Hunted (Riley Cray) (26 page)

I’m such a humongous ass.

“Thanks, buddy,” I said, giving Loki another scratch behind his ears before venturing outside.

“How’d you sleep?” Holbrook asked without looking up, his voice thick and rough. I couldn’t be sure but I didn’t think the thickness was just from lingering drowsiness.

“Like the dead,” I replied.

Without saying a word he scooted over on the deck chair and lifted up the edge of the blanket, revealing a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt and plaid flannel pajama pants. Moving as fast as my aching legs would allow, I slipped under the blanket at his silent invitation, curling up against his side. Tiny jolts of electricity ran up and down my body where we were pressed against each other, the tickling sensation growing as familiar to me as the sugary scent of him.

Despite the warmth of Holbrook’s body against mine, there was something distant in his manner, a stiffness in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before. I could only assume he was waging an internal war over what to do about Johnson. As much as I still hurt, I figured that what he was feeling was a hundred times worse. I knew what it was like to be betrayed by someone you trusted; after all, I had thought I was in love with Samson when he had torn my life apart. But I hadn’t worked alongside Samson for years the way Holbrook and Johnson had, I hadn’t trusted him with my life every day.

Swinging a leg over him, ignoring the stab of pain that shot through my middle at the movement, I straddled his hips. I paused at the sight of the Glock in its holster sitting next to his coffee cup on the small side table beside the chair, and then set my cup down beside it.

“I won’t let anything else happen to you, Riley,” he rumbled as if in response to the furrow in my brow, one hand grasping the hair at the back of my skull as he pulled my lips down to his. That was when I felt it, the blistering fury that seethed just beneath his calm exterior, causing his fingers to tremble where they flexed on the bare skin of my hip. He needed the willingness of my body as much as I needed to feel the strength of his.

Cradling his face in my hands, I lengthened the kiss, turning the hungry need of his lips into a slow exploration. He fought it at first, his teeth grating along the swell of my lower lip, but I ignored his insistent pull. Running my fingers through his thick hair, I rocked against him in a slow undulating movement, letting him know how much I wanted him, but that I wouldn’t rush the moment. Soon enough he gentled, letting me show him where and how I liked to be touched, how I liked to feel his teeth against my throat while his fingers danced between my thighs.

The minutes stretched out between us, peppered with gasping sighs and desperately questing fingers until I was fit to burst with the need to have him inside me.

“I need you now,” he growled, pulling at the elastic of my underwear.

“I know,” I whispered, sinking down into him.

* * *

We stretched out together beneath the blanket, my ear pressed against his chest listening to the steady thump of his heart, until the post-orgasmic rush of endorphins began to ebb and my body let me know that it had taken quite enough abuse from me in the last few hours. Cursing and swaying like a drunken sailor, I disentangled my limbs from Holbrook’s, pulling the blanket with me, wrapping it around my shoulders like a shawl.

“I’m starving. Come make me breakfast,” I commanded, sidestepping out of his reach when he made to pull me back down into his lap.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a chuckle, pushing himself up from the chair with far more grace than I had. Passing our now cold mugs to me he collected his holstered weapon and led the way back into the house.

After refilling our mugs I lounged against the counter and watched him gathering eggs, bacon, and thick sliced bread, admiring the way his shirt draped over muscled shoulders and the “just fucked” state of his hair. I was sure that mine, on the other hand, looked like I’d spent the night sleeping in a ditch.

Chugging half of my coffee fast enough to give myself a wicked case of heartburn, I found my body buzzing with energy and the need to move even as my collection of aches and pains begged me not to. Maybe it was a side effect of trying to burn off the Wolfsbane, or the lingering endorphins inspired by Holbrook’s knowledgeable hands and lips. All I knew was that I needed to move.

Taking Holbrook’s preoccupation as an opportunity to do some exploring, I set aside my coffee and meandered down into the living room. I hadn’t seen much of the house the night before, what with my drug-induced haze and all, and figured I might as well do a little nosing around.

Wan winter sunlight filtered in through the large picture window in the living room, filling the room with cold light that drained all the color from the room. Still, it couldn’t erase the warmth of Holbrook’s personality that was as much a part of the room as its walls.

There wasn’t an overabundance of furniture, his design aesthetic leaning towards bachelor minimalism, but it still managed to feel homey and comfortable. In addition to the recliner that Loki had obviously claimed as his new perch, the furnishings were limited to a dark leather couch that sat facing a brick-faced fireplace that I was betting saw a hell of a lot less use than the enormous flat screen TV mounted on the wall above it, a low coffee table, a saddle draped over a wooden frame, and a large fish tank.

Ambling over to the fish tank I bent over to look inside. Like most people, I’ve always found watching fish to be relaxing. Peering into the tank I didn’t see anything except sand and rock at first, all of it awash in bright bluish light. I was about to ask Holbrook if he’d invested in stealth fish, or just liked to keep an empty tank, when one of the strangest looking creatures I’d ever seen floated up from behind a rock formation.

“Whoa!” There was nothing even remotely relaxing about that thing.

With a large rounded body and a pair of tiny yellow fins that looked far too small to propel itself through the water it looked like a deranged science experiment gone awry. Dark bulbous eyes stared at me from a face tipped with a long, dog-like snout that ended with an almost comically small mouth. I say almost, because the hard line of teeth in that tiny mouth looked as though they could easily remove a finger.

“This is one seriously weird looking fish you’ve got,” I called over my shoulder, tapping my finger on the glass.

“Oh, that’s Steve. He’s a Dog Faced Puffer,” Holbrook replied.

“Steve?” I said soundlessly, raising an eyebrow at the peculiar looking critter who gazed back at me with large, dark eyes. I have to admit, tough werewolf badass that I am, it kind of creeped me out.

