The Werewolf Wears Prada (Entangled Covet) (San Francisco Wolf Pack) (11 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Hayden dodged the first flying shoe, but the second one got him square in the nose. Starbursts went off behind his eyes.

He wasn’t expecting Melina to fight back. She looked worn and winded, slumped against the bus stop glass. He wasn’t expecting her here at all, actually. Gabriel had tracked her scent to Bernal Heights, but lost it once they got on Church Street. After doing a quick search for buildings purchased by packmates within the last year, Hayden noticed a clump of them in this area and thought it couldn’t hurt to check.

“It’s me,” he said, lifting her off the ground. “It’s Hayden. I’ve got you now.”

She stopped striking her shoe against his jaw. Momentarily. “Hayden? It’s really you?”

Her eyes remained closed, but he nodded. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re going to be okay, but we’ve got to move fast.”

He’d left the door of his Bugatti open. He laid her inside as the door to the cathedral on the corner flew open and a group of rogue wolves flew out. They pointed and hollered, and took off at a dead sprint. Tucking Melina’s dress in the door, he shut it tight, slid over the hood, and hopped inside.

“Hayden?” she asked, as he peeled away from the curb.

The car gripped second gear as he floored it around the corner, leaving the packmates in his exhaust.

“Yeah?”

He downshifted up a hill, checking his rearview for lights.

“You’re not so mean,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe it before.”

His heart pinched. “You don’t have to talk about that now. I’m sorry I got you into this mess.”

As they approached a crowded intersection, Hayden stopped at the line and did a quick check for injuries. He brushed dark strands of hair out of her face, revealing a bruise under her eye. A demonic growl burned inside his chest—he gritted his teeth until they nearly cracked under the pressure. He didn’t want to growl and scare her, but those bastards had bit her.

He’d break every bone in each one of their bodies, and then watch them crawl their mangled way out of his city.

He eyed the bite on her neck. Tendon and ripped flesh jumbled together into a bloodied mess on her neck.

“Does the wound on your neck hurt?” The words were hard for him to say. He remembered how much the bite had hurt him when he’d been attacked. He was hoping against hope that Melina was in shock. If her system overloaded, it’d shut off her pain receptors.

“It was a wolf, Hayden. A freaking wolf bit me! Do you think I need a rabies shot?” She laughed sickly as the color drained from her face. “It’s going to leave a scar, huh? I’m not even going to be able to hide it. It’s going to have to be scarf season year-round in my house.”

“The scar will heal, Melina, but right now we have to worry about loss of blood and…”

…biting you again.

Being bitten by a wolf on one pulse point was deadly. The only way to survive the bite was to be bitten on another pulse point. It’d start the transition process, and she’d shift into a wolf for the first time during the next full moon, starting her new life as a werewolf.

But if he could get her to Howlands, maybe he could plead with the doctors and they could find a way to stop the poison from the wolf bite and she could live as a non-shifter again.

There had to be another way.

Melina didn’t belong in their world. She was too special, too fiery, and
much
too independent. She didn’t take orders well, and as her Alpha, he’d have to dish them. And she’d have to obey him.

He’d only known Melina for a short time, but there was no way in hell
that
was happening.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, as he put the pedal to the metal.

“To the hospital.” He gunned it, running the next red light. “You’re losing too much blood.”

It had gushed down her neck and soaked her dress. She coughed, and tried to cover it with her hand. Blood squirted onto his dash.

“I’m sorry,” she said, leaning back into the seat. “I can clean it.”

“I’m not worried about my car.”
Not in the least
. “I’m worried about you. How are you holding up? Talk to me, okay?”

Her head lolled to her opposite shoulder. “What about?” Her words were weak, and fading away.

“Tell me about the first time we met. Did you think I was a tool?”

“No, not that.” Her words sloshed together so badly, Hayden could barely make them out. “You-were-Prada.”

He had to have misheard. “Prada?”

“You know…” she sighed heavily. “…Perfection.”

Nerves tightened in his stomach. He’d thought she was perfect, too. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he placed the other on her thigh and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He knew exactly what she was going through, and what she’d need. The tremors wracking her body, and the disorientation in her brain would soon be followed by chills.

This was his fault. He shouldn’t have spent so much time with her. They could’ve Skyped for crying out loud and kept physical contact to a minimum. But then he wouldn’t have known his Luminary was out there. He wouldn’t have known the pull he had to her, to protect her.

“But then I saw you wit—with the girls—the two girls on the red carpet, I saw you.” She coughed up more blood. “That hurt.”

“Melina,” he said, a hole forming in his chest, “I wanted you to be at my side, but something happened in my family, and when it came time to pick you up, my father told me to take someone who was more like us. Someone closer to the family. I couldn’t betray him, not when he gave a direct order that way. I wish you could understand our family dynamic.”

Silence.

