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

by Karen Whiddon

  She stiffened. “What was that for?”

  Strong emotion rushed him, constricting his chest and clogging his throat. Unprepared, he shook his head and simply tightened his arms around her.

  “You could have died.” He stared blindly at the top of her head. Brenna, beautiful, bold Brenna, had nearly become an innocent casualty in his quest for justice. He’d failed to protect her, despite his vow to make sure no more lives were lost because of him. The thought of her perishing nauseated him. Made him want to fight something. Someone.

  “We could have died,” she corrected. “But we made it. You, me and Phelan. We’re all right.”

  Avoiding her direct gaze, he reached over the console and gave the puppy a rough pat. Blinking up at him, Phelan licked his hand, then curled into a ball and went to sleep.

  Carson felt Brenna shiver in his arms. Delayed shock. He’d been right the first time.

  “God, I’m sorry,” he said. “I never intended—”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” She sounded so sternly reproving that he couldn’t help but smile.

  “We were lucky.”

  He thought of another time, when he hadn’t been so lucky. The shot in the back had taken him down. Down and out. He’d nearly died then, but instead had recovered to live with the reality that he’d lost his entire world. Most days since, he’d wished he had died. Only vengeance kept him alive. Only the search for justice kept him going.

  After that, he didn’t know. Until now, he’d always planned to end it all, to join Becky and Julie in the afterlife.

  Now…he wanted to live. Again his own thoughts stunned him. He shied away from the notion, not sure he trusted himself. The very idea seemed foreign. He just didn’t know how such a thing could be possible—awakened desires, longing, feelings he’d believed long dead.

  Once entirely certain of his own path, now he simply didn’t know. All he knew was the soft beauty of the woman he held in his arms. Letting the past go, he buried his face in her hair and breathed in her smoke-tinged scent. Through the soot and ashes, he could still detect the unwavering aroma of flowers clinging to her skin.

  “Those Hades’ Claws people are nuts,” she said.

  “Yeah, and dangerous. I tried to warn you.” He glanced at his watch. His heart skipped a beat. “We’ll never make it to the bus station on time now. I hope Jack gets out okay.”

  “Jack! How long—”

  “By the time we get there, his bus will have already left.”

  “What about the message he’s supposed to give you?”

  Carson pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. After the ninth ring, he hung up. “No answer.”

  “Maybe we should go.”

  Checking his watch once more, Carson sighed. “No point.”

  His throat still burned. He swallowed, anyway. “He can call me later. I’m sure he’s all right—guys like him know how to survive. He’ll call.”

  Turning in his arms, she raised her chin. In the dim light of the wintry sun, her skin looked like cream, her eyes huge and dark, her mouth full. Never had she seemed more hauntingly, achingly beautiful. And fragile.

  He wanted her safe. Yet she wouldn’t let him protect her. “I’ll take you to the bus station if you’ll get on the next bus out of here.”

  “No.” Her eyes flashed.

  Frustration made his stomach clench. “Look at what’s happened. They won’t stop until they kill us. You have to go. I can’t let you die because of me.”

  “Hey. We’re alive.” Leaning into him, she brushed her lips across his. “Alive. Go with it. We’re all right.”

  His heart thudded in his chest. Stunned, he accepted her kiss. She was right. Even now life thickened his blood, stirred his body to readiness. He held himself still, frozen. Alive.

  Afraid to breathe, afraid to move. With her mouth she explored his. With sensual slashes of her tongue she tasted. She stroked him, caressed him, teased him. Brought him to an achingly hard readiness, close to losing control.

  Adrenaline. It fueled both of them, he knew. In his line of work, such a reaction to a close brush with death was normal. They lived, they breathed. The first rush of shock had left her. With energy still pumping through her veins, Brenna wanted to reaffirm life. With him.

  Because he knew better, he fought, but desire and wonder and joy exploded inside him, bubbling up from a long-forgotten place. His pulse pounded. He wanted… He needed… Yet somehow he kept himself utterly and completely still. Under control. Waiting. She touched him, and he surged against her, letting her feel the strength of his desire for her. Her call now, her move.

