Betrayed: Days of the Rogue (13 page)

Letting go, she stepped away and
wrapped her arms around herself.

“Be careful.” She muttered the
words, still not looking at him.

He checked to see if the safety was
on. “Don’t worry. I won’t shoot myself in the foot.”

She flicked a glance his way. “Not
you. I meant, be careful you don’t hurt the wolf.”

“The wolf?” He narrowed his
eyes.

“Right. It’s lonely and looks like
it hasn’t had a decent meal in ages.”

“And you know this because…?”

“Well, it was only a little ways
away. I got a pretty good look at it while we were talking.”

“You were talking…to the wolf?” He
had a stunned look about him.

She shrugged. “It was watching me
draw I guess—I didn’t notice it until I was finished—and when I
went to go inside I noticed how…dejected…it looked and I started to
talk to it.”

Rafe took a deep breath and then
exhaled slowly, as if he was trying not to lose his patience. “Let
me get this straight. You’re worried about me going out to look for
the rogue wolf without a gun but you stood on the porch talking to
it?”

Eve felt herself flush. “It wasn’t
like I’d planned on staying there. I was inching my way to the door
and talking to keep it calm.”

He opened his mouth and appeared
about to say something but then stopped. She could have sworn she
heard him growl. “I’ll be back in a while. Stay—”

“—inside. I know.”

As the door closed behind him, she
sighed and rolled her eyes. The man was definitely not the easiest
person to deal with. But, she licked her lips and grinned, he
certainly was a good kisser! And, she’d been sufficiently upset
with him that her usual nervousness around him had disappeared.
That was something, at least!

Rafe scouted around the cabin, more
to give himself time to cool down than with any expectation of
finding the rogue. The early morning fog had lifted providing a
clear view of the area, not that he really needed to look around.
The beast would be long gone by now, though at the moment that was
the least of his worries.

He’d kissed Eve. And it hadn’t been
just any kiss. Damn but he’d never felt anything like it. His body
had reacted instantaneously and was still hard and aching for
relief. If she hadn’t pulled away… Well, thank heaven she had
because he’d lost all common sense for those few minutes.

What the hell had happened? Dumb
question. He
knew
what had happened, but couldn’t quite
believe it. He’d kissed plenty of women, both human and Lycan, but
never another Fae. That was the only possible explanation for the
phenomenon he’d felt. When two empathic minds reached out to each
other they sent feedback in a continuous loop. It grew
exponentially until it exploded in an orgasm which left the
participants weak and helpless from an overdose of endorphins. They
hadn’t progressed that far, but if the kiss had continued much
longer… He clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to return to the
cabin and take up where they’d left off. What he needed to do was
think this through; approach the situation logically.

Eve must be part Fae. Having
assumed she was human, he’d always had a mental wall in place
whenever they met out of common courtesy for her privacy. He’d
never attempted to read her emotions. If he had, he would have
known what she was and been prepared.

Did she know she was Fae? Likely
not or she would have commented on the effect of the kiss. Unless
her abilities were just entering the awakening stage and she had no
idea what she was in for.

A novice in need of tutoring…

Interest sparked within him at the
possibility of being her mentor and teaching her the full extent of
her skills. Yet, as soon as the idea came to him, he negated it. No
involvement. Wasn’t that part of his self-prescribed treatment
plan? Instinctively he knew that it would be impossible to stay
detached from her. He’d been drawn to her before and now, knowing
that they shared a common heritage, it would be doubly hard to
resist.

He’d only encountered a few other
Fae in his life; elderly relatives on his mother’s side when he’d
still been a pup, a few professional contacts. The Fae were a dying
breed, and even though efforts were being made to seek out those
that remained and somehow unify them, the chances of success seemed
slim.

The screaming of a blue jay jerked
his attention to the present. There’d be time enough to ponder this
new discovery later on. Right now he needed to check on the rogue
werewolf and focus on keeping Eve safe. He began to tramp through
the woods, ducking under low hanging branches and pushing past
bushes. Evidence abounded that the wolf had been nearby;
footprints, broken twigs, and an indented spot in the grass where
it had obviously sat for a prolonged period of time.

