Last Wolf Standing (8 page)

A shaky wave of relief surged through Torrance, piercing and sweet. “You believe me?”

Sitting beside his sister, Max gave her a reassuring nod that sent a lock of his dark hair falling over his brow, his caring blue gaze urging her to relax. “Of course we do, Torry. You’re like family to us. And family sticks together, no matter what.”

“But…werewolves? It’s like something out of one of those horrible movies.” Movies that had scared the pants off her when she was little—lingering images and remembered flashes of sound that still had the power to affect her to this day. Had she sensed, subconsciously, the truth behind the Hollywood theatrics? Had she known, deep down, that the monsters really were hiding in the shadows?

Beyond the windows and walls of the house, the bitter autumn wind howled with fury, setting her on edge, to the point she feared she would crack. She clenched her teeth together to keep them from chattering, hoping she could hold it together for just a little bit longer.

“Torry,” Mic said gently, cutting into her unsettling thoughts. “You know about our life…about where we come from. The bayou is riddled with tales about vampires and werewolves, ghosts and cat people.” Michaela’s rouged mouth curved in a wry smile. “The way we were raised, there isn’t much Max and I don’t believe in. Sometimes you just have to open your mind to the possibilities of things you can’t explain.”

Setting her rattling cup on the small table in front of her, Torrance ran her damp palms over her jeans. “I wish it was that easy. And most of those things I could handle. You know that. Anything but werewolves.” Wrapping her arms around her middle, she rocked back and forth, shivering despite the warm air filtering into the cozy room from overhead vents. “God, I’ll never be able to just live a normal life after this.”

“You’re not alone, Torry. Max and I aren’t going to abandon you.”

An ornate grandfather clock began chiming in the far corner of the room, signaling the hour. Realizing the time, Torrance cast a questioning glance at Max. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work right now?”

He shook his head, a small grin playing at the corner of his mouth. “Naw. I’ve got the night off, remember? Good thing, too, because now I can keep an eye on things around here.”

“Oh, God,” Torrance groaned, shutting her eyes as a wrenching thought suddenly sliced its way through her brain, battering past her fear. What the hell had she been thinking? She couldn’t stay here! If Simmons could find her one time, he could find her again. She was putting both of her closest friends’ lives in danger by coming to them for help. Why hadn’t she realized that when she’d run to them?

Why? Because you weren’t thinking, you brainless, stupid, terrified little idiot!

“What? What’s wrong?” Mic asked.

Feeling sick inside, Torrance opened her eyes. “I just realized how stupid it was to come to you. I wasn’t thinking straight, and now I’ve put you both in danger. What if he tracks me here?”

“I’d like to see him try,” Max growled, making her blink in startled surprise. It seemed that just yesterday Max had been graduating from high school, but the boy sitting across from her had somehow grown up and become a man without her noticing. One who was tall and broad and lean with muscle. One who looked as if he could handle himself, and would relish the opportunity to get his hands on Simmons. Of course, Torrance wasn’t about to let it happen.

She knew she needed to leave, and told them so, but the Doucets weren’t having it.

“I don’t want to hear another word about it,” Michaela ordered, her chin set at that stubborn angle that meant she’d made up her mind and was done listening to arguments. She stood and took the empty teacups into the kitchen, then came back a moment later with a glass of water and two small blue pills on a napkin. “You’re staying right here. Now come on and let’s get you set up in the guest room. You look like you’re about to keel over from exhaustion.”

After ten minutes of arguing, and another ten minutes of getting settled in, Torrance found herself standing under a hot, steady stream of water in the guest bathroom. The air was heavy with steam while she let the soothing heat run over her body, washing away the grime of the day, if not the strain. But the sedatives Michaela had insisted she swallow were helping with that, easing the tension as a smooth warmth poured through her veins, relaxing her muscles. Leaning her head forward, the water spilling over her neck and shoulders, Torrance finally admitted to the other, more disturbing reason she had run from her apartment. The one she had refused to think about, until now.

