Last Wolf Standing (7 page)

Mason made some low, noncommittal sound deep in his throat, sounding unconvinced as he ran his big, warm hands over her body. Torrance tried to control her shiver and failed, while his delicious scent, like something wicked and sinful that she could almost taste on her tongue, filled her head, crowding out the raw smells of meat and blood and fear.

There was something wrong here, she knew, but she mentally shoved the irritating thought away, her body finding too much enjoyment being in his arms. If she thought too hard about things, she would have to move…and that just wouldn’t do.

“There’s no such thing as privacy anymore, man.” Through her barely parted lashes, Torrance watched Jeremy plant his hands on his hips and glare at Mason. “Who knows what he used. At this point, it doesn’t really matter, Mase. We’ve got a much bigger problem on our hands. It’s daylight outside,” the blond muttered, gesturing at the pale light beyond the broken window. “He fully changed without night. You know what this means?”

“It means this isn’t your run-of-the-mill Bloodrun,” Mason grunted, still checking her for injuries. A hot, rough palm traveled up her side, feeling her ribs, coming deliciously close to the outer curve of one breast. If it didn’t still hurt to breathe, she’d have shifted, just a bit, and gotten that strong hand where she wanted it.

“Yeah, among other things,” his friend bit out. “It means there’s something a hell of a lot bigger than meat lust going on here, partner. No way in hell should someone Simmons’s age be able to dayshift into his full form, even if he is as friggin’ pure-blood as they come. And why couldn’t we smell him out on the street? If we hadn’t heard her scream, we wouldn’t have even known he was here and he was practically sitting under our noses.”

“I don’t know what’s going on with his scent. I can smell him in here, but the musk is lighter than it should be and there’s something sharp mixed with it that’s burning my nose.” His hand paused as he turned his head to look toward the blond. “And I don’t care when he can change, or how goddamn powerful he is. When we finally get him, he’s going to pay for touching her.”

Jeremy remained silent for a moment, and then she heard, “Are you going to explain to her what we are?”

What we are? What did that…

In the next instant, forgotten images came rushing back as Torrance suddenly recalled the forgotten piece of the puzzle.

Before Mason could answer Jeremy’s question, Torrance scrambled off his lap, her movements awkward and uncoordinated as terror rushed through her, weakening her limbs.

“I already know what you are.” The hoarse words left her lips on a soft whoosh of air, barely more than a whisper—and the realization she’d been trying to push away came roaring back, blindsiding her with the force of a kick to the chest.

Mason watched her with a calm intensity as she scooted away on her hands and feet, crab-crawling until her back pressed up against a corner of the room. “Do you now?” he asked quietly, moving with the sleek power of a predator as he gained his feet.

“How did you find me?” She could hear the panic grabbing at her throat, making her voice sound hollow and husky. “What are you doing here?”

At the sound of her fear, his expression closed, like a veil being pulled over a window, filtering out the light. “I doubt you’re going to believe me, but I followed you to keep you safe. I was watching the building when I heard you scream.”

“I saw claws,” Torrance said shakily, pulling her gaze away from him to cast a quick look around the room, unable to believe the destruction. Her once cozy, comfortable bedroom now resembled a slaughterhouse—her white bedding a gory sea of red, a blood-spattered closet door hanging at an odd angle…like a broken limb, window and blinds broken where the monster had made his escape. “You’re a goddamn werewolf, aren’t you? Just like him!”

His head tilted a fraction as he studied her, dark eyes impossible to read. “Not exactly like him.”

“But those were your claws that I saw, right?” she all but shouted, fisting her blood-covered hands at her sides. “When you were fighting off…whatever his name was.”

“Simmons. His name is Anthony Simmons. And they could have been either mine or Jeremy’s.” His broad shoulders lifted in a casual shrug, as if they were discussing nothing more controversial than the weather, when her entire world had just been turned on its head. “That’s about all of the change we can manage when it’s still daylight. Not even Simmons is meant to be able to fully shift like that during the day.”

