SHADOWS OF A WOLF MOON Book 5: RISE OF THE ARKANSAS WEREWOLVES (7 page)

Chapter Eleven

“Lucien.” Catty snatched her hand out of his and stopped.

“What?” He turned and glared.

“Your T-shirt and jacket are soaked with blood.” She reached out and touched his back. She held up her bloodstained fingers. “You can’t tell it’s blood on your jacket, but you are leaving a blood trail with every step you take.”

He sucked in a hissing breath as the burning pain begin to register in his cells.

“Someone will call the cops when they see all this blood. We need to get this bandaged up. Now.” She met his gaze.

He looked up the street toward his hotel. “My hotel is five blocks from here.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s too far. My place is closer.” Sighing, she grabbed his hand. “Come on, this way.” She made a left and kept to the inside of the sidewalk. People were beginning to stir and he did notice some stares from some people they passed, but they didn’t say a word.

By the time they made it to her apartment, his shoulder was pounding like a bitch. He couldn’t tell if the wetness on his shirt was blood or sweat, but he guessed it was a little of both.

She hurried through the front door of the building. The outside didn’t seem like much, old brick with vines growing along the side. Once he stepped inside the darkened foyer, the décor didn’t get much better.

“The stairs will be quicker.”

He didn’t argue.

They stepped out onto the third floor. The dated wallpaper and dim lighting illuminated the dark, dingy floors. A long time ago the complex was probably stylish and beautiful, but time and lack of upkeep had eaten away at her beauty and dulled her shine. The building was sitting on the edge of the dangerous part of the city, and unless the city council decided to rejuvenate this part of town, it was going to continue to decline into disrepair.

She dug in her pocket for her key and unlocked the door. She motioned him inside with her hand.

He stepped in and was surrounded by the soft scent of jasmine. His gaze swept the small space and landed on the candles sitting on the bedside table. The wooden floors creaked under his feet as he walked farther into the small space. It was a loft-style living area with a bed in the middle of the area where a living room should have been.

“Sit down and let me look at your shoulder.” She nodded toward her bed.

“It’s fine. Give me some bandages and I’ll do it myself.” No way was he letting her touch him. She’d probably cut his throat first chance she got.

“Are you always this rude?”

“I’m not rude.” He was honest. There was a big difference.

“Sit.” She nodded to the bed. He reluctantly complied. The mattress squeaked under his weight. The ache in arm matched the pain in his shoulder.

He glanced across the studio, taking in her place. It was a studio apartment with wood floors and brick walls. The bedroom and living room were in the same space, and off to the right was a small kitchen separated by a curtain. A door off the living room led into a small bathroom.

There were splashes of her personality scattered around the room, which made the small dark space feel less cramped.

A small writing table, which doubled as a makeup table, sat alongside the wall. Scattered tubes of lipstick and eye shadow were strewn across it along with a laptop computer.

Her bed had no headboard but was decorated with a ton of pillows in every shade of pink. The comforter matched the pillows.

He noticed a silky tank top and matching bottoms near his boot. Ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder, he bent and picked up the pink material.

He inhaled. She’d slept in this last night. Her scent was all over it.

He slammed his eyes shut as his body stirred with lust and hardened to a point of pain. His hand clutched the bed covering as he fought to get images of Catty’s scantily clad body out of his mind.

“Here, take this.”

His eyes popped open. She shoved a glass half full of amber-colored liquid into his hand. A sharp whiff told him it was Jack Daniels. He hated Jack Daniels.

“It will help with the pain.” She gave him a hard look.

The adrenaline was leaving his body, and the pain was increasing with every breath. He tossed the glass back and downed the whiskey. He grimaced as the liquid slid down his throat, burning all the way.

“Not a fan of whiskey?”

“I prefer beer.”

“I don’t like it either,” she admitted. “One of my girlfriends left it here the last time she came over. Some guy gave it to her at the club.” She knelt on the bed and set her bandaging supplies beside her. “Take your jacket off.”

He eyed her for a moment and then reluctantly slid the leather jacket off his shoulders and laid the leather across his lap.

“This cut isn’t so deep.” She wrapped the white gauze around the wound on his arm and taped it down. When she was done, she grabbed the hem of his shirt.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “The shirt stays on.”

“But how can I stop the bleeding on your shoulder with your shirt still on?”

“Here.” He ripped the sleeve of his T-shirt and shoved it up over his bicep.

She shook her head but didn’t say anything. Perhaps she’d thought better of trying to argue with him.

“This one’s deeper. If you were human, you would need stiches.”

“Good thing I’m a werewolf then.”

“Yeah, good thing,” she murmured. Her hair brushed the top of his bicep as she worked. His body warmed and tightened. Her scent was all around him, trapping him with invisible fingers— trapping him and refusing to let him go.

“So is your friend a stripper too?” He nodded toward the bottle of whiskey.

“She is. You got a problem with strippers?” She held the bandage over his wound and craned her neck over his shoulder to meet his eyes.

Her scent and the heat from her body felt like lightning from a summer storm. He sucked in a breath, and he could swear he could taste her on his lips.

“No, I don’t.” He gritted his teeth. She was way too close for his liking. “You take things the wrong way.”

Her mouth parted and it took all his strength not to move those final three inches closer and press his lips against hers. When he forced his gaze up to her eyes, he realized she’d caught him looking at her mouth.

“Don’t even think about it.” She glared.

“Think about what?” He swallowed.