  At his lack of any overt response, she gave a frustrated cry and, completing the turn she had only half started, straddled him. Settling her soft warmth over him with a quiet sigh, she touched him, her small hands everywhere at once, soft and hard, gentle and urgent. Each stroke, each caress, brought him closer and closer to the edge of his iron control.

  “Brenna…” He couldn’t understand how she, so vibrantly beautiful, could want a broken man like him. That thought, and only that thought, kept him from ripping her clothes off and taking her.

  “Carson.”

  He heard the naked longing in her voice and shuddered. She moved over him, and his body stirred. Her heat seared him through their clothing, wet and warm and willing. His own need escalated—it had been so damn long since he’d felt this way—desire mingling with uncertainty. He closed his eyes, lost in sensation. Inhaling sharply, the scent of smoke from the fire reminded him of things he could not forget.

  How he longed to forget. Just once.

  He slanted his mouth over hers, hard, demanding. With a glad cry she met him, her passion equal to his, her movements frenzied and urgent.

  “Alive,” she gasped once more. This time, his heart, his soul, his body, echoed the word.

  Alive. Never had he felt more so.

  “Brenna.” His voice thickened as he gave her a final warning. “Last chance,” he said. He knew that if they kept this up, he would take her here, mindless and savage in the front seat of his truck. She deserved better. A soft bed, candlelight, wine.

  Turning his head, he attempted to push her away. She resisted, the steering wheel at her back.

  “No,” she said, and kissed him again.

  Finally he surrendered. Lost, he followed where she led. The bleak abyss that had shadowed his days for so long receded, as did the cold, hard leather seat beneath him. He touched her through her clothes, his hands warmed by the heat she radiated. She arched into him, crying out, and with one stroke he felt her come apart under his fingers.

  Too much between them—jeans and zippers and sweatshirts. Unnecessary clothing. He wanted silky skin, flesh slick with desire.

  As though she’d read his mind, she yanked at his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it in the backseat. Caressing his bare skin, she tugged at the edge of his jeans. Guiding her, he helped her find the zipper, helped her pull it down over his swollen body. When she freed him and curled her fingers around his heat, he gasped. So long denied, he surged into her hand, uncontrollable.

  “Wait.” He grabbed her fingers to keep from embarrassing himself right then and there like an eager adolescent. “I don’t have a condom.”

  She smiled, a slow and sensual thing that held a tinge of sadness. “You haven’t, er, been with anyone since—”

  “No.”

  Her kiss took away the sting of that simple word. When she raised her head and met his gaze, she looked solemn. “Then I think we’re safe. It’s been over a year for me—”

  “I’m not a careless man.”

  Touched, she stroked him again. He moaned and pulled her back for another deep, drugging kiss.

  “Enough talking,” she growled against his mouth. She arched her back in a long, sensual stretch, head back. One look at her and he lost his battle for control. With her eyes half-closed, she settled over him. Heat. He gave a hoarse cry, struggling for control. She
made a sound, then sheathed him deep inside her warmth.

  Home. The absurd thought slammed into him with the subtlety of a brick. Brenna. Hot. Wet. Wonderful. Home.

  How could he ever let her go?

  Then he forgot to think, couldn’t think, as she began to move.

  Chapter 13

  How could he sleep? Brenna eyed Carson’s form in the uncomfortable passenger seat next to her and shook her head. Inside the vehicle, the night’s chill air made the leather seats hard and unforgiving. She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position. Carson apparently had no such problem. Head back, he slept sitting up, a slight smile softening the harsh planes of his face.

  Gazing at him, she felt again that softening inside. Longing to glide her fingers over his skin, she clenched her fists to keep from touching him. Instead she watched the even rise and fall of his chest, inhaling the faint musky after-scent of their lovemaking.

