Sliver of Silver (Blushing Death) (13 page)

His brightly lit office smelled of old books and the geraniums in his windowsill. The scent washed over me in a comfortable, familiar wave. It reminded me of all the times I’d spent in his office laughing and joking as we pored over paperwork. The Department Chair sat behind his desk seeming just as uncomfortable as I felt.

I swallowed again as my knees went weak. Each step I took farther into his office was wobbly and uncertain. The faded pink paisley ascot he wore was tight around his neck. He was the only man I’d ever seen that could get away with wearing an ascot without me making a Scooby joke. He wouldn’t’ve gotten the joke anyway. His dark blue double-breasted suit jacket was a bit too tight from a recent gain of fifteen pounds around his middle and seemed even tighter still with the tension filling his shoulders.

“Can you shut the door, please?” he asked.

Stepping inside, I closed the door behind me with shaky hands as my stomach churned. I started to sweat, noticing the moisture in the palm of my hand and on my upper lip.

He motioned for me to sit in the seat across from him on the other side of his desk as he finally brought his bright blue eyes up to meet mine. Teetering on the edge of chair, I couldn’t relax and my right foot bounced up and down on the ball of my foot as I pressed my legs together so hard my knee caps ached and my thighs quivered. I clenched my hands together between my knees. He was quiet for a long time, watching me. The scrutiny in his dark blue eyes made my pulse rate spike and my chest tightened with each silent second as they ticked by.

“What happened to you today?” he murmured in his posh British accent. An edge of his native Yorkshire thickened his words. He always reverted to the lower-class accent of his youth when he was angry or frustrated, which was a pretty bad sign for me.

“I was called away.”

“Would you care to expand on that?” he asked and his Yorkshire accent was thick now. He wasn’t just frustrated anymore, he was angry. I thought I smelled disappointment as his nerves and the confrontation made his body temperature rise.

My stomach sank as the smell of his anger filled my nose.

I didn’t want to disappoint him. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone and it made my stomach tighten at the thought of being less than he expected, less than anyone expected. Before I could really think about how appropriate it was, the truth was falling out of my mouth in a desperate attempt to fix the situation I found myself in.

“I was called downtown to identify a murderer,” I blurted, my voice was rough and my throat tight with tension.

“Now, you’re going to lie to me,” he snapped and the Yorkshire accent made his words even thicker and harder to understand. I took in a reflexive breath and almost gasped in surprise. “Dahlia, I don’t know what’s going on and I’m beyond the point of caring,” he snapped. His jaw tightened and his blue eyes were clear and focused on my quivering form. I opened my mouth to say something but he stopped me with the wave of his hand.

I swallowed hard and was sure he’d heard it just as clearly as I had.

He took a deep breath and the rise and fall of his chest threatened the tight fit of his dress shirt and jacket. “Dahlia,” he said. “I would like you to clear out your personal belongings. Your services are no longer needed,” he continued in a clear, concise tone. The office fell silent as our gazes met, his in determination and mine in abject disbelief.

Sitting for what felt like hours, I stared at him, flabbergasted at what had just happened. My mind kept turning his words over and over again, trying to make sense of what they meant. He’d warned me but in my heart of hearts I didn’t really think he’d actually do it. Not really.

Standing on wobbly knees, I wasn’t sure my legs would hold me. I thought I should be crying or begging to keep my job but nothing came out. I was in shock. I had to be in shock. I left his office without another word.

I jerked my keys from my slacks pocket, and laid them on the desk.

Take your personal belongings,
he’d said with distaste.

I surveyed my office and realized I had none. There was nothing of me in this office. I’d kept myself separate and closed off. Now as I gathered up my bag and shut the office door behind me, I knew why.

I would miss having somewhere to go that was human, normal. I wouldn’t miss them, and they wouldn’t miss me. It was an easy, unemotional break as I walked out of the department offices and down the hall. I didn’t say goodbye.

