The Legend of the Werewolf (16 page)

They were on the porch of their shared
cabin before she tapped his chin. "Uh, what about you? That doesn't
hurt does it?"

He felt along his jaw where she's
punched him. It was tender and he'd probably have a bruise in the
morning, but he didn't care. "I'll live." He opened the door for
her, amused when she crossed her arms and stepped in like the
princess everyone called her.

"You'd better. Don't forget you need to
get me out of a wedding. I won't take killer shadows as an
excuse."

EIGHT

When Anne opened her eyes in what seemed
like two minutes after closing them, it was morning. Well pastsed
dawn, in fact. The clock blinked ten a.m. at her in obnoxious red
square blocks.

She groaned, threw her blanket off,
stretched and thanked her lucky rabbit's foot that Mike was a
gentleman who offered her the bed for the night. How she managed to
sleep at all with the ceiling light bulb glaring down at her all
night was a miracle only obtained because she'd gotten so little
sleep the night before.

Anne hopped out of bed and shut the
light out, no longer needing it for safety now that the sun chased
the shadows away.

She lifted her arm and sniffed her frilly
shirt. Ugh. Sleeping in her clothes wasn’t a good idea. Not like
she had a choice, though, with how nuts things were last night.
She’d have to find new clothes.

She opened the bedroom door a crack but
stopped when the hinges screamed.

Her breath caught. She peered through
the small opening at the couch but there was no movement from
Mike.

Jaw clenched, she eased the stubborn
door open farther and stepped out, her bare feet avoiding all the
old floorboards that would give her away and padded towards her
shoes by the door.

Brock raised his head from his place
where he curled up for the night. Anne put a finger to her
lips.

She glimpsed Mike as she passed the
small couch. The weak thing struggled under his weight as he snored
soundly with his head on the arm. He must’ve been moving around in
his sleep because his legs dangled over the other couch arm at the
knees.

One hand sat over his huge chest while
the other lay on the floor, his body ready to join it should he
move the wrong way.

His hat, that he adored so much, lay
peacefully on the floor next to him, in danger of being crushed
should he fall over.

When they returned to their cabin last
night, Mike didn’t want to speak. She’d asked him if he was hurt,
if he wanted to talk about what happened, but he didn’t give her
solid answers.

“
Let’s just sleep. I’ll stay
here,” he’d said as he fell back on the couch, covering his face
with his hat to give him some darkness.

She didn’t immediately move. She
watched him, even when he started pretending to snore.

Nearly getting killed
must have been what
caused him to turn into such a sour puss. Sure, that was
it.

“
Goodnight,” Anne said before she
took the bedroom for the night.

Now his hat was on the floor and at
death’s door. Must’ve fallen off sometime in the night.

She swooped in to rescue it, lifted it
from the floor, patted the dirt off it, and placed it on the coffee
table for later.

She didn’t step away from the couch. Now
that she could, that all was quiet and no one, save for Brock,
would be the wiser, she took her time to look at the man who was
saving her from an unwanted marriage.

Gods were beautiful, pure creatures and,
while the first werewolf was no God, he was as good as one and just
as pure in the eyes of her pack. And every pack in the world once
they heard of him. He was a living legend sleeping on Gordon's
rattiest couch.

Tall body, strong hands and shoulders,
square chin and jet black hair with the hardest eyes she'd ever
seen resting beneath lids framed with soft black lashes. If Michael
Carter was the first werewolf reincarnated then he certainly looked
the part.

From the corner of her eye she caught
sight of Brock’s furry head, cocked to the side and staring at her
as she stared at Mike.

Feeling playful, Anne grinned at Brock
before nodding towards Mike. "He's cute."

Never a man of many words, Brock stuck
his muzzle under his paw. Anne laughed softly. "Fine, maybe Westley
or Chris will agree with me."

Brock moved out of the way of the door,
allowing her to pass before slipping out with her.

She eyed him curiously as he
trotted towards the bushes.
Where are you going?

He shot her a look over his shoulder.
She raised her hands and started moving toward Westley's cabin.
"Never mind, stupid question."

People were already up and about. None
of the cars or trucks she saw the night before disappeared, though
they had been relocated and parked neatly side by side instead of
in a messy tangle.

No one had left, it seems.

Anne couldn't blame them for being curious
and wanting to stay, even after the spectacle last night with the
shadows. Still made things harder for her.

She didn't want to be seen, didn't want to
answer questions, or even let anyone know she was awake. She was
sure the only reason no one started knocking at the crack of dawn
had to do with Gordon.

If anyone saw her up and about they’d
probably run to her cabin like kids to a toy store to see if Mike
was up. And he needed his rest.

Slinking by a group of spread out, excited
werewolves was difficult and involved a lot of ducking, weaving,
back tracking, and slinking. The air was still, thank God. It would
make it harder for anyone to sniff her out.

When she made it to the larger, newer
cabin where Westley stayed whenever he visited his father, she let
herself in without knocking.

The feint murmur of conversation told
her that Chris was up and awake. The last thing she wanted was to
overhear anything private.

The last time that happened she had to
run out of the house with a red face. "Westley? It's
me."

Their voices paused before Westley
called back. “In here.”

Westley's cabin was larger than the tiny
one Gordon put her and Mike in, but not by much. She walked through
the thin hallway and pastsed the small kitchen. It had more than
one bedroom, and the kitchen and sitting room were separated by
walls.

