Hunter's Rise (24 page)

Comfort wasn’t something that came easily to him. It didn’t want to come at all, but he couldn’t stand to see her so sad, so full of pain and misery.

Reaching up, he cupped her cheek. “What hurts you?”

She looked away. “Nothing,” she whispered. Gently, she nudged his hand out of the way and climbed off. “I’ve got some clothes stashed in my bike, but I’ll need to go back to my place at some point or do laundry.”

So that was how she wanted to play it. The misery was
still there, dark in her eyes and twisting his heart into knots. Climbing off the bike, he studied her averted face.

“You can wash whatever you need to wash here if you want,” he said.

As her gaze cut his way, he grinned at her. “And if you feel like it, you can do mine. I never did like messing with laundry.”

“Are you trying to make me want to hit you?” she asked conversationally. “Trying to be an ass?”

“Nah.” He shrugged. “That comes naturally.” There wasn’t as much misery in her eyes; he decided it had burned off under the irritation. Much better. “Although if you want to go a round or two, we could. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Yeah. I bet.” She grabbed a bag from her bike and then headed toward the house.

“It could be cathartic.” As she slid him a sidelong look, he smiled. “Get rid of some of that tension— hot and sweaty action has a way of doing that.”

Sylvia snorted and this time, when she looked at him, there was a glint of heat and humor in her eyes. The misery, wherever it had come from, was gone. “Don’t worry, wolf. If I feel like getting hot and sweaty with you, I’ll let you know.”

I live for the day
, he thought. Both he and the wolf inside him watched her with want.

C

Hell.
Cathartic
wasn’t exactly the thought that came to mind when she thought of getting hot and sweaty with him.

And she wasn’t thinking of fighting him, either, although that could be an experience.

No, when—

When? What in the hell am I thinking…
when?
If—
if
I get hot and sweaty with him, it’s not going to be a therapeutic thing.
As he opened the door and stepped aside to let her enter, she even tried to pretend she really hadn’t made up her mind to sleep with him.

She was lying to herself— and she could happily continue
to do it for the next little while as she moved through the house. It was huge— she’d already seen that and the first look had also let her see enough to leave her scowling. Lots of big windows, lots of open spaces… where was she to sleep?

“There are rooms deeper inside the house.”

Turning, she looked at him, saw him leaning against the doorway, the moonlight shining in to frame him, dancing along the hollows and planes of his face, turning his pale hair to silver. “Rooms?”

“For you to sleep.” He shoved off the wall and held out a hand. “Come on.”

Sylvia eyed the hand he held out— she didn’t need to hold his hand to be shown around the house, did she? But was she so desperate to keep him from touching her that she couldn’t accept it?

Yes.

That was an easy enough question to answer.

Damn it.
If we get hot and sweaty… if… if…

Screw it.

It was going to happen, and as she stood there staring at him, she decided she wanted it to happen
now
. Because then she could relegate him to the sidelines, where he belonged. She could stop obsessing over him.

Life could go back to normal… right?

Placing her hand in his, she smiled. “Lead on.”

The room he led her to was in the depths of the house, completely enclosed. Yet it was designed in a way that kept it from being anything remotely cagelike. As she moved past him into the room, she couldn’t help but pause and stare. A huge oak bed, set on an elevated platform on the far wall, dominated much of the room. It was covered with a comforter that gleamed with colors of dull rust and gold, and those same colors were echoed in the pillows on the bed, in the art on the walls, in the sofa that waited in the small sitting area. That space was on the lower area, complete with a minibar, what looked like an electric fireplace, a huge, flat-screen TV and a coffee table. A small bookshelf was there as well.

Against the eastern wall there was a door, and she made her way over there, opened it and checked inside.
A bathroom. There, she found one window, facing the heavily wooded area. Just under it was a huge tub that was almost big enough to swim in.

Turning, she lifted a brow. “You must have a few vampy friends that you really like if you have a setup like this.”

“Sometimes somebody needs a place to crash.” He came forward, his eyes resting on hers. “You know how we are. Not all of us play very well together and we need room. This is where I go when I need space. I figured it couldn’t hurt to have the extra rooms, just in case.”

He caught a lock of her hair and twined it around his finger. “You’ll be able to sleep here.”

“Yes.” It shouldn’t be such an erotic thing, seeing him play with her hair. But as he continued to do it, she felt that hot little ball of want in her belly flare hotter. Brighter.

Tossing her bag down, she reached up and wrapped her hand around his wrist. Under her thumb, she felt the strong, steady beat of his pulse. “Thanks for the room.”

“Hmmm.” His voice was a low, rough growl, and under her touch, his pulse raced harder. Then he moved closer, until his body was just a breath away from hers. “You need to feed.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready, wolf.” Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his, nipping his lip lightly. “You won’t be seducing me, Toronto— no grabby hands this time.” She planned on being the one to grab him.

He hissed out a breath, his gaze turbulent… a summer storm.

The sight of it made her smile.

“I need a bath,” she murmured, turning away.

If she was going to jump him, she planned on cleaning up first.

I

You won’t be seducing me…

She meant it.

No grabby hands—

Shit. She’d given him the back off and he had to respect that. Until he could get her to change her mind.

About the grabby hands thing, the seducing her thing, because damn it, if he didn’t have a taste of her, he’d lose his mind.