  Though she had seen many men, both shifters and human, never had she found one as beautiful as Carson. Beautiful. She pondered the word, knowing it was an odd choice to describe a man so hard and wounded. Yet she fancied she saw a new contentment on his face, as though the slaking of his body’s hunger for hers had eased a few of his burdens.

  Beautiful. Her chest tight, her heartbeat a steady thump in her ears, she envied him his moment of peace.

  Sleep was the last thing she wanted. Though sated, she felt energized, charged. Restless, she wanted to run and jump and laugh out loud. Oddly enough, she also wanted to weep. So much had changed between them. They could never go back to the way they had been.

  Their lovemaking had been explosive, wild and abandoned. She’d felt like a virgin again. Jeff had been her first and only, yet the one time they’d had sex couldn’t hold a candle to this. No one had told her such pleasure was possible. She blushed, feeling a remembered tingling as she contemplated the things she and Carson had done. They hadn’t even bothered to remove all their clothing, their passion had been so frenzied.

  Yet they’d made love. Carson had possessed her, put an indelible stamp on her soul. It wasn’t only the way he’d brought her to her first release. No, they’d forged a bond, a thread that would tie them together now and always.

  Always.

  The very thought frightened her, even as she exulted in the certainty of it. Things had changed and, hounds help her, she should have known better. Their coming together was everything she’d ever imagined lovemaking could be and more. So much more. Like finally finding the place where she belonged.

  A shattering, painful thought, especially since she knew Carson would not want her the same way.

  She had to find some distance. She could not allow this to happen again.

  Her heart sank. Letting him go would be difficult. How could it not be, when even his masculine scent brought her pleasure? Watching him now, she immediately hungered for more. She desired to touch him, taste the salt of his skin. She wanted to love him again with her body, since he would not accept her soul.

  Fool. Though she wanted what had happened between them to be mere lust, nothing stronger, she knew she had given more than her body to Carson. She now felt naked, exposed. Vulnerable.

  One final look assured her he still slept deeply. That was good, for if he looked at her, she was afraid he would be able to read the powerful emotion thrumming through her body.

  Love. Unable to lie to herself any longer, Brenna admitted the truth. She loved him. With all her heart, all her soul.

  Love. Covering her face with her hands, she shifted in the seat and again called herself a fool. There were a thousand reasons why she shouldn’t love Carson. He was human and she—she was not. He was broken and bitter and probably incapable of ever loving another woman. Especially one such as she, who could change into a wolf at will. What future could they possibly have together? None.

  Yet in her heart of hearts she’d named him her mate. There would be no other for her. Once he had gone, she would remain alone to the end of her days. Alone and childless.

  Another thought struck her. Had they made a child together? They’d used no protection. Pregnancy was entirely possible.

  Even now, she could be carrying Carson’s child. She spread her fingers protectively across her stomach, pondering.

  A child. How would Carson react to such a thing? For that matter, what would she do?

  A child of theirs would be half shifter, half human. She’d heard of such children, though she knew none personally. While the shifter gene was dominant, children born half shifter were not as powerful as full shifters while in their wolf shape. Still, because they had the ability to change, they were accepted un- equivocally into the Pack, welcomed and loved like any other cub.

  Carson’s child. The thought brought a rush of another sort of pleasure. A child of her own. Though her work as a librarian brought her daily human contact, she’d been lonelier than she’d cared to admit.

  Her head hurt. Kneading her temples, she gazed out at the black night and felt a primal call. She still needed to change. To slip soundlessly through the woods, unencumbered by human thoughts and emotions.

  In the backseat, Phelan stirred, whimpering. He needed a quick trip outside to relieve his bladder. A perfect excuse for her to briefly disappear into the woods to become a wolf.

  Quietly, hoping not to disturb Carson, she reached into the backseat and got Phelan. Though at first he wiggled in excitement, a quiet word calmed him. Together they stepped into the night forest.

  The woodsy scents of earth and bark and winter gave her immediate comfort. Phelan bounded ahead, plowing through an occasional snowdrift, tail wagging. Moving more slowly, Brenna followed. She wanted to make certain she was out of sight of the Tahoe before she allowed herself to change.