She’d wanted to stay with him.

It seemed illogical, impossible, considering the sheer force of her terror, but the desire to go with Mason Dillinger had been frighteningly strong. The very depth of her extraordinary reaction to him had sent her running even more than the panic over what he was—and God only knew that she was terrified by the idea of what he could…become. She’d seen those lethal claws firsthand, and knew exactly what they were capable of.

You’re losing it, woman, she thought, lifting her face to the spray. Completely losing it.

There was no other explanation, because even knowing what he was…Torrance still wanted him.

Hidden within the murky black shadows of the night, Mason rested his back against the rough bark of a giant elm tree and took a deep breath of the crisp autumn air, searching for the scent of Simmons. His keen eyesight zeroed in on the picturesque house before him—the same house he’d been watching ever since Pallaton had called him with the address, after following Torrance from Michaela’s Muse. The quaint two-story sat at the end of a secluded, tree-lined street in an older, historic neighborhood of the city of Covington, surrounded by dense forest on three sides.

On the surface Mason remained cool and calm, focused on watching the house to ensure she stayed safe—but on the inside, he still burned with a cold, relentless fury.

He couldn’t believe she’d run out on him. Again.

When he discovered that she’d escaped through the bathroom window, they’d taken off after her on foot, until Pallaton had called him and said she’d shown up back at Michaela’s Muse. Shortly after that they left the shop, and the Runners had followed her here to her friend’s house. He and Jeremy had parked the Tahoe several blocks away, then cut across the woods, until coming up on the back of the house. Then they’d planted themselves just within the cover of the forest and settled in for a long, cold night. Around them the wind surged, brutal and raw, while heavy storm clouds all but blanketed the glow of the moon, lending an ominous atmosphere to accompany his already crappy mood.

“Man, she’s good,” Jeremy drawled, leaning his shoulder against a nearby tree. The blond whistled softly under his breath as they watched Torrance’s silhouette pass a second-story window in what was probably a guest bedroom. “There she is, all snuggly and warm in the house, while we’re out here freezing our asses off.”

“I still can’t believe she tried to ditch me,” Mason grunted, lighting a new cigarette and taking a long drag, welcoming the burn of the smoke in his lungs, its acrid scent filling his nose. Yeah, he was pissed at her for bailing, and even more pissed at himself for ignoring his instincts when he’d allowed her to go off to the bathroom by herself. But he’d been trying not to spook her, and it had turned around and bitten him on the ass. Hard.

“Forget ‘tried,’” Jeremy countered, his grin wry. “Her cute little backside definitely ditched you. Twice in one day. I gotta admit,” he confessed with a low chuckle, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans as a brittle breeze whipped through the trees, ruffling their hair, “that I’ve always wondered what kind of woman would knock you on your arrogant ass.”

“Yeah, well,” Mason muttered, staring at the window as if he could will her to reappear, “I’m glad I’ve been able to provide you with some worthy entertainment.”

“Hey, what are friends for?”

“Just remember that payback is going to be a bitch, and now the battle lines are drawn.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched Jeremy’s cocky smirk slip into a scowl. “Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m no longer going out of my way to help you avoid a certain little fair-haired witch.”

His partner cursed softly under his breath. “You’re such a bastard, Mase. I always knew you played dirty.”

“Just don’t forget it,” he warned, taking another long drag.

Jeremy bent his knees, propping his back against the neighboring elm. After a few moments of silence, he cocked one tawny brow in Mason’s direction. “So what’s our next move?”

“We wait to see if he shows.”

“It’s quiet as hell out here,” Jeremy murmured, resting his arms on his knees as he leaned his head back against the trunk. “Not even the crickets are chirping. If he gets close, we’ll know it, even if we can’t pick up his scent.”

Mason nodded, moving his gaze over the back of the house. “If he gets close, he’s gonna die.”

“You hear from Pallaton again?”