“Melina?” He shook her leg. “Melina, wake up. I know you’re tired, but you have to stay awake. We’re almost there.”

“Damn it!” He slammed his fists against the wheel. “Fastest fucking vehicle in production and I still can’t get to Howlands in time.”

The engine roared, jerking the car as it gripped each turn.

“Melina, say something.” He glanced at her once more. “Come on, we’ve got about ten minutes left. Stay with me.”

“Willyoukissme?” she mumbled. “Iwanna…feelheaven…beforeIseeit.”

Sweetest words ever spoken.

Using two fingers, he brought her face around to his. Her lips were pale and parted. Her eyes were closed, the color of her face a sickly shade of gray. He planted the softest of kisses on her lips, and had the strangest feeling he’d stolen her last breath.

Panicked, he lifted her wrist to his ear.

Fading pulse.

“No!”

Desperation bellowed through him as he swerved against the curb and killed the engine.

“Melina.” He gripped her by the shoulders and turned her to face him.

It’d be so easy to save her. With one bite on her radial artery, she’d wake up a few hours later, have a killer headache, and a hearty appetite. She’d get to smile, and write her column, and live a happy, healthy life.

But turning into a werewolf wasn’t the natural way of things.

She didn’t choose their way of life.

Damn it, she was
dying.

Another few seconds and her heart would beat for the last time. No more sly grins or cheap shots against him, no more faux fur coats, crazy dresses, or funky hair-dos. Never again would he get to see her radiate with happiness, or watch those luscious lips pull back into a satisfied smile. He’d never know the warmth of her body, or the full power of her mind.

She was special, a gem in his world. Not
only
his world, he realized, but the big blue one that spun ’round and ’round.

“I can’t let you go.” He shook with fear. “Please forgive me.”

Letting the power of the full moon tug on the deepest part of him, Hayden resisted the urge to burst through human form completely. Channeling only the shifting energy he needed to perform the act, Hayden’s fangs dropped. His snout began to stretch.

He hesitated, listening to her heartbeat stutter and slow. And then, with the final resounding pump of Melina’s heart, Hayden lowered his mouth to her wrist and sank his teeth deep.

Chapter Seventeen

Melina rolled over, clutching the satin sheets to her chest. Yawning, she kicked her feet, swishing them over the fancy fabric.

She
loved
satin sheets.

One teeny tiny problem: she didn’t have them on her bed.

She shot up, taking a mental snapshot of her surroundings. She was in a small bedroom. Steel-gray walls. Dark hardwood floors. Gigantic bed that dwarfed the space. Ficus tree by the window, and floral arrangements on the dresser. Large cabinet built into the wall to her left. Huge windows and French doors latched tightly on the opposite wall. Through the glass, ocean waves rolled toward the bright-blue horizon. Large trees—were those redwoods—towered across the way. The room smelled like an exotic combination of sea, salt, and wood-smoke.

Where the hell was she?

And what happened last night?

She rubbed her head, and absentmindedly removed the bobby pins from her hair. Hooking them together, she threw them to the foot of the bed. She glanced at her clothes: glittery tank top and black booty shorts.

Did she go to a rave while she slept?

Sliding off the bed, Melina set her feet on the cool floor and shuffled toward the windows. The house—whichever house this was—was perched on a slight hill that faced the ocean. A wooden staircase off the back deck zig-zagged down to a sandy beach. The foggy marine layer plumed over the waves and ghosted over the hill, coating the windows in a light, airy mist.

She took a deep breath and willed her memories of last night to return.

Movement down the beach caught her eye. Someone was running along the shore, a black hood pulled over his head. The jogger had a strong pace and didn’t appear labored from it. His steps were hard and powerful, eating up the ground as he weaved around waves lapping against the sand. When he neared the bottom of the stairs to the house, he stopped to stretch.

As he twisted his torso this way and that, Melina caught sight of a shadow of stubble. Wide jaw. Dark, unforgettable eyes.

Hayden.

Crap.

With a loud
meeping
sound, Melina backed away from the window, but not before she saw him see her. She was in his house, which could only mean one thing: they’d slept together.
Oh, peachy.

They’d hooked up and she didn’t even
remember
it.

“Melina?” he called from somewhere inside the house.

Crappity-crap.

Her insides squirmed. Panicked. Melina scanned the room, looking for a way out.

Two knocks on the door.

“Umm…” The scent of freshly brewed coffee hit Melina hard, making her mouth water. “Come back in a few minutes?”

“I’m not housekeeping.” He laughed softly. The sound soothed her. “If you want to be alone in there, I can talk to you through the door.”

Persistent sucker.

“Give me a minute. I’ll be right out.” How was she going to get out of this mess? What was she going to say? Should she pretend to remember? Be honest and say she couldn’t remember a thing? Absentmindedly, Melina clutched at her chest and hit a tender spot. Flinching, she brushed her fingers over the sensitive skin. “I think”—she searched for a mirror in the room and came up empty—“I think I might have a bruise on my neck.”