“They were yours,” she stated flatly, remembering the gray flannel shirt. All but shaking apart inside, she sneered, “You guys normally only change at night? Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Dark heat flared in the rich brown of his eyes as they narrowed, pinning her in place. “I’m not interested in making you feel better. I’m interested in keeping you alive.”

A sharp sound of disbelief jerked from her throat. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”

“You would, if you’d just calm down for a moment and listen to what your gut is telling you. I’m not the bad guy here. I’m the only thing that can keep you safe.”

“Keep me safe by scaring me to death?” she returned, her voice trembling. “I don’t think so.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you earlier, and it isn’t my intention to scare you now, Torrance.” He sighed. “I just had to make sure you were going to be okay.”

With a little start of surprise, she realized what he’d just said. “How did you learn my name?”

Reaching into the pocket on the front of his flannel shirt, Mason pulled out the pay stub she’d been using as a bookmark, holding it up between his first and second fingers.

Torrance looked from the slip of paper to his face.

“It fell out of your book when you pulled away from me at the café.” He watched her for a moment, then quietly said, “You felt it, too, didn’t you?”

Torrance shook her head, but she couldn’t deny that there was a strange truth to his roughly spoken words. Her gut was telling her…something—but she refused to listen.

Mason stepped forward, his expression turning fierce when he saw her flinch. “Damn it, don’t do this. I know you feel it, Torrance. Don’t goddamn lie about it.”

“You’re wrong,” she whispered, even though she knew the look in her eyes betrayed her, revealing the intense, almost painful longing that she couldn’t hide…couldn’t explain or rationalize, considering she was terrified of him. “I’m sorry. Believe me, you have no idea how sorry—but I…I just can’t do this.”

His head fell forward and he seemed to be staring hard at the floor, lost in thought. Several tense moments passed, and when he looked back toward her, he kept his voice gentle, saying, “Everyone’s afraid of werewolves, honey. At first.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Her voice shook, despite her efforts to sound strong. “I’m not just afraid. I’m terrified. I’ve…ever since I was a little girl…nightmares…always. I’m…I can’t…I can’t do this.”

Mason took another step closer to her, stopping when he saw the way her body tensed. “You can’t go off on your own again,” he said quietly, his tone urgent. “He’s not going to stop until he’s got you.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Torrance, please listen to me. There’s something going on here…a connection between us that’s too damn complicated to explain right now. But if Simmons so much as suspects it, he won’t give up. He’ll keep coming after you.”

She blinked, trying hard not to cry. “Why me?”

He stared at her, his gaze moving softly over her face, before settling back on her eyes. She felt as if he could see straight into her—as if he could get into her head and witness firsthand the chaos going on inside. “Because he’ll use you to get to me.”

Pulling her knees into her chest, she flicked her gaze between him and Jeremy. “And what the hell does he want with you?”

“It’s because of who I am. Because of what I am,” he explained gruffly, hunching down in front of her, his arm resting on his bent knee. “My job is to hunt down and kill Lycans like Simmons. Rogue werewolves. That’s what we do. It’s called Bloodrunning, and Jeremy is my partner.”

“What do you mean rogue werewolves?” she asked, inching farther away from him. He shot a questioning look toward Jeremy, and she could tell from his harsh expression that he didn’t want to explain. “Damn it, you got me into this! I deserve to know what’s happening.”

“Rogues are wolves who have gone over,” he told her, breathing out a rough sigh.

Her stomach flipped, making her queasy. “What do mean ‘gone over’?”

“They give in to their darker hungers and hunt humans, using them as food. Once they start, the power…the rush they feel from the kill and the feeding is addictive. They have no conscience and they have no fear. Now that Simmons has set his sights on you, he won’t stop until he’s got you. That’s why we need to get you somewhere safe before he comes back. Next time he attacks, you can bet he won’t be alone.”

