Wolf in Plain Sight (6 page)

A sharp rap
on his kitchen door was all the warning Max got before his brother Alec swept into the room. Like a free-ranging dog, he scouted the kitchen, opening the pantry door and tipping the lid to the bread bin, before finally choosing a beer from the fridge. He popped the top, and then straddled one of the chairs next to the table backwards.

“Make yourself at home,” Max said, more distracted than irritated. The problem lying in his bed down the hallway still claimed his attention.

“You’re in a sour mood today.”

Alec’s cheerful tone set Max’s teeth on edge. As usual not one hair on his blond head was out of place. His khaki slacks were pressed with a knife-edge crease, and the cuffs of his cotton shirt were buttoned.

Max scratched his whiskered cheek and glanced down at his rumpled T-shirt and sweat pants. His brother always made him want to take a bath.

“Kill any vamps lately?”

Max started guiltily. “Not a one,” he murmured and took a sip of his lukewarm coffee. “Why do you ask?”

Alec took a long draw of his brew and set the can on the table. “It explains your grumpiness.”

“So, is this a social call?” Max’s question sounded like a snarl to his own ears.

Alec’s brows rose. “What? I can’t just drop in and say hi to my big brother?”

Much as he loved his brother, he wanted him gone before he nosed around the rest of the house. The urge to protect Pia rose swift and unwanted. Alec would have no qualms staking the lovely creature through the heart. Before this morning, neither would he have. “Do you need money?”

Alec’s amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes. “I’m twenty-five, not fifteen.”

Max stared pointedly at the beer. “But you still can’t afford your own groceries?”

“It’s just a beer. Man, you woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Alec’s green eyes narrowed. “Quentin still giving you shit?”

Max shrugged. “We made a raid last night—it was a bust.”

Alec snorted. “Not the first time. You’re edgy as a bear with a thorn in its paw.” At Max’s glare of warning to drop the subject, Alec grinned.

Max wiped a hand over his face. “Someone beat us to the party.”

“Who?” Alec asked, his brows rising. “Rogue vamp hunters?”

Max shook his head. “Worse. Rogue werewolves.”

“Well, fancy that.” He took another draw of his beer. “Shit’s coming out of the woodwork around here.” His gaze sharpened as he lowered the bottle. “Have you had a chance to get inside The Compound?”

Max’s hand tightened around his coffee cup. “No. Security’s pretty tight. No civilians have been invited in.”

“If the breeder’s pregnant, it’d explain why it’s sewed up tighter than a virgin’s panties.”

“Could be they’re just a wary bunch of vamps,” Max replied evenly.

“You were right the first time, brother. Why do you think we have a new dog pack in the neighborhood? Think it’s a coincidence?” Alec’s expression grew hard. “The woman, Lily, have you seen her since she arrived?”

“Nope.”

“But you’ve seen the other women?”

Max nodded, knowing where this train of logic was running. “It does look damn suspicious. If she’s carrying a vamp kit—”

Alec’s gaze narrowed even further. “If she’s breeding for a vamp, you have to take out her and the monsters she’s carrying.”

Max felt acid burn in his gut, and he put down his coffee cup. “She’s human.”

“She’s fucking a vamp.”

Max felt his cheeks burn with guilt.

“You’re the only one who can get close enough.” Alec’s gaze pinned him to his chair. “Joe’s your buddy.”

“My friend died,” Max said, between gritted teeth. “Besides, he’d be suspicious if I suddenly wanted to hang out again. He knows what I think of his kind.”

Alec lifted an eyebrow. “So have a change of heart.”

Max shifted his head from side to side to loosen the tension knotting his shoulders. “I’ll try to get close enough to see whether she’s actually pregnant.”

“Good enough.” His brother canted his head, leveling a questioning gaze. “What is it with you today? Are you going soft on the demons?”

Max forced his features to remain relaxed. “No.”

“Remember what they did to our mother,” Alec said softly.

“How the hell can I forget? They left me with you to raise on my own.” He gave his brother a small, tight smile.

“Yeah!” Alec raised his beer and swallowed the rest in one long gulp. “Hold onto that thought. By the way, can I borrow your motorcycle?”

So that was it. Max heaved a sigh. “I thought you were just here to see your big brother.”

“That too. Got a date tonight—can’t take her out in my Civic. She’ll think I’m a real geek.”

“If you take the chopper, you’d better lay off the beer.”

“Really?” Alec stood, eager to be away now that he’d gotten what he’d come for. “You’ll let me have her?”

“Sure.” At least it would get him away from Pia. “But if you leave a single scratch on her—”

“I know, I know.” Alec grinned and swiped the keys from a dish on the counter. “You know what your problem is?”

Max raised an eyebrow.

“You need to get laid, brother.”

Max threw a glare at Alec as he walked out the door laughing, then he glanced at his watch. Only an hour before sunset. Time to get dressed for work—and time to get lost before Pia awoke.

But first he couldn’t resist one last look.

He walked slowly to the bedroom and pushed open the door. Pia lay on her back just as he’d left her, naked and sleeping peacefully.

The dim light did nothing to hide the sweet curves of her body. Her hair was a dark cloud—he’d remember the sight of it fanned out on his pillow for a long time. He lifted a strand and rubbed it between his fingers—
fine as spider’s silk.

Her small body was just as deceptively beautiful. His gaze lowered to the silken thatch between her legs, and he shifted his feet apart. He could still remember the feel of her inner muscles clutching his cock in rhythmic waves. Could hear her throaty cries as she’d come, luring him over the edge.