Chapter 13

Tossing my bag on the couch, I strode into the kitchen. I was hungry. I hadn’t had time to eat lunch. It felt strange being home at three in the afternoon.

The sound of the microwave running in the silence of my empty house was mammoth and for the first time I felt really alone. The place was empty, no guards stalking my property since I wasn’t supposed to be home; no one doing laundry, no one in the command center, and for the first time in a long time, I could take a breath and think.

I closed my eyes and relished the silence. When the microwave beeped, I jumped at the sound and my breath caught in my throat. I carried the steaming bowl over to the kitchen table and sat down. As I stirred the spoon in the beef barley, my mind caught up with everything. I slid the soup away when the first tear fell, laying my head down on the table, and sobbed, openly. There was no one to hear me. What the fuck did I care?

I got fired.
I couldn’t handle it.
I don’t have health insurance.
How am I going to pay my mortgage? How am I going to eat? Where will I go? I failed.

A large, scorching hot hand stroked my hair and I slowed my blubbering in surprise. His fingertips traced down the back of my neck in gentle lines of heat. He was like a fire filling the room with his power, surrounding me in his blanket of protection. It shouldn’t have felt so good. I should have backed away and asked him to stop. I didn’t want him to stop touching me. Ever. That voice in my head whispered,
Home.
I was more content in a home that included him than I had ever been in mine, alone.

I sniffed a couple of times before I had the strength to face Dean. Turning my head, I wiped the tears on my sleeve and I rested it on my folded arms. He crouched next to me with his fingers still making long strokes through my hair. Peering deep into his warm, olive-green eyes, I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth and bit down hard so I wouldn’t cry.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. A part of me was glad he was there; another part of me was pissed as hell I’d been caught crying like a baby, again.

“I need my truck in the morning. I stopped by to get it,” he said.

I sniffed again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in a soft, deep rumble that was warm and comforting as it rippled across my skin.

I bit down hard again on my lip. I was having a hard time focusing as his fingers played in my hair.

“Got fired today,” I blurted out with a sloppy shrug of my shoulder. My bottom lip quivered over the words and tears filled my eyes again. I hated being weak and I hated having someone see it.

He clutched me into his much larger arms with very little effort, encircling me with his warmth. He eased me to my feet and surrounded me with his muscled embrace, his power, and the Pack.

I cried against his shoulder for a few minutes until I needed to blow my nose. Then I stepped away and grabbed a paper towel from over the sink. I blew my nose and didn’t care how disgusting it sounded. When I turned around, Dean was filling my teapot with water and placing it on the stove. He leaned against the sink next to me and folded his arms in a comfortable, noncommittal stance. I took a couple of deep breaths to steady myself and sat back down at the kitchen table.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” he asked, watching me out of the corner of his eye as I avoided eye contact.

“Derek called about another body and I was gone too long,” I said, waiting for him to jump on me for not mentioning the additional body bit earlier.

“That doesn’t seem like enough to fire you,” he grumbled.

“It was just one time too many, I guess,” I said. “My life isn’t conducive to a 9-to-5 career anyway.” I swiped a tear from my cheek with more force than was necessary.

“Well, if money will be a problem. I’m sure Pat’ll—” He stopped when he got a glimpse of my face.

“I can’t work for Patrick, and I won’t take his money.” Finally. Anger. Anger pushed the other, weaker, emotions away.

“Why?” he asked.

I thought about it for a minute before I answered. I wanted to word it so there were no misunderstandings.

“I’m not a woman to be
KEPT
,” I ground out through clenched teeth. I was about to say something I hadn’t said to anyone else before or even admitted out loud. “If I work for Patrick, then I’m nothing more than a hired gun,” I said. “I need something normal.” I needed Dean to understand so I continued. “If I disappear into that world, I’m afraid . . .” I stopped, gnawing my bottom lip again.

“. . . that you’ll never come out,” he finished for me.

“I guess I need to get online, get my résumé together.” I sighed.

“Maybe not. I need someone to run my business office. I hate the office. Jackson’s doing it now but I need him out at the job sites. You’d be helping me out. I can swing your previous salary,” he offered.