“You already have,” he muttered.

Determined to distract himself, he grabbed the phone and put in a call to Rafe while he went about making himself something to eat. If he couldn’t sate one hunger, he’d sate the other. A quick rundown about what had happened and he threw the name Kit in there.

“The only Kit I’m familiar with is a werewolf in Chicago— married to the Master there.”

“No. It’s a male— he’s involved in this somehow.”

Rafe was quiet. “Okay. We’ll start looking around.”

That managed to take up a whopping three minutes. Scowling, he stabbed at his steak as he flipped it over the grill. It was still rare when he was finished with it and that was how he wanted it. If he hadn’t had Sylvia here, he would have gone hunting for his meal— he ached for it, but he didn’t think it would do his seduction efforts any good if he went and ran down a deer and then tried to seduce her.

Not that she would be very surprised. She was a damned vampire.

But he was going to play the gentleman, eat his damned steak and then pretend to be a nice host—

Shit. This was going to try his control like nothing had done in years. Grumbling under his breath, he dumped the steak on a plate and cut into it, eating at the counter and trying to figure out the best way to handle Ms. Sylvia James. So far, they were working together okay. Right?

Two nights in and they hadn’t tried to kill each other. She hadn’t tried to strangle him or anything. That was practically a record. Sadly, he brought out the worst in people and had been known to provoke them after only a few hours. Usually on purpose, so he could be on his own once more. He liked working with her, though.

And they were slowly finding out information. The problem was they weren’t finding it out fast and while he knew it worked that way, he could see the echoes of demons in her eyes. Something was pushing her hard on this case and he didn’t know what.

Every now and then, he caught a glimpse of something in her eyes— something dark and achingly sad. Like earlier. It wasn’t just sympathy for Pulaski’s victims, although God knew, that would be enough.

There wasn’t a level in hell hot enough for monsters like that one. Of course, Toronto had no problem trying to think up perfectly painful, brutal deaths, even knowing they wouldn’t be bad enough.

But first they had to find him and figure out what he’d done with his victims.

Hearing a footstep, he looked up as he popped the last bite of the steak into his mouth. And he almost choked when he saw her standing there. Dumping the plate on the counter, he grabbed a glass of water he’d poured earlier and gulped it down like he was dying of thirst.

She was wearing one of his shirts.

Fuck, what was it about a woman in a man’s shirt, anyway? How could they look so good in a stupid T-shirt?

“Hey.” She leaned against the wall, a sly little smile on her lips, her hair hanging in damp, clinging ropes around her shoulders and back. “I guess I should have asked you, but I needed a shirt. I don’t usually pack pajamas.”

“Ah…”

Pushing off the wall, she shrugged a shoulder and said, “Can’t really wander around here naked, right?”

Naked. She couldn’t wander around here naked? Skimming his eyes over her lush curves, the sleek muscles, he met her eyes. “If I say I want the shirt back, does that mean you’ll wander around naked? If so, I’m very tempted to tell you that you can’t have the shirt.”

The smile on her mouth widened. “Can I get some water?”

“Sure.” Water. He needed to get her water. And then he needed to get his hands busy. Otherwise he was going to
think about trying to touch her, even though she’d told him to back off. He had to go about this differently. Had to actually work at the seduction thing, and he’d probably have to work overtime since she was determined that he
wouldn’t
be seducing her. As he grabbed a glass, he noticed that his fingers were shaking.

This woman had him shaking.

This is bad.
He had to get a grip.

After getting her some water from the fridge, he turned around and held it out. Was it his imagination or was there a devilish glint in those liquid, dark eyes? Her fingers brushed his as she accepted the glass and that slight touch sent a burning jolt through him.

Hell. He needed to get some distance between them and try to wrestle his body back under control.

Try. Turning around, he gripped the marble counter with one hand and tried to yank his body back under the chokehold of control, the one he had to use on nights of the full moon when he
couldn’t
shift— that iron control that he could command, when he needed it.

But he was failing.

Hell. He needed to get out of here. Out of here, away from her… clear his head. He’d shift and go for a run. A good hard run would help. It always did. Taking the edge off was the best thing for him. Actually, that needed to be the first thing he did—

Mind made up, he forced himself to let go of the counter so he could gather up the dishes from his meal. Still not looking in Sylvia’s direction, he rinsed the few dishes off and put them in the dishwasher. He had somebody come out once a month and clean for him, but that didn’t include doing the dishes.

Cleaning up after himself was a necessity, even if he was suddenly in a mad hurry to get out of there. Werewolves, like other shifters, like the vamps, tended to be pretty fastidious. It was a side effect of having overly sensitive noses.

“Can you go ahead and feed? I need to go for a run and I won’t be back before the sun rises.” He kept his eyes focused
on the mundane chore of straightening up, although it really didn’t require that much attention. If he was looking at his hands, he wasn’t going to be looking at her, though, and he needed to avoid looking at her. Especially since she needed to feed…
fuck
.

There was a whisper— a familiar one— of cotton against flesh.

Turning his head slightly, he watched something black and soft fall to the floor.

His T-shirt.

His heart jumped into his throat, lodged there for about five seconds and made it impossible to breathe. Then it settled back in his chest, beating about two hundred beats a minute, he figured as he shut the dishwasher, still staring at the puddle of black cotton on the floor in front of him.