Hunted (Riley Cray) (25 page)

“God dammit, that hurts!” I groaned.

“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty.”

Grunting in reply, I ran a hand through my tangled hair, making a sound of disgust when I pulled out a glob of God knows what. Giving up on the hopeless case that was my hair I rubbed the grit from my eyes and looked out the window, failing to see any familiar landmarks, not that that was much of a surprise.

“So, where are we headed?” I asked, my words broken by a real yawn.

“My place. We’ll be there in another five minutes.”

* * *

Holbrook’s neighborhood was on the western edge of Lakewood, just a stone’s throw from the foothills, filled with sprawling lawns and mature trees. The houses were lit up like perfect little vignettes of mundane life, and I envisioned happy families gathering around the dinner table to share the details of their day.

Lucky bastards.

Cruising down the street, he turned in to a cul-de-sac, the headlights of the SUV illuminating a 70’s era red brick ranch as we pulled into the driveway next to an old blue and white pick-up truck, the security light above the garage clicking on, bathing us in garish light. Squinting against the glare I reached for Loki and felt a stab of betrayal as I watched him crawl up onto Holbrook’s shoulder. Biting my tongue against the hurt and anger, I grabbed the bag of take-out and slid out of the SUV, closing the door with a little more force than was necessary.

I knew I shouldn’t have begrudged them their burgeoning bromance, or whatever it was developing between them, but dammit, I was the one who’d just gone through hell. I wanted to be coddled and pampered.

Shuffling along behind Holbrook I followed him up the walk to the front door, thinking increasingly uncharitable thoughts as I stood shivering in the cold while he unlocked the door. While the outside of the house was 70’s chic, complete with beige siding and light blue shutters, the interior was much more in keeping with a modern bachelor’s style. The front door opened onto a living room dominated by a flat screen TV that was at least three times the size of the clunky TV I’d had since college. Launching himself off of Holbrook’s shoulder with an excited trill, Loki landed on the back of a recliner, instantly making himself at home.

“Is it even worth telling him no?” Holbrook asked with a weary sigh.

“Not really, but you’re welcome to give it a try,” I replied, fighting to keep the acid out of my voice.

He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the couch while shaking his head. “Kitchen’s this way.”

Three short steps led up into a kitchen and dine-in nook that looked to be halfway through a remodel. Modern appliances stood out in stark relief against the original cabinets that still smelled faintly of their recent coat of off-white paint. Paint cans and tools littered one end of the new kitchen table that sat under a layer of plastic, a set of IKEA assembly instructions poking out of the nearby trashcan.

“Sorry about the mess. I was taking some time off to do a bit of remodeling when the call about Reed came in.”

“No worries,” I replied, trailing behind him like a lost puppy, feeling out of place, more than a little grumpy, and bone tired. As good as the Chinese food smelled all I wanted to do was tell the world to go to hell, and find a dark spot to curl up in and go to sleep. Not necessarily in that order.

I stood in the middle of the kitchen in a daze, unsure of what to do, while Holbrook bustled around me, clearing off one end of the table and retrieving plates and silverware. His hands settling on my shoulders roused me from my dream-like trance, guiding me to the table and pushing me down into a chair. A hand appeared at my elbow with a glass of water and two little white pills.

“Take these, eat some food, and then off to bed.”

“Yes, Mother.” I popped the pills in my mouth and took a long draught of water. I wasn’t sure I had ever tasted anything so good and pure, the cool liquid soothing my raw throat.

I’m sure the sweet and sour pork and fried rice Holbrook piled onto my plate was delicious, but as the painkillers began to soften the edges of my vision and make my limbs feel like they weighed no more than a feather, I struggled to coordinate my fork and mouth. I ended up with more food in my lap than in my mouth.