He reached and cupped a breast—the one marked with dried blood. His thumb caressed her nipple, and it budded instantly. He drew away from the temptation of that rosy crest, and cursed silently as his body reacted to the sight.

Damn her! Did she know what he was? Was she playing some sort of game to draw him out?

First, a murderous pack of werewolves. Then a sweet, fanged temptation.

Max didn’t believe in coincidences.

‡

S
tretching, Pia woke
slowly, moaning as her sleep-fogged mind noted each delicious ache. With her eyes still closed, she slid her hand along the mattress, only to find the source of her languorous state gone. Sighing, she rolled and pressed her face into Max’s pillow.

For a long moment, she let her mind wander back through the evening’s love play. Max’s stern mouth softened by long, carnal kisses. Strong hands kneading her breasts and buttocks. Blunt, clever fingers that brought her to the edge. And a cock that filled her to the brim.

But the words! Sexy, nasty words that made her flinch while at the same time they incited her to orgasm. She wanted his whispers again.

Where the devil was he?

She opened her eyes, blinking at the fading gray light filtering behind the blinds. She listened, stretching her senses to determine whether he stirred anywhere in the house. Instead, she found she was completely alone. Only lingering traces of his tangy blood and spicy cologne remained, and no footsteps could be heard anywhere in the house.

Her disappointment was keen. She’d hoped to feel the slide of his strong hands and snuggle next to his chest, and perhaps, enjoy a slow ride into erotic wonderland. Then an appalling thought occurred.

She’d slept!

Pia jackknifed to a sitting position. She’d slept in Max Weir’s bed! Had he guessed she was a vamp? Or did he just think she was a very heavy sleeper? Her gut told her he had to know. She couldn’t imagine a man with his libido letting any woman in his bed sleep throughout the day. And if he’d tried to wake her for a little morning action…

Her heart galloped, and she raised a shaking hand and stared—nope, she wasn’t disintegrating, and by the ache in her shoulder and other parts best not considered at the moment—she wasn’t a ghost.

As deep as his prejudice was reported to run, she didn’t know why he’d left her alive. But here she was in his bed—not even a splinter of wood poking from her chest. She glanced down and gasped. A burnished brown X was painted on her breast.

She scratched at the flecks of dried blood. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to understand his warning. He may have let her live for now, but he’d been mighty tempted to end her life.

When she scooted to the edge of the bed, something smooth and hard rolled toward her hip. Her hand closed around it, and she raised it in front of her face. He’d been more than tempted. She screeched and tossed the stake across the room. Then she leapt off the bed, searching the floor for her clothing.

They were folded in a neat pile on top of his bureau, her shoes beside them. Like he wanted her to dress in a hurry and haul her ass out of his house.

Her shoulders drooped. What had she expected? One night of incredible sex and he’d leave her a love letter?

Best not to tempt fate twice. She dressed in a frenzy and hurried out the door. She’d gotten the message loud and clear—the next time he’d play for keeps.

*

Pia fretted with
the fringe on the hem of her sleeve. She’d found a dangling thread and yanked it. “Shit!” Now, the gold fringe was only half as long as the one on her other sleeve. And she’d wanted to make a good impression.

The Compound, as its new owners had dubbed it, was a work in progress. From the details she’d gleaned since a security guard let her through the gates minutes earlier, the estate would be a cozy beige and gold haven with none of the opulence that usually marked a Master’s residence. Overstuffed leather chairs and sofas faced inward, inviting one to linger for a chat. But Pia’s nerves hadn’t settled after her mad dash from Max’s house, so she paced, trying to think of what she’d say about her latest failure.

Had she made a mistake coming directly to The Compound? What if she ran into Quentin? Did he still hold a grudge? She’d only been a lowly operative in the Masters’ Northwest Council when she’d last seen him. Maybe he wouldn’t remember her.

Perhaps she was just being paranoid, feeling off-kilter since her debacle with Max. If she ever saw him again, and his expression held one ounce of the disgust she now felt for her deception, she’d crumble.

No, she’d best slink back to Seattle, her tail between her legs, and forget about the brawny human whose strength and dark sensuality had so captivated her. She couldn’t bear to face him again.

Not that she hadn’t dreamed in a corner of her bruised heart of seeing him one last time. At least to apologize. During the short taxi ride here, she’d entertained any number of scenarios, all of which ended horribly. Her staring down the shaft of an arrow buried deep in her chest… Her hand reaching out to him as she disintegrated into a grimy dust heap…

Okay, so she was getting melodramatic. She’d fucked up. Time to face the truth. She simply wasn’t cut out for this cloak and dagger stuff. This latest episode in a long string of disasters should have told her that.

Worse, her first solo assignment outside Seattle and she’d botched the mission in less than twenty-four hours.

“Do you think she’ll have a sleeve left if we leave her to stew much longer?”

Pia startled at the feminine voice coming from the doorway of the den where she’d been cooling her heels for the past half hour.

A woman with golden hair that hung past her generous bosom grinned and sauntered into the room.

The man following her inside was Dylan O’Hara. And wherever Dylan was, Quentin was sure to follow. “Well, well,” Dylan said, following the woman inside. “Won’t Quentin be surprised?”

Rats! He’d recognized her. She needed to get out quick.

Emmy swung back to Dylan, her eyes narrowing. “You know her?”

Dylan flinched, appearing ill at ease beneath the woman’s displeasure.