“Don’t think about kissing me.” She shot him a look like she could kill. “Kissing you is the last thing I need to be doing.”

He reacted on instinct before his mind could process what he was doing.

He cupped his hand around the back of her neck and closed the distance between them. His mouth covered hers, hard and unflinching.

He swept his tongue inside her mouth, tasting her spicy sweetness. He growled as he deepened the kiss. He wanted to taste her fully so he could get her out of his mind once and for all.

She pressed her hand against his chest and broke the kiss.

“Apparently, you don’t listen,” she said breathlessly. “I said, don’t kiss me.” She shoved away and walked into the kitchen.

What had he done? Body on fire and trembling with lust, he stood and made his way to the window. He needed to look at anything but her.

He wished he regretted what he’d done. But he didn’t. He wished he had gotten her out of his system. He hadn’t. He wished he didn’t want to kiss her again. But he did.

He braced his arm above the window and studied the floor.

He’d lost control.

A vision of his brother echoed in his head, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. If he didn’t gain control over his actions, he was going to slip into that same fucking abyss and become what he detested the most.

His brother.

He was nothing like his brother.

He took a deep breath, held it, and counted to ten before he blew it out. He glanced at the traffic below as cars and motorcycles moving at a snail’s pace down the street. Unhurried with no one to see and nothing to do. It was the vibe he got from New Orleans.

Unlike him. He, on the other hand, had places to go and people to find. He had a mission and it sure as fuck didn’t include trying to get Zane’s sister into bed.

“Fuck me.” He cradled the wound in his shoulder as the pain returned full force. As a werewolf, he would heal soon enough. It didn’t ache any worse than the ache behind his zipper.

“I think we established I wasn’t interested.” Her voice trickled over him and he turned.

Gone was the anger he’d seen in her eyes. In its place was the stalwart, confident barrier she seemed to carry with her like heavy armor.

“I apologize. I shouldn’t have kissed you.” He forced the words out despite the urge to take her into his arms and kiss her again.

She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. “I almost believe you.”

His head snapped up. “I always respect women. I’ve never forced a woman to do something she didn’t want to do. I’m not that guy.”

“I said, I almost believe you. Why did you think you could take what’s not yours?” She walked toward him until they were toe to toe and far, far too close.

His body raged with lust as her scent became overwhelming. He took a step back to regain his composure.

She took a step forward.

He angled his body away from the window so his back wouldn’t hit the wall. And when she took another step into his personal space, the backs of his legs hit the bed.

Smirking, she stepped closer and shoved his chest.

He had no choice but to sit. As his body landed on the bed, he felt his resolve slipping.

“Tell me something, Lucien.” She straddled his legs and sat on his lap. “Tell me, what makes a male think they have the right to a woman’s body?”

Her sweet ass pressed into his jean-clad legs. His dick hardened and throbbed. He fisted his hands in the comforter to keep from touching her.

“They don’t. A male worth anything respects a woman.”

“Hmmmm.” She scooted closer until her sweet spot was resting right over his erection.

He gritted his teeth and growled.

She smirked and pressed her hands to his chest, knocking him back onto the bed. With her advantage over him, she hovered over his stomach and leaned down. Her warm breath hit his cheek as she leaned to his ear.

“Is it because some males think just because some girls take their clothes off for a living they are whores?” Anger flashed behind her eyes.

“No.”

She ran her finger down his chest. When she reached the top of his jeans, she dipped her finger inside, touching the flesh of his stomach.

“If that’s true, then why are you hard?” She smirked.

“Getting hard over a beautiful woman is a natural reaction.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” She held his gaze.

“You know you are.” The hated words grated his throat as sweat popped out over his skin.

“And if I were to do this, would you still stop if I said no?” She leaned back and reached for the bottom of her shirt. Slowly, ever so fucking slowly, she lifted it over her head, revealing a black bra and a smooth expanse of flat stomach.

He tried to swallow but his mouth was like sandpaper.

“Catty, you are messing with fire.”

“No, Lucien, you are.” Her smirk changed into something hard. “I’ve known men like you. Males who think just because a girl takes her clothes off for money that it includes sex too. That we are asking for it.” There was a hard edge to her voice, hard enough to cut through steel.

“I never said that.” The blood pulsed in his ears.

“But back there you offered me money.”

“I offered you money for your time. Not sex.”

“So if I took this off”— she ran her fingertip under the strap of her bra— “you wouldn’t take it as a sign I want you to fuck me.”

“Catty, stop it,” Lucien warned.

“Why? Unable to control your urges around a naked woman, Lucien?” She smirked and reached around her back to unhook her bra.

He grabbed her hand. “Cut it out, Catty.”

“Why? Isn’t this what you want?” She leaned down and playfully nipped his ear.

He grabbed her waist and twisted his body, putting hers underneath his.

Fear flitted through her eyes before she fixed her face into the same confident cold mask she usually wore.

“I don’t hurt women. You don’t fucking know me, so stop lumping me in with every other asshole who’s ever hurt you. You are the one who started this bullshit about me thinking you were a whore because you are a stripper. It’s frankly none of my business, to be quite honest. Stop being a brat and grow the fuck up.” He scrambled off the bed, grabbed his jacket off the floor, and headed for the front door.

“Lucien, wait.”

“Why?” He didn’t turn to look at her. Her assumptions about him had him more pissed off than turned on.

He heard the soft falling of clothes over her body. When he turned, she was dressed and standing behind him with her hands in her jeans pockets. Her cheeks were stained red and she studied the floor.