“I talked to him while you were running recon on the street. He and Reyes are combing over the warehouse district here in Covington, checking it out, but nothing’s turned up yet. Brody and Cian are still over in Delaine, working on that second murder.”

Jeremy lifted his head, his straight brows pulled together in a scowl. “They still trying to finger the rogue?”

“Yeah, and they’ve got nothing,” Mason muttered, running his hand over his jaw, wincing at the sound of his whiskers against his callused skin. He could’ve used a shower and a shave, but knew he wasn’t getting either. At least not anytime soon.

“Nothing they can trace?”

“Hell, there’s no trace of Lycan musk for them to even identify, but they mentioned a sharp odor like vinegar all over the place. They tried to track it at both sites, but it messed with their noses, which reminds me too much of what happened with Simmons today. Anyway, they’re heading back up to the Alley tomorrow, said they’ll bring us up to speed then.”

“Good,” Jeremy grunted. “Because the killings are too ritualistic to be your average rogue kill. I’m telling you, man, I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Within the past few weeks, two female bodies had been found in wooded areas, not far from the Silvercrest pack’s territory. Both of the human victims had been blond and blue-eyed, both were clearly Lycan kills, and both had suffered the macabre fate of having their hearts eaten out of their chests. So far the Runners had been able to keep the grisly killings contained, but Mason knew they needed to settle the matter quickly, not only to ensure there wasn’t another victim, but to keep the pack’s existence safe from discovery. It was a challenge they constantly faced as Bloodrunners—one that became harder each year.

And then there was the shocking discovery they’d made that afternoon, its potential consequences along the lines of earth-shattering. Simmons’s ability to dayshift was the kind of thing that could prove disastrous not only to the Runners, but the entire Lycan race.

He was making a mental checklist of people he needed to question, when Jeremy suddenly said, “You know, I meant to say something earlier, but everything just started happening and I never got the chance.”

Mason sent his partner a wary look. “What is it?”

Jeremy rolled one shoulder in a restless gesture. “I just wanted to make sure that you’re handling this okay.”

Oh, he knew exactly what Jeremy meant by this. Torrance. His mate.

Mason tossed the cigarette on the ground, his voice tight as he asked, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Come on, Mase,” Jeremy snorted, shaking his head. “I’m your partner. Your best friend, man.”

“You make it sound like we’re going steady,” Mason grunted, knowing where this was headed, and not wanting to go there.

“I’m just trying to say that…hell, I know how you’ve felt about this kind of stuff ever since Dean, and I know you never planned on it happening to you. Now that it has, I just wanted to make sure you were handling it okay.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he stated flatly.

“Are you sure?” Jeremy pressed, clearly unwilling to just let it go.

Blowing out a rough breath of frustration, he growled, “Jesus, Jeremy, what do you want from me?”

A lopsided smile played over Jeremy’s mouth, but his eyes burned with a directness that said he was seeing through Mason’s bluff. “The truth would be nice.”

The truth? Damn, Mason wasn’t even sure what the truth was anymore. All he knew was that he had to keep Torrance safe. After that, he could figure out what the knot in his gut was about. Figure out how to deal with it. Until then he’d keep waiting, watching, making sure she was okay. Didn’t matter how long it took, because he knew Simmons. Knew the bastard wouldn’t be able to rest until he’d finished what he’d started. And when he made his move, Mason intended to be right there. Torrance Watson was just going to have to learn to deal with it, no matter how she felt about werewolves.

Whether the fiery little redhead wanted him or not—she had him.

“Torry, wake up! Come on, honey. Snap out of it. You’re having a dream…”

Torrance could hear the urgent words, their sound muffled as if she were underwater. She struggled to make her way back, thrashing her arms and legs, almost as if swimming up from the sluggish depths of a lake. She could see the distant spark of sunlight, but the dark, grasping shadows of her nightmares still held her with clawing hands that fought to hold her deep beneath the smothering blanket of sleep.