He didn’t smile at me but his eyes lit up with delight that went straight to my core. I blinked hard and my mouth gaped open. To say I was surprised would be an understatement. I was shocked, excited, and hopeful all at the same time.

“You could make your own hours. You’ll get health benefits,” he said, finally gracing me with a warm, devilishly handsome smile. His gaze was warm and inviting and my pulse spiked. That smile was just for me. “I know the type of crowd you run with.” He was teasing me, and I didn’t hate him for it. In fact, I kind of liked it.

“Do you mean it?” I breathed, a little girl’s hope in my voice.

“Yes,” he said, irritated. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, but he waved my appreciation away.

“Now, let’s talk about this body.” The teapot whistled behind him and he waved me away again, shoving off the counter to make me tea. He poured a cup for me and a cup for himself, digging in my cabinet for the box of tea bags as I told him about the scene.

“That isn’t like the others, is it?” he asked as he got the sugar for him and the honey for me.
When was the last time I’d had tea? I couldn’t remember.

“No, it wasn’t,” I said as I took the honey from him. “This one was very public. I think he wanted me to get a good look at him, wanted me to find him.” I took a sip of my tea, letting the warm liquid coat my throat and wash away the anguish I’d carried around with me all day.

“Why?” he asked, getting the milk from the fridge. I dug the DVD of the hotel video from my bag and handed it to him.

Striding into the living room with his teacup in hand, comfortable, like he lived here, Dean slipped the disc into the DVD player. He watched in fast forward, leaned in toward the television on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees with the teacup nestled in the palm of his hand.

He paused the video frame as the werewolf turned in the hallway and snarled at the camera. Dean growled at the screen, standing and taking a large step toward the television. The threatening sound made my skin burn, and his power scorched across the room as he raged at the man on screen. I sat on the arm of the chair beside him and waited for his wolf to subside.

“I was gonna have Jade run it through her nifty computer programs and see if she can get me a name,” I said.

The harshness of his growl diminished at the sound of my voice and his shoulders relaxed as he breathed deeply next to me, rolling his shoulders.

“That’s a good idea,” he said, the growl still lingering in his voice, making his words rough. He turned to me and the mix of ice cold Caribbean blue and olive-green mixing in his iris should have made me nervous but I felt more comfortable with his wolf than I was willing to admit. There was something else I needed talk to him about.

“Kurt believes Jade’s his mate,” I said, shuffling my feet as they dangled from the arm of the chair. I glanced away when my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. His eyes watched me too closely and I wasn’t sure why that made me nervous.

“She is.”

“How do you know that?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest in a little protest as I met his eyes.

“The Pack can feel her pull on him. It’s the mate bond,” he said.

“Well,” I said in an almost snotty tone. “Some of us don’t run on instinct and magic. So she might need some clarification.” About halfway through that statement, I realized I wasn’t talking about Jade anymore.

“Really?” he mocked. His tone carried a predatory purr as he arched a dark eyebrow at me. “I think you run on instinct a lot.”

A tingling in low, dark places flourished in my belly as his voice wrapped around me, and through me. I crossed my legs to try and stop my arousal, or maybe to hide it.

His nostrils flared and a twinkle of knowledge lit his eyes as they shifted completely from the deep olive-green he was born with to the strikingly gorgeous Caribbean blue of his wolf. My breath caught in my throat and my muscles tightened under his gaze. I wanted to squirm but I couldn’t seem to turn my eyes from his. My skin hummed as his gaze traveled over me from top to bottom.

I refused to move. He wasn’t my dominant and I couldn’t let him win. I couldn’t let him know that he got to me.

Taking a step forward, he closed the distance between us but I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I wanted to run my fingers up over his chest and down his muscled arms. I wanted to feel all that hard flesh underneath my fingertips. My eyes went wide as I realized the frustrated desire lighting his eyes matched the yearning, making my legs weak and my toes curl. I took a sharp intake of breath that scraped my lungs, like breathing in fiberglass.