Taking pity on me, or maybe not wanting to spend all night cleaning up spilled rice and sticky sweet and sour sauce, Holbrook cleaned away our plates and helped me up from my chair. Sweeping me up off my feet effortlessly, he cradled me against his chest and carried me through the house into his bedroom. As a teenager, and even a college student, I’d had fantasies about a man with rippling muscles and perfect hair sweeping me off my feet in some obscenely romantic way. It figures that when it did happen I was too drugged to give a damn.

His bedroom was blessedly dark and cool when he deposited me on the bed, letting me flop backwards to sprawl across the oh-so-soft comforter, while he busied himself tugging off my boots. I was fading fast, but hadn’t quite slipped over into unconsciousness yet, teetering on the edge of drugged oblivion where I felt like I’d had one too many margaritas.

“Hey baby, wanna wrestle?” I slurred, gazing up at Holbrook’s blurry shape in the darkness as he leaned over me to unbutton my jeans.

Rather than jumping my bones as I’d hoped, he just told me to “Hush” and peeled off my jeans as gently as he could manage while I squirmed like a seal having a seizure. Irresistible sex kitten, that’s me.

“Aw come on, Agent Tight Pants. Don’t you want to frisk me?” I asked with what was intended to be a sexy leer. Judging by his frown I think I just ended up looking mildly constipated. Ignoring my attempts at seduction he wrestled me into a sitting position to pull off my shirt.

“Hold still,” he admonished as I tried to assist in his efforts by pawing at his shirt. Surely if we were going to get down and dirty he needed to lose his clothes too.

Somehow he succeeded in getting me stripped down to my underwear, and then much to my disappointment pulled a clean t-shirt over my head, and tucked my legs under the covers before I could make any more attempts to lure him into bed with me.

“Go to sleep, Riley,” he said brushing my hair back from my forehead before leaning in to place a tender kiss against my temple.

“Not...tired...” I protested even as I snuggled into the pillows and drifted into sleep’s waiting embrace.

CHAPTER TWENTY

COLD, DULL LIGHT danced across my eyelids, flickering in the darkness like ripples on a moonlit pond when I awoke, content for a moment to lie quiet and still. The house was filled with a myriad of unfamiliar smells and sounds, but as I drew in a breath I found myself surrounded by the warm molasses scent of Holbrook, the smell of him so strong it was like my nose was buried in the crook of his neck, hovering above the fluttering pulse in his throat. I could almost sense him close by, the overwhelming presence of him making it difficult to pinpoint his location.

Reaching out a hand across the mattress in search of him, I sucked in a sharp breath, every muscle in my body crying out in protest. Lying perfectly still I focused on the various aches and pains plaguing my battered body, performing a mental assessment of my injuries. The last traces of the Wolfsbane was still working its way through my veins, slowing my healing to an almost human pace, and making me feel like a big steaming pile of crap.

My limbs were leaden and sore as if someone had strapped twenty pound weights to my wrists and ankles, and the stitches in my side pulled and tugged with every breath I took. My cheek still sang with a deep ache as my body worked to reknit the fractured bone.

Johnson. That giant fucking douche nozzle
, I cursed, wanting to feel the familiar burn of rage in my gut, but only able to muster up an impotent flicker of irritation.

It seemed even the wolf was still feeling too craptastic to be truly angry, lurking somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind and body. I reached out for her, gently testing our connection, and released a deep sigh of relief I hadn’t realized I was holding when I found it intact, albeit weak. I’d heard about extreme cases of Wolfsbane poisoning and the permanent damage it could do to the link between human and wolf.

A case had made the national news a few years ago when a scorned woman had drugged her werewolf boyfriend with Wolfsbane. During the trial she’d claimed she only meant to give him enough to make him sick, but in her ignorance had given him an almost deadly dose. Rather than killing him, which would have been the merciful thing to do all things considered, the Wolfsbane had instead irreparably damaged the connection between his two halves, leaving him consumed with the need to change but unable to shift. He’d explained to doctors in a brief moment of lucidity that he could feel the wolf inside, could sense its emotions, its fear, but couldn’t communicate with it. In the end, the only peace he’d been able to find was a silver bullet in his mouth.

