Howling Mad: A paranormal wolf shifter romance (Badlands Book 2) (3 page)

Chapter Five

Dinner was candy bars and lukewarm soda. They couldn’t risk leaving the motel – not everyone would be as clueless as the kid at the front desk.

“We should turn on the television,” Naomi suggested. “Did you see when we checked in? It looked like the news was showing something about the breakout.”

Byron walked across and turned on the ancient set, flicking through channels until he got to a news program. The picture was fuzzy with static, but as he came back to sit beside Naomi on the bed, they could make out what was happening clearly enough.

Her father was holding a press conference of some kind in the family room at the Dynamic Earth Rehabilitation Center. He looked grave and well-groomed but approachable – her father was the kind of man everybody liked, and although he’d seemed stressed out recently, he hid it well. She doubted anyone else had noticed he was anything other than his usual smooth, optimistic self.

Standing to his side and slightly behind him was the corporation’s head of research, Professor Stanhope. With sparse, wispy hair combed over his bald spot, he looked fidgety and upset, and Naomi was surprised he wasn’t sucking on his inhaler, as he tended to when under stress. He was an incredibly brilliant man, but highly strung.

When she was little he’d taught her about all sorts of exciting things – the constellations, kid-stuff chemistry experiments with vinegar and baking soda and food coloring…one of his favorite topics was dinosaurs. He’d called them the ultimate predators. He’d told her all the different names and described how they’d been wiped out in a fiery impact that had cast the planet into choking night…but always with a serious air and the occasional nervous cough, as if he was happy enough with the science but could take or leave the human interaction.

He’d never been comfortable around kids. Or, come to think of it, people in general. She was fond of him, but he’d always seemed a strange choice of friend and second-in-command for her charming, energetic, people-person father.

Byron snorted contemptuously. “I see they’ve wheeled out some of the more photogenic inmates,” he said, his tone laced with vitriol.

Naomi was startled by the venom in his voice. “What do you mean?”

He pointed to the screen, at the scene behind the two men. “Magnus. Big, crazy bear turned into a pussycat by the Zoo’s loving care. That chameleon kid who plays hide-and-seek with the wardens – he’s not exactly Hannibal Lecter. That girl who sees the future. They’re the acceptable face of what happens at the ‘rehabilitation center’.” The sarcasm quotes sliced nearly into place, cutting deep.

Naomi saw that he was right – Magnus, Jimmy and Cassandra were seated in the family room. Cassandra was completing a jigsaw puzzle with a female nurse dressed in a little cap and a crisply pressed white linen tunic. Naomi hadn’t seen the nurse before, but then the staff were probably still scrambling to get things back to normal. Magnus handed Cassandra a piece and she slotted it into the puzzle. Jimmy was obviously on his best behavior, but even so one of his hands had a newsprint pattern where it rested on an open magazine on the table, and one side of his hair was pale green, fading into the wallpaper behind him.

Before Naomi could respond, the newscaster handed over the floor to her father, who cleared his throat and looked gravely into the camera.

“As you’ve heard, a malfunction in the security system here at the Dynamic Earth Rehabilitation Center occurred at approximately three o’ clock this afternoon. I would like to reassure the public that our systems have been thoroughly inspected by teams of experts, and we can guarantee it is absolutely impossible for such an event to happen again.”

Her father had a smooth, assured voice that seemed to promise that everything would be okay. She relaxed a little.

He continued. “I am pleased to be able to say that our security staff acted with the utmost professionalism and efficiency, and the breakout was quickly contained. None of the staff or patients of the facility were seriously injured.”

She turned to flash a quick smile of relief at Byron. Nobody had been hurt. She was sure there had been some property damage, but property could be replaced. She was sure this whole nightmare could be sorted out if only he'd turn himself in. Her father wasn't a monster. But he didn’t smile back. He was regarding the screen with a steady, unsmiling gaze. A little muscle ticked in his jaw and he held up a hand as though telling her to wait and see.

“Unfortunately,” —Dr. Atkins’ tone became grave and the camera zoomed in closer on his face— “there was an escape from our high-security wing.”

A photograph of Byron flashed onto the screen. In it, his hair was uncombed and there was a three-day scruff on his jaw. The intensity of the flash had washed out his features, and he looked pale and angry and dangerous.

“Members of the public are urged not to approach this man, but to call the number at the bottom of the screen to speak to Dynamic Earth’s security line. He is a feral shifter and a dangerous criminal who has been responsible for several violent incidents during his time in the rehabilitation center.” He hesitated. “He is one of our rare failures.”

