. “Has he been out?”

  She flashed a smile. “Yes, he’s eaten. How’s your side?”

  “Better. What about the dog?”

  “He needs to go outside. I’ll take care of him in a moment. Carson, we ought to have a doctor look at you.”

  “No.” Squinting, he tried for a hard stare. “Pack up your stuff. We’re leaving.”

  “You’re delusional.” She expelled her breath with a noisy puff. “If we’re going anywhere, we’re going to the hospital.”

  “I’ll take the dog out.”

  “You can barely stand.”

  “I’m fine.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the crazy tilt the room took at the movement. “And we’re not going to a hospital. Since you don’t want to sleep in the Tahoe, we’re changing motels. This one’s not safe.”

  She stared at him, her expression unreadable. “Give me a realistic rationale, and I might agree. Otherwise, no.”

  “I’ve given you plenty of reasons.”

  “I don’t think there’s another motel in this town.”

  “We’ll find one.”

  A reluctant smile tugged at her full lips. “Whatever you say. Did you find a tracking device?”

  “No.” He watched her closely. “Did you?”

  “I didn’t look.” She gave a shrug, oddly graceful. “But I wouldn’t know what to look for.”

  “Hmm. Tell me who helped you move me inside.”

  She froze. As he had intended, throwing the question at her from nowhere ambushed her. Maybe now he would get a straight answer.

  “I need to know where I stand,” he pushed. “If Alex is helping you, or if you’ve alerted the Feds that I’m here, I deserve to know.”

  “Alex didn’t help me. And I didn’t ask the men next door.” Standing rigid, head held high, she met his gaze with a frank look of her own. “I’m telling you the truth. I dragged you in here by myself.”

  Next she would expect him to believe she could fly. Right.

  “You heard my own agency warn me away from this investigation. They could be trying to stop us,” he reminded her.

  “I told you, I didn’t even talk to those guys.”

  He tried another tack. “How long was I out?”

  “Long enough,” she said. “I didn’t time you.”

  “Fine.” He would accept that for now, since she gave him no other choice. “Get your stuff.”

  Pushing himself to his feet, he stood, swaying slightly. He gripped one side of the bed for support. Hoping she wouldn’t notice, he squared his shoulders. “We’ll take the dog out together.”

  “Phelan,” she said, and shook her head. “He has a name. You might try using it.”

  Ignoring her, he opened the motel room door and went outside. Brenna and her pet followed.

  * * *

  Though Brenna had been right about the lack of lodging, they’d finally found a small place on the other edge of town and gotten a room. After a quick meal of more greasy takeout, they’d showered—separately. Then, exhausted and hurting, he’d taken a couple more aspirin and dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep, for once not tossing and turning all night.

  The deep sleep seemed to have helped. The next morning Carson woke feeling almost normal. The night before they’d picked up some bandages and antiseptic at a local pharmacy and doctored his side. Now the bleeding had stopped and the pain had subsided to a steady ache. He stretched, then grimaced at the sharp jab in his side. As long as he didn’t make any sudden moves, he would be all right. He’d been lucky.

  He’d also searched the Tahoe both inside and out, finding nothing. Maybe he’d been wrong about the tracking device; more likely he hadn’t found it yet. Still, he was glad he’d insisted they change motels.

  In the bed next to him, Brenna still slept. For a moment he studied the even motion of her chest, her glossy hair fanned out on the white pillow. Somehow, some way, she’d managed to get under his skin. Last night he’d dreamed of her. Startling thought, but he remembered the dream vividly. After all, he’d awoken from it hard and aching. Wanting her.

  And, he realized as let himself drink in her sleeping form, he still ached with desire. He wanted to crawl under the sheets and roam his hands over her soft, pale skin, explore her slender shape. As he contemplated doing exactly that, guilt gnawed at him, reminding him once again how easily Brenna was able to distract him.

  He shook his head, deliberately moving in a way that brought him fresh pain from his cut. Pain, in this case, might serve a good purpose, that of keeping him focused and on track.

  She shifted, and the cadence of her breathing changed. Any moment she would open those big brown eyes and blink sleepily up at him, hair tousled.

  At the thought, his body stirred again. Maybe a cold shower would be a good idea.

  He sat up, once more welcoming the stab of pain, and slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  Phelan poked his head out from under Brenna’s covers.

  Tongue lolling out of his mouth, he appeared to be grinning. About to reach out and ruffle the dog’s fur, Carson reconsidered. Such softness wa
s more than he could stand right now. And touching the pup would bring his hand too close to the temptation of Brenna’s body. So he stood, hating his unsteady wobble, and made his way into the bathroom for a much-needed cold shower.

  The soft click of the bathroom door, followed by the flush of the commode and the shower starting, brought Brenna fully awake.

  Carson. She smiled, remembering the soul-searing intensity of the kiss they’d shared. Then frowned as she realized the direction her thoughts were taking.

  With a heavy sigh she pushed back the blanket and discovered Phelan. Tugging at the sheet, the puppy wiggled mischievously. He wanted to play tug-of-war with the bedding.

  Brenna laughed. Such wonderful innocence, so much like the young cublets in the Pack, made her long for her own childhood. Made her long to be—

  A tremor shook her. Even being around the puppy increased the desire to change. The triggers were becoming more frequent, the need more consuming. She shook herself in frustration, gritting her teeth. This was the longest she’d remained totally human. Yet she had no choice. Somehow, until she’d settled things with her brother, she would have to suppress the urge. If she could.

  The shower cut off, and a few minutes later Carson emerged. This time he wore only his jeans—not just a towel, hounds help her, as she didn’t know how she would be able to keep from jumping his too-sexy-for-his-own-good bones then. Still, bare-chested, he looked good. Without looking at her, he crossed the room to his duffel bag. She couldn’t keep from staring as he tugged his T-shirt over his head. Her mouth went dry even as she called herself names—dumb Brenna, really dumb. He used his fingers to comb out his still-damp hair.

  Something about the quiet domesticity of the scene lifted her heart and brought an unfamiliar happiness.

  He caught her watching and raised a brow. “What?”

  “Nothing,” she said, unable to keep from grinning. “I was just thinking something good is going to happen today.”

  He paused and studied her. “Any particular reason?” His casual tone told her the question was anything but.

  “No.” She gave a slow shake of her head. “But enough bad stuff has happened to us that I think the universe has got to cut us some slack.”