Werewolves in Love 1: Kiss and Kin (2 page)

That didn’t work anymore.

“Wow.”

“Uh? Oh—I didn’t see you come back,” he said, turning to Danny. “Wow what?”

“The girl in the green dress. I mean, look at those legs.”

“Those are my cousin’s legs,” Taran said dourly.

“Oh, um—sorry.” The brunet beta instantly dropped his gaze.

“It’s all right.” Taran sighed. “I know she’s hot.”

“None of my cousins look like that, that’s for damn sure.”

Taran smiled tightly. “We’re not actually blood. She’s my brother’s cousin.”

“Oh, right. You and your brother have different fathers.”

“Yeah. Myall’s dad is human. Lark’s his niece. My mom and stepdad raised her after her parents died. Myall thinks of her as a sister.”

“So you think of her as family, too.”

Taran nodded. “Yeah, a little.”

No. Not at all.

“She play basketball?”

“Soccer and volleyball,” replied Taran softly.

“Beach volleyball?” Denardo leered. The smile faded as he looked at Taran’s face. “Just a joke,” he muttered. “How tall is she, anyway?”

“Five ten.”
Ask me anything
.
Her favorite color is purple, her favorite food is Mexican. She’s scared of roaches but pretends she’s not. Great dancer, lousy singer. She’ll laugh at the dumbest movie and the stupidest joke. Likes kids and rain, hates cats and golf. She’s twenty-six. Her shampoo smells like apples and she thinks I’m an asshole.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s start mingling around here.”

She returned to find El laughing uproariously with her new werewolf boyfriend and his pals. Lark suspected El wouldn’t drive herself—or Lark—home tonight.

“There you are!” El shrieked. To the werewolves she said, “Y’all excuse us a minute. Come on, Lark.”

Lark shrugged and belted half the cosmo before setting it down to follow a weaving El.

“What d’ya think?” El asked when they reached the bathroom. Lark noted the slurred speech and droopy eyelids. Definitely not driving.

“About who? Your Russian guy?” She stared at herself in the mirror as she waited for El to finish.
I should wear more makeup
. She liked her dark blue eyes and snub nose well enough. She considered her brown hair, with its auburn highlights, her best feature. Thick, straight and glossy, it fell to just below her shoulder blades. She wore long bangs in front, parted on the side.
It’s an okay face. I need more makeup.

“Dominik is Czech. He’s loaded.” El giggled. “I’ll probably go home with him, if that’s cool with you?”

“I only came out tonight because you didn’t want to go out alone!” Lark said, exasperated. Dominik apparently didn’t care enough to pick Eloise up and take her out.

“Please don’t be mad, Lark.” El pouted. “I really like him, and I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Lark didn’t blame El for being a ditzy narcissist—she couldn’t help it, not with all that fae blood. It made her annoying but irresistible to all three species of sapiens.

“Whatever, El. That’s fine.” She’d already planned to cab it.

As they walked back to the table, Eloise looked over to the bar. “That’s your cousin the cop, isn’t it?”

“He’s not my cousin,” Lark responded reflexively.

“He is so hot. I know that guy he’s with.”

“You do?” She wouldn’t look in that direction; she didn’t want Taran to see her watching him.

“I don’t know his name. He’s a friend of Luc. You remember—the French wolf? We went to Vegas a lot.”

“Luc with the Ducati?” Lark wasn’t a fur chaser, but she loved fine motorcycles.

“Yeah, he took me out on it a few times. This one time we rode to Austin…”

El talked all the way back to the table, promptly ignoring Lark once they got there. Lark drank her cosmo and ignored the other werewolves. She people watched, trying to guess couples on first dates, couples just hooking up, couples breaking up. When she got bored, she Taran watched. He never glanced in her direction, so she felt free to spy until a flock of geeks descended on a table and blocked her view.

The werewolf who’d tried to buy her a drink—Sergei/Stefan/whoever—offered her a chair at one point. She declined. A little later, she thought maybe she’d reconsider.

The whole world listed to the left sharply and suddenly. She grabbed the edge of the table and swallowed hard. The music got both louder and harder to hear. The room began to spin very fast, like in a movie where the camera pans around and around until the viewer gets sick and dizzy.