It would seem the wolf had formed
an attachment to Eve and was growing progressively bolder, making
no effort to hide its presence, perhaps even sending a subtle
challenge to him. That idea caused his hackles to rise.

Pausing near the top of a small
rise, he surveyed the area. He was wasting his time looking. What
he needed to do was consider the situation as if he were dealing
with one of his clients at the Rehab Clinic. Mentally he began to
complete a standard intake form, spending some time debating which
box he’d need to checkmark.

There were several categories of
rogues. Some spent their whole life on the fringes of society.
Mostly transient, they pushed the edge of the law but stayed just
this side of breaking it. However, a rogue from that particular
group wouldn’t remain watching a single cabin for over a week.

It could be looking for a mate.
That was a realistic possibility. Some did try to establish
relationships and form a pack, though the grouping was often
dysfunctional and quickly fell apart.

Or, it could be stalking Eve with a
more deadly intent. The more dangerous rogues coldly premeditated
attacks based on some insane logic of their own, such as a
resemblance to someone they once knew. They’d fixate on an
individual and follow them, sometimes for weeks, before an
unknowing act by the potential victim would cause them to snap and
attack. These were the kind that, unless trapped, became caught up
in the need to maim and kill, a psychotic blood lust taking over
their minds. By then, most were unsalvageable and, if brought in
alive, lived out the rest of their existence in heavily guarded
confinement.

If the rogue was, indeed, Damien,
however, then he’d fit into a fourth category. Still hurting from
the loss of his mate, his anger would be directed inward, blaming
himself for not protecting her, and outward towards anyone who he
perceived had contributed to her death. It was unlikely he’d attack
unprovoked…unless the loss of the blood bond had made him mentally
unstable. And there was no way to assess that without talking to
him.

Rafe growled in frustration. As
always, his job was a guessing game. He observed and talked to
clients, interviewed those who had interacted with them, trying to
put together a picture of what was going on in their minds. But,
even with his empathic abilities, what it all boiled down to was an
educated guess…and he’d guessed wrong before.

He dragged a hand through his hair.
God, was he up to this? Hell, he had to be. Reno didn’t want Rogue
Retrieval involved. That meant someone had to try and talk to
Damien and do an initial assessment, try to keep him here and under
control. It would require finesse and caution; a casual comment
could easily spook a rogue, sending them running, or into a rage.
And if that rage was directed against Eve…

Chapter 9

Damien had heard the pickup truck
approaching the woman’s cabin long before it arrived and so he’d
slipped away, circling until he was downwind. Wresting control from
his wolf, he’d shifted into human form and watched from a vantage
point some distance away. A man had exited the truck and begun
barking orders at Eve.

Eve.

He tested the name, liking its
simplicity, the way it rolled off his tongue and whispered soft and
gentle in his ear. It was another thing the woman had in common
with his Beth; a short, sweet name. But Beth had been mostly Lycan
and Eve was Fae.

Lycan and Fae; greater opposites
would be hard to find. Lycan legend held that the gods had made
werewolves from the earth, the solidness of rock and the richness
of soil combining to create creatures of strength and courage. They
were gathered into packs and instilled with a sense of duty and
honour.

The Fae, however, had been formed
from the mists that drifted over the land. Flighty creatures, they
were whimsical, led by their emotions and prone to mischief. They’d
refused to settle in one place or follow a hierarchical order.
Neither species could tolerate the other and the gods, tired of
their bickering, finally banned them from associating.

Of course, that was all ancient
legend, but the two groups still avoided each other as much as
possible.

Being Fae suited Eve. Fair and fine
boned, with big eyes that showed every emotion. If he was the
fanciful sort he could have easily imagined her sprouting wings and
flying about a field of wildflowers, sipping nectar. That image
would have been shattered though by the way she’d berated the man.
There’d been a definite sting to her tone. He’d grinned, listening
to her.