Officially the worst one-night-stand in history.

No memory of the sex. Bruises. Gaudy morning-after outfit.

“I can explain that.” Slowly, Hayden pushed the door open, and leaned against the frame, crossing his arms over his barrel of a chest. Sweat coated his face and ran down his neck in beads. Damp hair fell over his face, nearly reaching his brow.

She squelched down the urge to push him against the doorframe and start his second workout…with her.

She’d never had a thing for jocks before, but the sight of Hayden in his workout gear had Melina changing her tune. He was built like a hardcore athlete, tall and strong, with ripples of bulky muscle. But he didn’t look stiff, as if his workouts were restricted to dumbbells and squat racks. No, quite the opposite. He had the look of a fighter, of someone who could move in a pinch and use his strength to his advantage.

How had she not known he was athletic? When she’d suggested he try yoga, meditation, or acupuncture on his image-improvement plan, she hadn’t realized Hayden already had something to keep him active in the off-hours.

Why hadn’t he said something?

His workout gear only added to his sexual appeal. Black shorts dropped low on his waist. White cotton T-shirt beneath an unzipped black sweatshirt with the hood dropped back.

The room was much smaller with him in it.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.” She rubbed the sore spot on her neck. “Am I bruised? Right here?”

“Your skin might feel tender for a while, but it’s perfect. Unblemished.” He eyed her neck, her face. Heat trailed his gaze. “Like porcelain.”

“Oh, I—” She hadn’t been prepared for that. Her mouth went dry, and she dropped her hand from her neck. “Where am I?”

“You’re in my home, in my spare bedroom.”

The question of the hour pressed at her lips. “We didn’t—did we—you know?

“No, nothing like that.” A hint of sadness coated his tone, and if she wasn’t mistaken, a blush crept into his cheeks. “How do you feel?”

“Fine, I guess.” She brushed her hand over her hair. It was tousled and frizzy, as if she’d fought a lion during her sleep. “Never slept so hard in my life.”

He nodded slowly. “Do you remember…anything?”

“Yeah, I remember having dinner with you, and you racing off toward the parking garage.” Pickaxes stabbed through her brain as she fought to remember the rest of the night. “I remember a black car pulling up to the curb and someone calling my name…and that’s it.” Everything else was blank. “How’d I get here?”

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions and I’ll tell you everything you need to know, but how about we do this downstairs.” He motioned toward the hall. “If you’re feeling up for it, I made coffee. And pancakes. Secret family recipe.”

The Adonis cooked, too?

That must’ve been how he swept all the ladies off their feet.

“I love pancakes. To be honest, I’d eat anything right now. I’m starving.”

“That’s normal,” he said, and backed into the hall.

Normal for what?

“There’s a robe on the back of the door if you’d feel more comfortable,” he said. “Meet me when you’re ready.”

Food was more important than a robe, so she followed him down.

The colors of his home were cool and calming, grays and light blues and off-whites. Plants were everywhere—to her surprise—leafy and green and lush. With the ocean and forest outside the lengthy windows, the décor inside made the place the ultimate beach home.

Except it was small. No bigger than her apartment.

Not what she expected from someone like Hayden, who made it a point to be over-the-top in every aspect of his life.

When they reached the first floor, Hayden disappeared into a room off the kitchen, and a faucet started. A few seconds later he reemerged, looking cool and refreshed. As she took a seat at a table near the window, he jumped into the role of chef seamlessly, flipping pancakes from a warming container onto a plate. He dropped a heaping plate of heaven in front of her, along with a steaming cup of coffee.

“If this is the treatment you give every woman who comes here, it’s no wonder you’re such a heartbreaker.” She stabbed a chunk of pancake and shoved it into her mouth. It was rich and warm and syrupy and—ZOMG, there were blueberries mixed in. Her favorite treat from childhood. “I bet every woman falls in love with you after this.”

It’d be easy to, if she’d let herself. Which she wouldn’t.

“You’re the first woman I’ve ever brought here, actually,” he said, sliding back behind the island.

She nearly choked. “Really? Why’s that?”

“This is the only place that’s truly mine. The one place I can go to be alone…to be me. The
real
me, not the one everyone thinks they know. I bought it using my mother’s maiden name so no one even knows I own it. I’ve got the relaxing sound of the ocean with the privacy of the trees if I ever want to shift—” He cleared his throat again. Did he have allergies or something? “—gears,” he finished quickly. “If I ever want to shift gears and head off into the mountains to hike, it’s there.”

“Where is here, exactly?” she asked between bites.

“Moss Beach. About forty-five minutes south of the city.”

She’d never been in this area before, but from the current view, she’d say it was downright blissful. If this was the real Hayden, she had to admit she liked it better. And it fit him, too.