Deciding I’d had enough of Holbrook’s creepy-ass fish, I turned my attention to the saddle in the corner of the room. It was a thing of beauty, all glossy tan leather that looked like it had been hand-tooled and well used.

“Do you ride?” I asked, fingering the time worn leather on the pommel, breathing in the rich scent that was a mixture of horse sweat, leather conditioner and the ever pervasive scent that was simply Holbrook.

As my fingers caressed the finely carved details on the skirt my mind raced with the mental image of him sitting on it, the leather snugged up against the curve of his ass, the sculpted muscles of his thighs gripping the powerful beast beneath him the way mine had gripped him. Warmth washed through me, coloring my cheeks and making a thin finger of sweat trickle down my spine. Sure, I hadn’t been getting any action on a regular basis until Holbrook swept into my life a few days ago, but my hormones were running even wilder than normal. What was it about this man that turned my hormones up to eleven?

Has it really been that long since I got close to someone?
I thought, and then realized that I couldn’t remember the last time I had shared something with someone besides a quick romp that left me feeling dirty. Holbrook had been the first man in a long time that I’d been attracted to for more than just his cute ass.
Though his ass is
damn
fine.

“Not too often since I joined the agency, but I rode a lot as a kid. I grew up on a ranch so I think I knew how to ride horse before I learned how to ride a bike,” he replied from the kitchen, oblivious to the thoughts running rampant in my mind. “How about you? Do you ride?”

“What? Oh...no, I’ve never really been comfortable around horses. They always seemed so big,” I answered, shaking off my lonely thoughts, deciding that they deserved closer examination at a later date. I knew I’d become a bit of an introvert but I was getting the sense that at some point I’d switched over into being a recluse territory.

At least I haven’t started hoarding cats. Yet.

Horses had always intimidated me when I was growing up, their massive size and unknown strength terrifying to a kid that was on the small side. There had been plenty of kids in the area whose families had horses, and I’d been invited several times to go riding, but the powerful animals had scared me in a truly visceral way, so I’d always come up with some lame excuse about why I couldn’t go. Eventually they’d stopped asking. I guess even then I’d had trouble being around people.

“Seems kinda silly now, seeing as I could probably take one down in a matter of seconds,” I added, the words slipping from my mouth without a thought.

It was the uncomfortable silence that followed that clued me in to the fact that I’d said something wrong. Looking up from where my fingers were stroking the saddle I found Holbrook staring at me from his spot beside the stove, his eyes wide while his mouth hung open in surprise. A spatula was hanging limp and forgotten in his hand as if he’d been frozen. Running back over my words in my mind I blushed again, this time in mortification.

“Fuck!” I hissed under my breath. “Sorry, sometimes I don’t think about the crap that comes out of my mouth. My Nana always said I had a chronic case of verbal diarrhea.”

“It’s alright, just um...caught me off guard, you know?” he tried to reassure me, but I glimpsed the shadow of discomfort in his eyes before he turned his gaze back to the eggs in the pan.

Well done, jackass
, I scolded myself, grimacing at the expression on his face.
This is why you can’t have nice things.

“I’m...ah...gonna go take a shower,” I said as I beat a hasty retreat to his bedroom, wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers and hide away until the whole mess had blown over. I figured that shouldn’t take more than a decade or two.

“You’re not hungry?” he called after me. Was that a hint of relief coloring his voice?

“Not really. I’ll grab something later,” I replied, unable to turn around and face him, afraid that I’d see disgust on his face again, or worse yet, that he’d see the hurt on mine.

Darting into the bedroom I shut the door behind me, and sagged back against the wood. Fighting the ache of frustration blooming in my chest, I felt like such an idiot for saying something so stupid, but even more for believing that something might finally be going my way.

I should have known it would only be a matter of time before I said something stupid.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I growled through gritted teeth, refusing to give in to tears again. I was tired of feeling weak and victimized, the lingering pain from Johnson’s attack fueling the anger burning hot in my gut.

“Fuck tears, I’m tired of being afraid.” I curled my hands into tight fists at my sides until my nails bit into the flesh of my palms. Focusing on the pain, I locked away my fear. I could fall apart once it was all over.

With anger fueling my movements I stripped off my t-shirt and panties in stiff, jerking motions. Removing the bandages Alyssa had trussed me up in took a little more time, and a lot more grimacing and cursing. Finally naked, I stalked into the adjoining bathroom, vowing to wash away the last of my fear. I wasn’t going to let anyone make me feel helpless again.

I
’m a werewolf, dammit, and the world had better watch out. This bitch bites.

* * *

I stayed in the shower until I’d scrubbed my skin red and I was beginning to resemble a giant prune. The drugs Alyssa had supplied me with had taken the edge off the pain, but it was going to be a while before I was anywhere close to being back to normal. With the wolf’s healing abilities suppressed it would be some time before the cuts and scrapes on my hands and knees began to fade to fine pink scars that would eventually disappear, and even longer for my more severe injuries to heal. I didn’t relish the thought of the days of pain that were ahead of me.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror I studied the woman in the glass through the haze of steam, seeing a steeliness in my reflection that hadn’t been there just days before. The collection of black and purple bruises littering my body were a testament to the beating Johnson had given me, while the livid bruise and swelling on my cheek made me look like a battered housewife. Fingering the dark splotch across my ribs, and the bright blue stitches running the length of the slash in my side, I clenched my teeth against the pain. I’m no glutton for pain, I find it as unpleasant as the next girl, but in that moment, as I stared at my reflection, I reveled in the buzz of pain rushing through my veins, bolstering my spirits and giving my anger new purpose.

Wrinkling my nose in disgust at the variety of smells wafting up from the stained denim I pulled on my jeans from the night before sans panties, wishing I had my things from the hotel.