Torrance shook her head, a panicked, hysterical laugh bubbling up from her chest. “Somewhere safe? You’ve got to be joking!”

Mason stood and ran both hands back through his hair, then shoved them deep in his jeans’ pockets. Locking his jaw, he said, “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“No, but then you don’t look like a…a—”

“Monster?” he supplied helpfully, arching one dark brow at her. Though he tried to cover it, Torrance could see the quick flash of pain that cut through his warm gaze—almost as if she’d somehow hurt him. Leaning against the door frame, Jeremy muttered something foul under his breath, and she felt her cheeks go warm with an uncomfortable wave of shame.

“That’s not what I was going to say,” she lied, hating the emotional knot in her stomach. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Why not?” Mason asked, pinning her with a hard, intense stare. “Your thoughts are written plain on your face, Tor. I’ve never met anyone before who was so easy to read.”

She lifted her chin, hating that he could see into her so easily. “You don’t know me.”

He snorted. “Yeah, and you don’t know me. But that isn’t stopping you from being judgmental as hell.”

He was twisting her words around, confusing her, and it was too hard to think when she was still so terrified. And yet there was something strangely…comforting about the arrogant giant. Again, that odd sense of rightness overtook her, and Torrance struggled to throw off its deceptive allure.

What the hell was wrong with her? Had she lost her mind?

“I need…I think I’m going to be sick,” she muttered, pressing her blood-covered hands to her stomach as she surged to her unsteady feet and took off running in the direction of the bathroom. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mason move toward her, but Jeremy reached out and grabbed his arm, holding him back.

“Just give her some time, man. She’s been through hell.”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever,” he grunted, shrugging his arm free of Jeremy’s grasp.

Torrance slammed the flimsy bathroom door behind her, flipped the lock…and knew what she had to do.

Chapter 4

F unny, how hard it was to shake off the demons of your past; especially when you’d just discovered they were real. Evening had fallen, the shop had been closed early, and the Doucets had taken Torrance home with them, providing a safe haven in a world that had suddenly become her worst nightmare. Now she sat in their living room, perched on the edge of a love seat, recounting a story that sounded fantastical to her own ears…and she’d just survived it!

God, she could only imagine what they must be thinking.

Without looking at Michaela and Max, who sat across from her on a matching love seat, Torrance stared at the delicate cup of green tea in her hands and finished her explanations. “So I left the water running in the bathroom to cover the sound of the window opening, slipped out into the alley and ran like hell to get back to the shop.”

It had taken every ounce of courage Torrance possessed to climb out of that window. She’d had no idea if Simmons would be waiting for her, but knew she couldn’t stay and allow herself to be dragged off to God only knew where with the men who’d chased him off. She’d briefly considered calling the cops as she’d taken the back way to Michaela’s Muse, cutting through a maze of alleys and side streets, but quickly decided against it. What would she have told them? That she’d been attacked by a werewolf and then saved by two others? Right. She knew customers from Mic’s who claimed to have been bitten by vampires and terrorized by Lycanthropes, but she’d never believed them and neither had the authorities. It embarrassed her now to think of how she’d viewed them with equal parts pity and caution, thinking they’d lost their grip on reality.

Now you’re one of them, Watson. Welcome to the club.

Stealing a quick look up through her lashes, she saw that both Michaela and Max watched her with expressions that seemed tight with worry, and yet soft with understanding. She took another shaky breath, thankful they hadn’t tossed her out on her ear for being off her rocker. Torrance knew their beliefs differed from those of most people—but she still hadn’t been sure how they’d take her bizarre accounting of the past few hours.

“I know it sounds impossible,” she whispered, “but it’s true. Believe me, I wish it wasn’t, but it is. Every crazy, psychotic-sounding word.”

Michaela leaned forward, her slender hands clasped together atop her skirt-covered knees. “You did the right thing coming to us, chère. And there’s no such thing as the impossible. You should know that by now.”