  The moon provided a silvery light, eerie through the leafless trees. Here. Stopping in a small clearing, she turned and lifted her arms to the stars that glittered in the icy sky. Quickly she shed her clothing, making a neat stack next to a large oak.

  Power hummed in the crisp air. Finally. A thrill ricocheted through her as she gave way to the craving. Her bones sang as they began to elongate, her heart pumping as she felt the necessary shifting begin to course through her blood. Eventually it would consume her. In a few minutes she would run through the deserted forest, glorying in her full power as a she-wolf. Full-fledged huntress. One of the Pack.

  Leaves cracked. Phelan barked, alerting her. Too late, she spun around to face the threat, her energy locked up in the beginnings of the change. Not Carson, but some other man. She saw his shadowy face reflect horror a second before he grabbed her. She tried to fight but, in the middle of changing, with not enough time to complete the process, she was vulnerable, exposed. She had no energy to resist. Nor to complete the change.

  Arms clamped around her. He held her, fumbling for something—a weapon. Weakened, she attempted a kick, but it fell far short. Cursing, he tightened his grip. When he covered her face with a sweet-smelling cloth, she tried to bite him. He shoved some of the material in her mouth, gagging her. A sharp taste, metallic and bitter. The rag—some sort of drug. Must. Not. Breathe. But, inevitably, she had to have air. One gasp to fill her lungs and she felt herself spiraling into oblivion.

  * * *

  Carson jerked awake. Somewhere outside, a dog barked, shrill and furious. Phelan? A quick glance around the Tahoe showed him Brenna had gone, her pet with her.

  As he reached for the door handle, he saw headlights coming toward him on the dirt road. Instinctively, he ducked, but not before he saw the front of the van barreling toward him. Ford. Brown. His law-enforcement-trained mind automatically recorded the make and color. The vehicle sped past, bouncing over the rutted road until it vanished from sight.

  From deep within the dark forest, Phelan began to howl.

  Brenna. Yanking open the door, Carson jumped to the ground and ran.

  Here. A tangle of footprints in the snow. Brenna and Phelan and…someone else. A large man.
One who wore at least a size thirteen boot.

  Phelan barked again, and Carson veered left. Ignoring the nagging pain that blossomed in his side, he headed toward the sound.

  Reaching a small clearing where the trampled snow showed signs of a struggle, he cursed. Swiftly he followed the tracks. Abruptly Brenna’s footprints ended. Only the stranger’s trail led away, followed by Phelan’s paw marks.

  Brenna. She’d been grabbed. Like Jack had warned, Hades’ Claws had come after her. Again moving faster than he’d anticipated, they’d caught him unprepared. Despite Jack’s warning, he’d been so sure their next move would be against him.

  He hadn’t been vigilant. One incident of great sex with Brenna and he’d dropped off to sleep like a man who had a right to. He’d relaxed his guard. Stupid. Now Brenna had been taken. They would kill her if he didn’t get to her in time.

  Still barking, Phelan rushed into the clearing, straight to Carson. Clearly agitated, the young dog jumped again and again, then ran toward the trees and waited.

  Phelan wanted to show him something. Following, Carson went into the trees, surprised to find the road twisted near on the other side. Tire tracks showed where Brenna’s abductor had parked.

  Carson grabbed his cell phone, hitting Redial. Even though Jack should be on the bus, he might know something. Three rings. Four. Still no answer.

  On the sixth ring, Jack answered.

  “Jack, they’ve got Brenna.”

  “Help me.” Jack’s voice, a full octave higher than normal, sounded terrified. “I missed the bus, and they sent someone here, he’s going to—”

  Over the phone line, Carson heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. Heard Jack’s muffled scream, the awful sound of his body as he fell.

  “Turner.” Another voice—Jack’s assailant? “You’re too late to help the snitch. He’s dead. We’ve got your girlfriend. She’s next.”

  Then a final click as the man snapped the phone closed.