I shuddered, remembering the haunted expression on his face splashed across the TV screen in vivid color, and thanked whatever powers were listening that I hadn’t suffered the same fate.

The light spilling around the edges of the drapes was pale when I cracked my eyes open, glimpsing shadows of an unfamiliar room. Drawing in a deep breath I let the overwhelming scent of Holbrook ease my sluggish mind despite the foreignness of the bed. I grasped at faint memories of him carrying me through the house and tucking me in, the sheer sappiness of it all making me grin like a besotted schoolgirl. I guess even werewolves can be romantics at heart.

Levering myself up out of bed I bit the tip of my tongue to keep from crying out, the familiar coppery taste of blood in my mouth helping me to focus on forcing my limbs into motion despite the pain tearing through every inch of my bruised and battered body.

If I ever get my hands on Johnson again, he’s going to wish he’d never drawn his first breath.

Bracing a hand on the headboard I hauled myself up on shaking legs, the tug of the stitches in my side making me gag against the sudden wave of nausea that made the room spin around me. Breathing through the dizziness I forced myself to take one step and then another, moving across the room like an arthritic eighty year-old.

If only someone had remembered to leave my walker close at hand.

Following the path I remembered in foggy flashes from the night before, I slowly shuffled through the house, hoping I might find Holbrook with a steaming cup of coffee waiting for me at the end of my journey. Instead I found an empty living room and silent kitchen bathed in cool, morning light. Padding into the room I couldn’t restrain my moan of relief when I spied a fresh pot of coffee sitting on the counter, and more importantly, my bottle of painkillers.

Searching through the cabinets, wrapping one hand around my throbbing ribs as I stretched out on tiptoes, I pulled down a mug.

“Who the hell keeps their mugs on the top shelf?” I muttered, cursing Holbrook’s height.

My hand trembled as I filled my mug, but miraculously I was able to get most of the coffee into the mug rather than all over the counter. After mopping up my mess I dumped several packets of sweetener and a ton of milk into my coffee, not even bothering to stir it before taking the first sip.

“Oh man, that’s heaven.”

Popping a couple of pills into my mouth, I leaned against the edge of the counter and allowed myself to luxuriate in the potent coffee sliding down my gullet to warm my belly. Several long sips later, I finally began to feel something resembling coherent thought as the caffeine and pain pills went to work. As the fog in my mind lifted, I turned my thoughts to the conspicuous absence of my protector and furry companion.

I’m sure they’re off doing some male bonding or something equally asinine and unfair
, I thought, the sting of rejection flaring back to life in my chest.

Curling both hands around my mug, I wandered over to the large bay window overlooking the backyard and gazed out at the snow covered grass stretching into nothingness beyond a thick layer of fog. I sensed trees trailing off into the distance and a large stretch of open ground, but could barely make out anything more than five feet past the end of the deck.

I was about to turn away from the window when movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. Craning my head to peer around the edge of the window I saw Holbrook on the back porch. He was bundled under a blanket next to a fire pit, sipping a cup of steaming coffee as he gazed out at the backyard and whatever secrets it held. Much to my irritation Loki was curled up in the hollow between his knees, eyes slit in bliss as he kneaded the blanket.

“Traitor.”

As if he had heard me, Loki stopped and turned his violet eyes in my direction. Spying me through the glass, he immediately hopped down and dashed to the back door, forcing it open with his rock-like skull. Slamming into my legs with the force of a freight train, and purring just as loud, he rubbed against me with an exuberance I hadn’t seen from him before. My shoulders slumped with guilt, and I instantly berated myself for my petty thoughts.

“I missed you too, buddy,” I said with a smile, bending as much as my battered ribs would allow to trail my fingers from his nose to the tip of his tail.

“He kept guard over you all night,” Holbrook said from his spot on the deck, his gaze still fixed on some distant point in the fog.