He cleared his throat with a soft growl. I averted my gaze and he turned his back on me, his shoulders heaving up and down as he panted.

Chuckling softly to himself in a sad, incredulous chuckle I didn’t understand, he snatched his phone from his back pocket. This wasn’t fucking funny. I couldn’t go through this again. I wouldn’t put Patrick through that again. Dean’s head was bowed but the tension in his shoulders and the white-knuckle grip he had on his phone was clear. He wasn’t okay, either.

“Kurt,” he said without a greeting. “Dahlia is out of work early.” Dean’s voice was a rough rumble as he spoke. “Is Jade around?” His fingers on his left hand flexed and relaxed at his side as the muscles across his back tensed. “Can she come? Dahlia’s got something.”

I took a deep breath and filled my nose with the scent of him. He was angry, aroused, and sad. The whole situation made my chest ache.

“I’ll be out in my truck,” he said with a heavy, resigned breath. He shoved the phone back into his jeans.

He stood very still for several moments breathing in and out, clenching his fingers into fists at his sides. Just as abruptly as he’d turned his back on me, he glanced around my living room. “Kurt left my keys here somewhere,” he growled to himself.

“There’s a set hanging on the peg in the kitchen by the door,” I offered.

He moved around my house hurried and cautious, avoiding anything that could touch his skin like it would burn him. He went out of his way to avoid me. I couldn’t say why but that hurt. I wanted, and needed, him to acknowledge me.

He passed by me with hard, even steps into the kitchen, maintaining his distance. The jangle of keys filled the uncomfortable silence between us as he grabbed the set from the peg with a jerk and headed back my way. He didn’t stop or even slow as he breezed by me, where I still sat on the arm of the couch.

“Dean,” I whispered, knowing that he’d hear me. The house was too quiet for him not to. He stopped dead in his tracks with his hand tight on the doorknob. He wanted out bad, to be anywhere but where he was. And, for some reason, I didn’t want him to go.

“What’s going on here?” My voice quivered over the words and my jaw tightened. His neck and shoulders clenched. He turned, slow and tension-filled, to face me. When he did, he finally met my gaze and my body tightened. I felt the impact of his eyes like I’d been struck by lightning. My synapses sizzled with the pain-filled heat of his gaze.

“I don’t know,” he forced out.

I could smell the lie as his adrenaline spiked, sending the heady, rich smell of his musk into the air. His power prickled at the edges of my aura and specks of crystal blue danced in his eyes as I stared at him, matching him glare for glare. The tension in his body and the liquid change from olive green to crystal blue showed how close he was to shifting. It was too close to the full moon to push him more. I nodded and let him reach for the door.

Jerking the knob, Dean swung open the door and almost ripped it off its hinges in his rush to leave. Amblan stood on the other side, her key in her hand to slide in the lock.

“Hey,” she said, frozen as she stared up at Dean’s hard jaw and stiff shoulders.

“Amblan,” he said, strained as he slid by her and marched down the stairs and across the walk.

She shut the door behind her and slipped her keys into her pocket. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing,” I sighed. Better to admit nothing than complete and utter confusion.

“Horseshit! He doesn’t look at you like there’s nothing going on.”

“Am,” I whined.

“I’m just sayin’, be careful. Patrick’s a little stuffy but he loves you,” she chastised.

“Not now, Am, I’ve had a rough day. Why are you here in the middle of the day anyway?”

“Left my laundry upstairs. What happened?” she redirected.

“Lost my job today,” I whispered.

“Oh, Honey, that’s horrible,” she said, plopping down on the sofa beside me. “What happened?”

“I guess I was late one too many times,” I said, forcing a smile across my lips.

“It’s okay, we’ll do this together. You won’t have to worry about anything.” She patted my leg and smiled at me. The light in her eyes was so sure, so positive.

“It’s okay, really. Dean offered me a job.”

She narrowed her gaze on me, like I stood in the center of a search light.