She didn’t see El and the Czech werewolf anywhere. Another guy, dark haired, joined the group now. Lark concentrated on staying upright while she tried to get the attention of the werewolf next to her. She labored to keep her eyes open.

“Hey,” she said. It came out nearly inaudible. “Hey!” she tried more loudly, and took one hand off the table to put it on the shoulder of Stefan/Sergei/whomever. He finally looked up at her; she all but sagged on him at this point. He said something. It sounded all muffled and distorted, like it came from underwater.

He flashed her a smile—an insincere, predatory smile. Panic paralyzed her.

The other werewolves and the new guy looked straight at her. She suspected they recognized her distress, yet they just stood there and watched.

The werewolf stood and grabbed her upper arm. She tried to pull away and almost fell down. The other werewolves ignored her. Now she knew they did it deliberately. All around her people talked and danced and jostled. No one noticed her about to pass out while this scumbag clutched her arm and his buddies ignored her.

She grabbed a chair, trying to pull away. The werewolf put his arm around her waist as if to help her. He kissed her on the cheek. Helpless, more terrified than she’d ever been, she was about to be dragged away in the middle of a crowd.

She tried again to pull away, then pushed at him feebly—for God’s sake, the guy stood four inches shorter than her.
I’m not drunk,
she raged helplessly, internally,
I’m just
…
dizzy, and sleepy and scared, and…

Taran. Taran could help. But she couldn’t see him—she couldn’t see anything. She had double vision, maybe even triple, after only two cosmos.

Sobbing with fear, she began to scream. “Taran! Taran! Help me! Please! Tar—” No matter how hard she screamed, nothing came out but a thin wail no one would hear over the noise of the club.

She choked on her sobs and fell silent, but finally people noticed. The crowd in front of her seemed to ripple. A bunch of people screamed and fell down. The creepy werewolf let go. Someone caught her as she fell.

Please be Taran
.

The scents and sounds of places like this played hell on a werewolf’s senses. Alcohol and perfume, sweat and pheromones and fabric, all ran together in one meaningless smell. Music and voices, ice against glass against bottles, created a background roar through which he struggled to pick out words. He could hear better in here than any human, but nowhere near optimal.

It took a few minutes for the sound of someone calling his name to pierce the cacophony. A voluble blonde chatted him up; he’d dropped the name of a missing woman, she’d claimed to have known her slightly, but as they talked Taran realized the blonde didn’t know anything useful.

That’s when he heard it, faintly at first.

“Taran!”

Why would Lark call him from across the bar, when he’d just told her…

“Taran! Help me! Please! Tar—”

The cop heard the terror in her voice; the wolf responded. Taran shoved his drink at the startled blonde, who didn’t take it. He ignored the dull thud of lead glass hitting hardwood. Soda splashed the blonde’s legs as he closed the distance between him and Lark in seconds. Tables, chairs and patrons flew everywhere. Taran ignored it all, focused solely on the werewolf with his arm around a feebly struggling Lark. The werewolf let go of her abruptly and disappeared.

Taran caught her as she crumpled. Only then did he become aware of other people around them again.

He knelt with an unconscious Lark in his lap. Bouncers came running. He snarled, “Call 911,
now!
” and they ran to comply.

He smelled the earthy odor indicating incipient change; it came from him. He hadn’t changed involuntarily since his teens; stress could make betas do it, but alphas only did it under extreme emotional duress. A mate’s near abduction would qualify.

If he changed in the middle of a stirred-up crowd like this, humans and non-humans alike might panic. He lowered his head and closed his eyes so no one would see if they began to yellow. A minute later, he had it under control.

A guy identifying himself as a doctor checked Lark’s pulse and pupils.

“I saw her thirty minutes ago. She didn’t get passed out drunk that fast. She doesn’t drink like that.”

“No respiratory distress, heartbeat’s good,” replied the doctor. “If someone slipped her a mickey, it’ll show up in a tox screen.”

Denardo dispersed the crowd and leaned over Taran’s shoulder.

“What do you want me do?”                                      

Taran didn’t take his eyes off Lark as he stroked her hair and face.

“You get a look at the wolves she was with?” he asked Denardo absently.

“No. I was over there.” He gestured to the other side of the room. “I didn’t notice anything wrong till I heard people screaming.”

“I got a little rough with the crowd,” Taran muttered.