As she continued to quench the fire in her middle with the best pancakes she’d ever tasted, she said, “If this place is so special that you’ve never brought anyone before now, why me?”

“Under the circumstances, your place wasn’t safe. I couldn’t let you go back there.” He poured his own cup and sat across from her. “And I know what you’re going through. I’ve been there before, and I know you wouldn’t want to be in the city right now.”

Something wasn’t adding up. He was answering her questions, but in a roundabout way, without actually answering anything.

She did the mental math.
Her place wasn’t safe. Unexplainable memory loss. Tender spots on her neck. Hayden bringing her to his private sanctuary because “he’d been there before.”

“What happened after you left me at the pier?” she blurted, chasing the pancake with steaming coffee. “Did I get hit over the head?”

He frowned as if he didn’t understand.

“It would explain the amnesia,” she said, rubbing her temples. “Isn’t that usually the cause when someone can’t remember something? Unless you roofied my drink at the restaurant.”

“I didn’t roofie you, and you don’t have amnesia.” He swallowed hard. “Your body is adjusting to the transition.”

“Transition?”

“Whatever happens, you need to know you’re safe here.” He leaned over the table, and for a second, Melina thought he was reaching for her. But then he clasped his hands together and sighed. “You’re the same person now that you were last week. Whatever happens, remember that. You’re Melina Rae, pain in my ass and columnist for
Celeb Crush
. You’re no different than you were yesterday.”

“Okkaaay. Do me a favor, would you?” Her heart raced as disorientation rooted deep. “Take a deep breath and spit out the truth. I don’t digest bullshit well, and I know when someone’s softening me up for the big blow. Why am I here? What’s with the big mystery and—”

“You were kidnapped by a pack of rogue wolves who’ve split from the San Francisco Wolf Pack,” he said on a single exhale. “They were trying to use you to get to me. I don’t know how you managed to do it, but you escaped. You only had one bite here”—he reached out for her neck, and then pulled back his hand— “but I had to bite you again to save your life. Good news is you’re alive and well. Bad news is the two bites will force you into transition and you’ll become one of us. I brought you here to walk you through the basics. Rest assured, you’ll be safer with me than anyone else.”

The clock on the kitchen wall ticked loudly, matching the pulsing of Melina’s heart.

“Wow, that’s quite the mouthful. No wonder you were dancing around it,” she said, swallowing down a hysteric laugh. “So let me see if I have the basics here. There are wolves roaming around the streets of San Francisco.”

“Not just wolves.” He nodded as if to drive the point home. “Werewolves.”

“And you’re one of them.”

He drank his coffee, eyeing her over the rim of his mug. When he set it down, he paused, wringing his hands together. “Yes,” he said, his voice shaking with uncertainty. “I’m a werewolf.”

Actually sounded as if he believed it to be true.

“But you’re not like the
rogues
who kidnapped me.” Her lips twitched. Damn, she loved teasing him. “You’re different.”

“I am, yes, but there are many others like me. The rogue wolves who kidnapped you are the minority. There aren’t many roaming around the city. Most of the werewolves are governed by a single Alpha and follow a set of pack rules. We’re not monsters. The werewolves in the city are…civilized.”

“Of course they are.” She shrugged. “Why wouldn’t they be? I mean, how would werewolves be expected to make a decent living otherwise?” She giggled into a snort. “I suppose they could sell their fur online. There must be werewolf online retailers for that. I’d certainly buy a fur coat from a werewolf if they were open to selling it.”

“You’re taking this remarkably well,” he said, refilling her cup. “Better than any turned wolf I’ve ever met.”

And he was taking the joke far
. He didn’t break from the role easily, and he spoke as if he wholeheartedly believed what he was saying. He must’ve been a comedian who was deeply rooted in his story.

That’d definitely be a new and interesting spin for her article…

Hayden Dean: Comedian Behind the Scenes.

“Keep the pancakes stackin’,” she said, swirling her fork around, “and tell me more about this secret society of werewolves. You said there are ‘turned’ wolves. Are there other varieties?

“Werewolves can be born or turned.” Straight-faced, Hayden heaped additional pancakes on her plate and continued on. “Born wolves are shifters born from werewolf parents, and usually experience their first shift during adolescence. They’re rumored to be stronger and faster, much like thoroughbreds in horse racing, though there are exceptions to every rule. Born wolves can shift at whim, and have more control over their primal reactions. Turned wolves, like you and me, are non-shifters who were bitten by werewolves. We can only shift during the full moon. We have control over it, but if we deny the urges too long, we start to go a little crazy. That last part is true for both turned and born wolves.”

“Boy, you’ve really thought this through.”

Her mind went wild with possibilities. Forget the comedic act. Hayden could sell this story to Hollywood. Become a writer and publish his paranormal work online.