Naomi glanced at Byron again. It was true that he’d never responded to any of the therapeutic approaches the center had in place, but she didn’t recall him being responsible for any violent incidents. Perhaps she just hadn’t heard about them. She reminded herself that there was a reason Byron had been locked up, and she shouldn’t allow herself to forget it. Jim and Pete had always treated him with the utmost caution when moving him into and out of his cell. She shifted away from him a little way on the bed, then cast him a guilty glance.

He gave a brief, humourless laugh. “Just when you’d almost started to think of me as a real person, too.”

That wasn’t fair. “You
did
kidnap me,” she protested. “It’s not as though—”

“Just wait,” he interrupted.

On the screen, Naomi’s father looked down for a moment, as if struggling with what he had to say next. Then he squared his shoulders and looked directly into the camera, his eyes sad and sincere.

“To my great personal distress, it has been determined that this man could not have made his escape unaided. Our experts inform me that the malfunction of the security system was due to sabotage – sabotage that could only have been accomplished by someone on the inside. A trusted member of the Dynamic Earth family.”

Naomi jumped, surprised, when Byron’s large hand covered hers with a warm, reassuring pressure. Without thinking, she turned her hand so she could lace her fingers with his.

“All the evidence points to the inescapable conclusion that my daughter, Naomi Atkins, was complicit in the riot and subsequent escape.”

Shock washed down Naomi’s spine like ice-cold water.

Another picture flashed onto the screen, this one of Naomi. It was a candid shot, taken when she was frowning over a painting. Cropped and out of context, on an old television with bad color, it made her look sallow and unpleasant.

Was there the slightest wobble to her father’s voice as he closed the press conference? “Members of the public are urged not to approach these two fugitives, as they should be considered armed and dangerous. Dynamic Earth will be doing everything in its power to facilitate their capture. Thank you.”

Chapter Six

Naomi stared wide-eyed at the television screen. It made no sense. Why would her father believe that? She’d never given him any reason to think she might betray him or the rehabilitation center. Never.

Maybe they hadn’t been close the way some fathers and daughters were – he was a businessman and a noted philanthropist, funding scholarships for gifted youth and vaccination programs for the poor. That had meant a lot of time spent away from home when she was a child, years before his various projects had come together under the Dynamic Earth umbrella. But he’d always doted on her. Always told her how proud he was of her.

Who had told him she was involved with the security breach and Byron’s escape? Who would want to hurt her like that? And why would he believe them? What could they possibly have said or done to convince him?

She turned to Byron, bewildered, shaking her head from side to side, at a loss for words. She didn’t even realize tears were pooling in her eyes until they spilled down her cheeks and a shocked sob escaped her.

“Oh…” The tight look of anger on his face faded at once, to be replaced by an expression of subtle panic. “No…don’t cry. Come on.”

He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her, rocking her awkwardly. She leaned against his bare chest, breathing in the scent of leather.

“Please don’t cry.” He sounded so uncomfortable with her tears. He was a rough, tough bad boy who’d broken out of a high-security prison—lock him in a room with a weeping woman and he didn’t have the first clue what to do. He couldn’t punch the problem, so he was out of ideas. The thought startled a laugh out of her. She knew she was being unfair. Byron was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stupid.

He pulled back a little and crooked his finger under her chin, lifting her face so she was looking up at him. She knew her eyes were puffy and the tip of her nose was red, but she didn’t care.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It was just such a shock. He can’t really believe that, can he?”

Byron hesitated. “Someone’s lying,” he said. “But you and I know the truth.”

* * * * *

Byron hadn’t known what to do when Naomi had started to cry. He’d faced down street thugs and biker gangs, and on one occasion taken down a pair of crazy bears who’d jumped him in an alleyway. He hadn’t flinched when other animals at the Zoo had wanted to play dominance games, just dealt with anyone who wanted to take his reputation for being the biggest and baddest.

But the trembling woman in his arms was a different kind of problem. The pinkness around her huge dark eyes made his heart hurt, and he wanted to tear the heads off the people who’d made her feel this way.

Not that he’d have turned down an opportunity to tear off Atkins’ head on any given day, but he could hardly express his anger against the man here and now. He was Naomi’s father, and she loved him – that was why his words had hurt her so badly.

He needed to distract her – and he knew just how to do it.

He stripped off his leather jacket and slung it over the headboard, then sorted through the packs and bottles he’d liberated from the drugstore.