As for the man. Hmm…Rafe McRae. The
name was vaguely familiar even if the face wasn’t. Perhaps someone
he should have known from his days as a student at the Academy? Too
bad he hadn’t paid more attention to his lessons.

Even after searching his memory for
why he should know the man, he still came up blank. Damien wished
he’d retained access to Lycan Link’s database; he could have had
the man’s complete background within minutes. That bridge, however,
had been burnt long ago. He was on his own now.

Damien studied the other were
through narrowed eyes. The man carried himself well and moved with
assurance as if he were used to being in charge. Not an Enforcer,
he looked more the type to make the rules rather than follow them.
An Alpha seemed the logical conclusion, yet there was no evidence
of a pack. Had McRae lost his position? Had urbanization rendered
his old home unsuitable? Or he could be establishing a new
territory, maybe even considering taking Eve as a mate.

That thought didn’t sit well with
his wolf...or him for that matter. Huh, at least there was one
thing that he and the animal could agree on! Damien clenched his
jaw, resisting the urge to warn McRae off, which made no sense. Eve
was nothing to him. A passing resemblance to Beth, but that was it.
The woman was Fae, not Lycan. He couldn’t afford to acknowledge
anything else. Nothing could sway him from his path. Hadn’t he
sworn that to himself as he’d stood by the bloodied body of yet
another victim?

He recalled how rage had roiled
within him, blurring his vision, clouding his thinking. His body
had ached from the battle, wounds stinging as his sweat had seeped
into the torn flesh. But he’d barely noticed. The need for justice,
for revenge, had burned in his blood, obliterating any thought of
personal comfort. That was what he must focus on now, and screw
anyone who got in his way.

Shifting forms once again, he
headed towards a fall of trees. He didn’t want to tap-dance around
the local motel owner any longer. He’d spend his night here, the
Alpha be damned.

Rafe crouched near the fire he’d
made, the flickering light of the flames barely illuminating his
face. He’d decided to camp out near Eve’s cabin. It served two
purposes, allowing him to guard her, as well as providing an
opportunity for a casual, non-confrontational encounter with the
rogue if it happened by.

Luck was with him. No sooner had he
laid out his sleeping bag and started a fire than he heard rustling
in the brush nearby. The wind carried the scent of the rogue his
way and he smiled inwardly but continued on as if he hadn’t
noticed.

The beast’s behaviour would imply
it wasn’t too far gone. While it might deny the fact, it was
watching Eve and now it was seeking him out. Both actions showed
that on some level it still craved interaction, especially with its
own kind. By staying in human form, Rafe hoped the creature would
view him as less of a threat. Just in case, however, he was
prepared for an attack, his senses on alert, not to mention the
vial of tranquillizer tucked in his boot.

“Nice night for camping.” Rafe
spoke in a conversational tone over his shoulder as he placed the
rabbit he’d caught onto a spit, and set if over the fire to
cook.

There was no response, but the
animal had paused its prowling. No more noise came from the
brush.

“I like to spend a few evenings
outdoors every couple of weeks. Of course, I do it the ‘human
way.’” He flicked a glance towards the brush. “We don’t want them
becoming suspicious now, do we?”

Again nothing. He tried a different
tactic.

“You’ve been in my territory a week
now. I don’t mind, as long as you keep behaving yourself. Feel free
to join me if you want—I’ve made plenty.” He turned the rabbit on
the spit and then stirred the tin of beans. “Or go back to the den
you’ve found. It makes no difference to me.”

Minutes ticked by and then a wolf
appeared near the edge of the circle of light cast by the fire.
Black as the ace of spades, with silvery eyes rimmed with blue. It
was big and powerful but too thin, its dull uneven coat giving
evidence of a prolonged period of poor nutrition. The rogue was
definitely teetering on the edge, lack of personal care often
indicating the beginning of a downward slide.

It stood before him, head up, eyes
level, not challenging but not cowering either. The beast was
letting him know they were meeting as equals, nothing less.