She knocked before entering the flimsy
excuse of a guest room. Mostly to give them an extra two seconds to
get their clothes in case they were doing anything before she
entered the cabin.

Like the bedroom in her and Mike’s cabin,
the queen bed took up half the space in the blue painted room
leaving barely enough room for a nightstand and dresser. Extra
bandage wraps, cotton swabs, peroxide and pain killers made a mess
of what otherwise would have been a tidy space.

Chris sat miserably under the covers of
a soft flower quilt, arms crossed tightly against his chest. He
didn’t look like a man who’d been getting any. He looked like a man
who was being denied and Anne didn’t think it had to do with her
interruption.

With his blood-red hair, the piercings
on his eyebrow, ears, and the dragon tattoo he sported under a
borrowed T, he looked entirely out of place in a guestroom that a
middle aged woman could’ve decorated.

Westley had tried to redecorate,
telling his father that being gay didn’t make him a woman. But
Gordon didn’t trust his son to choose a spouse and he sure as Hell
didn’t trust him with decorating. So the room stayed
floral.

Chris lay on a mountain of pillows
piled against the mahogany headboard and glared at the opposite
side of the bed where Westley sat with one foot tucked under his
knee.

Westley grinned at her entrance, moved
over, and allowed her to sit.

She couldn't look away from Chris’
miserable face. This wasn’t what she expected to walk in on.
Normally they didn't fight in the few minutes they stole
together.

"You look healthy." Her eyes locked
onto Chris’ bright cheeks and strong posture. "That was pretty
brave what you did last night. Feeling better?"

"Yes." "No." Westley and Chris answered at
the same time. Chris glared harder and tried to sit up.

"I'm fine. I don't need you babying
me."

Westley jumped up and pushed him back
down, throwing the quilt back over him before he could slide out
from under it. "You almost had your wings ripped off. Just stay
here."

Anne's cheeks flushed at the pleading
in Westley's voice. She had to fight the urge to get up and leave
them alone. They rarely got any time together since Westley came
out to his father and Gordon ordered him to get married to a
woman.

Chris used to be a welcome visitor in the
pack. When Gordon found out that the dragon and his son were more
than friends, Chris was booted out.

They weren't even touching each other,
their glare crackled in the air and Anne could still sense the raw,
affectionate feelings pulsing between them. Something real that she
only wished she could find.

Which was why she was here.

“Listen, there’s something I need to
tell you guys.”

They both looked at her. Anne rubbed
her hands over her jeans. God, she needed to change into some fresh
clothes.

“What is it, princess?” Chris asked,
though he didn’t use the title sarcastically.

Anne wet her lips. “I’m sorry … if I
haven’t been thinking more of the two of you lately.”

They both looked at each
other.

“I mean, whenever we’d all sneak out
and try to think of ways to cancel the marriage, usually we only
talked about how to get me out of it. Not what the two of you would
do.”

Westley smiled, the act lifting the
crescent moon on his cheek. He reached his arm out and pulled her
close. Anne settled against him like she would a brother. How could
Gordon ever think they should be married?

“You shouldn’t worry about things like
that,” he whispered, rubbing her arm.

“I just never thought of it before. I
wasn’t trying to be selfish or anything.” Fuck, her throat was
closing up.

“
You weren’t being selfish,”
Chris said flatly, leaving no room for argument.

Happiness swelled inside her. Between
that painful revelation with Mike and now, she’d worried herself
sick the two men in this room were secretly angry with her. That
they weren’t was a Godsend.

It was so important for them to call
this marriage off. Not just for herself and the future she would
lose if Gordon got his way, but because she couldn't stand to see
her best friend separated from the person he chose as his
mate.

She loved her pack master. Knew he had
only the best of intentions, but he was being a dick.

Anne glanced over Westley’s shoulder to
Chris. "He does look okay, Westley."

"There, see?
She
agrees with me."

"
She
won't throw you out of here if you're caught
walking around," Westley hissed. He stared frost at the dragon and
all talk of apologies were forgotten.

Anne twisted her head at the both of
them. "Wait, what? You wouldn't throw him out."

Westley's face dropped at her half
accusation. "Of course not, don't be stupid. My dad."

"Gordon said Chris could
stay."

Chris reached over and yanked a book
from the nightstand. He flipped through it impatiently. Anne got
the feeling it was more to keep his fingers busy so he wouldn't get
up and try to strangle Westley. "The things you do for that man,"
he muttered.

Westley clenched his jaw. "That man is
my father."

"Who will disown you if you don't get
married," Chris snapped back.

Anne leaned back on her hands. "Not
that watching you two fight isn't entertaining enough, but we
already talked about this so you might as well give it up. As long
as everyone thinks Mike is the first, we got what we wanted. He'll
demand that Gordon call off the wedding."

"Then he'll engage Westley to
someone else," Chris muttered, slapping the book down on his quilt.
It bounced and hit Anne in the arm. She grinned and picked up her
copy of
Romeo and Juliet
.

"I thought I lost this."

Chris and Westley shot their glares at
her.

She cleared her throat and tucked the
tiny hardcover under her arm for later. "Uh, never mind. So why do
you think Gordon will kick him out?"

Westley sat back on the bed between her
and Chris and leaned back on his hands like she had done with a
heavy sigh. "He's been coming in here all night. The incident with
the shadows set him off. He's looking for an excuse to send Chris
out of here."

Anne could hardly believe it. “Even
though he said Chris could stay?”