Chapter 2 #3
A dusky pink blush painted the woman’s cheeks, a vision so innocent and beguiling a swelling wave of heat rolled through him and pooled low in his gut.
“I don’t know who or what you are. But it’s time for you to go.”
The desire to step forward, curl his fingers around her arms and pull her to his body crashed over him.
Christ, it had been so long since a female affected him like this.
The search for Maggie’s killer had consumed him.
Nothing but finding his sister’s murderer had existed—or mattered.
Yet here he was, in—based on the accents he’d heard since being captured—Australia, the other side of the world, and he was horny.
And stupid. You think Epoc hasn’t tracked you both down yet? Stop standing around thinking with your dick and start using your head. Her life depends on you now. Whether she likes it or not.
“You’re right. It is time to go.” He destroyed the distance between them, closed his hands around her arms and fixed her with a level stare. “Both of us.”
Her reaction was swift and immediate. She kicked him.
The ball of her foot rammed straight into his shin. Bright pain shot up his leg, making his balls shrink. He bit back a shout, sinking his fingers harder into her biceps and glaring down at her. “Stop it. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Green eyes flashed fury and—goddamn it—fear. “Let me go.”
“I—”
She struck out before he finished, jerking her knee up fast and hard, and it was only the grace of God—and his preternatural reflexes—that saved his balls being mashed up into the base of his spine.
He twisted his body, right thigh taking the blow, the awkward action making the bullet wound in his side erupt with fresh, blistering pain. Jesus Christ!
Declan’s patience snapped. In one fluid move he spun about, flung the woman onto the cushions of the sofa he’d been lying on only minutes earlier and followed the path of her body with his own, pinning her to the piece of furniture with his hands, hips and legs.
A growl burst from his throat and, temper boiling, he bared his teeth.
“Listen to me, love. We don’t have time for this.
Nathan Epoc’s mongrels will be here any second and if they find us, they’ll kill you.
” He tightened his grip on her wrists, staring hard at her.
“After they rape you. As men and then as wolves.”
The blood drained from the woman’s face and she froze, body stiller than a statue. “Wolves…” The word fell from her lips in a stunned breath. “My God, what the hell is going on?”
Declan clenched his jaw. “Unfortunately, more than you ever wanted to know.” He relaxed his hold on her wrists. A little. “Now you have exactly sixty seconds to pull on some clothes and get ready to leave. After that we’re out of here, dressed or not.”
The woman tensed and he saw rage ignite in her eyes again. “I’m not going anywhere with you. My lizard… The cops…”
Declan shook his head. “Epoc owns the cops. Perhaps you didn’t hear me earlier when I said rape and murder.
I wasn’t kidding. They will do things to you no human mind could imagine.
Unless you come with me.” He shifted his weight, tight impatience eating at him.
“Trust me, I’ll explain everything I can later, but we have to go. Now.”
He rose to his feet, hoping to God he’d made his point. His heart hammered and his blood roared. He tried to tell himself it was adrenaline making his body behave so, but he knew otherwise. Lust scorched through his veins—and at that very moment, lust was almost more dangerous than Epoc.
The woman stared up at him, naked body vulnerable, sharp eyes defiant.
A second passed before, with fluid grace, she leapt to her feet, sprinting across the room to disappear through a far door, the flexing muscles of her toned ass playing merry hell with his senses.
He studied the door she’d passed through, listening to what was happening in the room.
The sound of drawers opening and clothes rustling satisfied him and, dragging his hands through his hair, he turned and surveyed the room around him.
She didn’t trust him, yet—and really, was there any wonder?
But maybe if he found this missing lizard of hers…
A very faint click sounded in his ear and he flicked his head slightly to the left, tuning into the noises emanating from her room. His eyes narrowed. Damn it, she’d picked up a phone.
He crossed the room to her bedroom in two leaps, the urge to transform like a weight on his chest. Flinging open the door, he stepped in, fists balled, nostrils flaring. “Not sure we have time for a phone call, love.”
She spun about, staring at him with wide eyes, looking for all the world like a small animal frozen in the lights of a speeding truck. A small animal holding the handset of a cordless phone, that was. “How did you—?”
He ignored her question. She’d figure the answer out in due course.
If she was what he thought she was—an animal expert of some kind—it wouldn’t take long for the penny to drop.
No matter what form he was in, his hearing was phenomenal.
It came with the whole werewolf package.
He stormed across the room, taking in the short running shorts and black tank top she now wore with a surreal mix of disappointment and relief. “I’m full of surprises.”
The woman’s muscles flexed and her grip on the handset tightened. “So am I.”
Declan gave her a bleak scowl. The low, almost inaudible beep beep of a dial tone spilled from the phone in her hand and his scowl turned to a frustrated snarl.
Shit. She’d called someone. “As much as I’m enjoying this whole tête-à-tête,” he said, reaching for the handset, “there are more important things we have to be doing. Like…”
He didn’t finish. The low sound of an engine thrummed into his head, vibrated through his body into his gut.
He sucked in a swift breath and the scent of wolf assaulted his sinuses.
Bad wolf. He spun about, staring through the door across the woman’s living room, watching as a large, black van slowed to a complete stop by the curb out the front of her house.
Fuck. Spinning back to the woman, he shook his head. “Time’s up.”
“Time’s up?” Her forehead creased. “What does that mean?”
Declan gave her a level look. “It means this. Sorry.” And he smashed his fist against her jaw.
Stunned rage filled her eyes—a heartbeat before her body went limp and she slumped forward. The phone fell from her hand, hitting the floor with a soft thud.
He grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder, her unconscious frame like pliable rubber.
“This is not how I wanted to do this,” he growled, hitching her weight closer to his head and anchoring his arm snugly around her waist. He shot a look over his shoulder, blood hot with the need to transform.
He stared at the van on the street through the gauzy length of curtain hanging over the living room window.
Watched its doors swing open. Watched a hulking shape he knew all too well climb out of the passenger side seat.
Watched the man with flaming red hair and muscles on muscles bend his short, wide neck to the side in an action designed to intimidate. McCoy.
He bared his teeth and turned back to the woman’s bedroom. In time to see a greenish-grey lizard roughly the size of a small dog, go skittering across the floor and disappear under the far wardrobe. A short, sharp snort escaped Declan. “You’re on your own, lizard.”
And without further adieu, he crossed the room, kicked out the flyscreen of the main window, leapt through it and took off across the woman’s small backyard.
The sound of the van door slamming shut behind him thumped at his senses as he cleared the dividing fence in a single bound, sprinting across the neighbor’s lawn.
Just a naked Irishman with a bleeding side, running through the early-morning streets with an unconscious, animal liberationist slung over his shoulder. Nothing unusual about that.
Nothing unusual at all.