“I talked to some people at the next table,” the rookie continued. “They said it just looked like a wolf and a drunk girl. She didn’t make any noise they could hear.”

Drugs might have made her unable to scream. It would explain why none of the missing women created a scene before disappearing. Maybe they’d tried and couldn’t.

“I thought she looked like she was in trouble, and when I got over here a wolf was dragging her out.”

He didn’t mention he’d heard her scream. He’d only heard because Lark was his mate. No one needed to know that.

“Well, now we know how those women went missing,” he muttered. “It happened in the middle of a crowd. No one noticed a thing.” A cold, heavy weight sat in his stomach and something squeezed his heart—probably stark terror, which, like involuntary change, he’d not experienced in fifteen or twenty years.

He didn’t realize he held her tightly against his chest until an EMT tapped him on the shoulder and said deferentially, “Sir? We need to get the lady on the gurney.”

He stood with Lark in his arms and laid her gently on the cart.

“I’m a cop,” he informed the EMT. “I’m coming with you.”

Lark drifted below consciousness. Just as she felt herself surfacing, a wave of cozy warmth would crest, break and drag her back down. Voices rose, fell away and rose again. She rather enjoyed the sensation. Best of all were the dreams of Taran; not sex dreams, but she didn’t mind. In the dreams, he stroked her hair, caressed her hand, talked to her gently. Only in her dreams did he do things like that.

Eventually, less pleasant sounds intruded—beeps, honks and hisses, several voices speaking at once. The snuggly warmth began to dissipate.

“I think she’s waking up.” She recognized her best friend’s voice. “Lark? Sweetie? Can you open your—”

“Move.” Taran, speaking in his real life voice—curt and grumpy.

“Hey, watch it, assho—did you see the way he just pushed me?”

“Give the wolf a break, TJ.” Nick Wargman, the Houston alpha and Taran’s best friend, sounded amused. It took a few seconds’ concentrated effort, but Lark opened her eyes to see Taran leaning over her, smoothing her hair with the back of his hand, his face very close to hers. She noted the dark circles beneath his sunken eyes. His customary stubble looked more like a beard.

“Hi,” he said quietly. “How do you feel?”

She frowned, confused. Why was he here? She tried to think about what she last remembered. Her mind gaped open, vast and empty like after a big booze binge, only she couldn’t remember going—wait. She did remember going out. Didn’t she? She went out, she…couldn’t remember. She gasped and tried to sit up, suddenly panicked and choked for air.

Taran gently pressed her shoulders back down. “Take it easy, Lark. You’re okay, you’re—”

“Hey, sweetie. It’s okay, we’re all here.” TJ came around to the other side of the bed and took Lark’s other hand, casting a “fuck you, too” look at Taran.

“What happened? Why I am in the hospital?” she asked hoarsely.

“You’re—”

“Nick,” Taran said loudly. “Would you please ask your
secretary
to back off? I need to ask Lark some questions, and your
secretary
is in my way.”

“You son of a—”

“Minion, let’s step outside for a minute,” Nick said. “We need to tell a nurse she’s awake anyway.”

TJ started to argue, then looked at her boss’s face and stopped. Standing on her tiptoes to kiss Lark on the cheek, she whispered “I’ll be back,” and walked out, but not before pausing at the door to toss an “asshole!” over her shoulder. Nick winked and smiled at Lark before he closed the door behind him.

Taran didn’t watch them go. His gaze remained fixed on her, one of her hands firmly in his; with his other he began stroking her brow again.

Faded blue jeans and a long sleeved, fitted beige sweater had replaced last night’s suit. He looked stale and disheveled and yummy. Maybe she didn’t care what had happened to her, she thought, as long as he just touched her like this a little longer.

“Why were you such a jerk to TJ?”

“Never mind that,” he replied impatiently. “Do you remember last night?”

She closed her eyes to think. “Yeah. Yeah, I do,” she said slowly. “El picked me up, and we met some wolves she knew. I saw you. Didn’t I?”

He nodded. “Yes. We talked.”

“You spilled my drink on me.”

He grinned at her. She wondered why the heart monitor didn’t explode. “I startled you. You spilled your drink on yourself. I bought you another one.”

“Okay. What happened after that?”

“I’m not sure. At some point, someone slipped some GHB in your drink. It’s used as a date rape drug, like roofies.”

“I know.”