“You’re an artist,” he said to her. “How do you feel about giving me a makeover? You need a different look too. Now our faces have been on the news, we’ve got to change our appearances.”

Naomi picked up a box of hair dye. “Bombshell Blonde,” she said. A faint smile twitched the corner of her lips. “That sounds like your color.”

He grinned. “Don’t make me too sexy. We don’t want all the ladies fainting at my feet.”

She slapped him gently on the arm. Her voice still sounded snuffly, but she was smiling. “If you want to be inconspicuous, stop that. The people who’re after us could spot your ego from outer space.”

Her smile faltered a bit at the thought of the people who’d be pursuing them – the people her father had sent after them. But she picked up a pair of scissors and said, “First things first – you need a haircut.”

She shuffled closer and kneeled on the bed, close to him. She leaned towards him and ran her fingers through a section of hair near his face, detangling it and smoothing it.

Byron held his breath. It was torture to have her so close. Her scent was tempting, intoxicating, making him feel drunk on her. Her fingers were cool and clever, and he could feel the heat radiating from her body. He realized his breath was a little bit jerky and uneven, his pulse thick and drugged in his veins. He couldn’t keep his eyes from the soft, beckoning curve of her lips.

She twisted the strand of hair between her fingers and said, “It seems such a shame to cut it. It’s so beautiful…”

He raised his eyes to hers, and their gazes locked. Her eyes were huge and dark and dreamy, and he couldn’t help himself. He just couldn’t. He leaned forward and kissed her.

* * * * *

His mouth on hers was electric and thrilling. When her lips parted against his, he kissed her hard, pulling her against his body. He hauled her onto his lap so she was straddling his hips, and ran his hands up her spine, knotting his fingers in her hair and yanking back her head so he could trail hungry kisses down her throat and over her collar bone.

She moaned, overcome with sensation. She was aware of the dampness of her panties and the thick, rigid length of his cock pressing against her center through their layers of clothing. She couldn’t think, could hardly breathe, just knew she wanted more of him.

It was madness, but it was a madness that carried her along with it. She clutched at his broad shoulders, clinging to him, and he turned and rode her down onto the bed, pressing himself between her parted thighs. His body was a hot, insistent weight on top of her. When he flexed his hips against her aching core, she wrapped her legs around him, urging him closer.

Naomi pushed him away for a moment so she could yank off her T-shirt and bra, and he took advantage at once, filling his hands with the creamy swells of her breasts and lowering his mouth to her nipple where it peeked between his fingers. He teased the rosy nub with his tongue, then briefly suckled it before trailing kisses down her breastbone and over the swell of her stomach.

He fumbled impatiently with the button of her jeans, then yanked them down over her hips, dragging her panties with them and leaving her wantonly exposed. She squirmed beneath his gaze, then gasped when he hooked her thigh over his shoulder and French-kissed her wet pussy. His tongue was quick and clever as he parted her folds and flicked her clitoris, drawing the threads of desire tighter and tighter in her belly until she stuttered his name. Her hands fluttered to the back of his head and rested there as he swirled and lapped and suckled. With every touch, the ache between her thighs coiled tighter until she thought she’d snap or shatter or die.

When he pushed two fingers inside her, it felt so good she couldn’t think. He worked them in and out of her slickness, pushing deep and then drawing back, tormenting her again and again. She tangled her fingers in his hair as her pussy clenched against his mouth, moaning helplessly as she came.

She was racked with tremors as Byron moved up her body, lingering for a few moments to slide his hands over her breasts and taste her erect nipple with closed eyes, lashes downswept over his cheeks. Her lips were parted as she fought for breath and every nerve was still singing as he nestled between her open thighs. He wrapped his hand around his thick erection, rubbing firmly against her and using her sticky juices to lubricate his length.

She gripped his hips, urging him inside her, and he obliged, pushing into her with a steady, confident pressure. She groaned – a hoarse, wild sound she barely recognized as her own voice – and with an answering growl he started to thrust in and out of her tight, wet heat.

She clutched his muscular ass, digging her fingers into his glutes as they flexed with each smooth, hard thrust of his hips. The muscles in his arms bunched and relaxed as he held himself above her, working himself in and out of her body until she was gasping on the edge of orgasm.

His breathing was labored, his skin sheened with sweat as he held back his own pleasure, beautiful face set in hard lines of concentration and restraint. And then, as she tumbled into a rolling climax that built in waves of overlapping bliss, he lost control. He thrust helplessly as he came, groaning against her sweat-slick skin as he pulsed inside her.