CHAPTER 9
The bedroom I woke up in was almost pitch dark.
It took me a moment to remember where I was, and with this knowledge came the flood of events that had led me here.
The urge to roll over and go back to bed was strong.
Sleep was the only peace I’d had in the last few days, and I longed to lose myself to that oblivion for a little longer.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be, because I felt Michael moving around somewhere nearby, and the bond made me impatient to see him, to check him over and make sure he was okay, so I dragged my carcass out of bed instead.
The smell of coffee wafted over me when I opened the door. I zeroed in on it like a bloodhound, letting my nose lead me toward it. From the sound of the accompanying bubbling and dripping, it was still brewing.
I’d been so wiped out last night that I only had a brief sense of Michael’s apartment.
My gaze darted over it anew as I padded toward the promise of caffeine.
The main living area was an open concept with high ceilings and exposed ductwork.
The exterior walls were brick, while the interior ones were painted a charcoal gray.
Shafts of light peeked out from behind the heavy curtains, hinting at midday.
The kitchen took up one side of the living area in a swath of dark cabinets and granite.
A clock on the stove told me it was just after one in the afternoon.
I’d managed to sleep for nine hours, so why was I still so wiped out?
I felt like I could pass out for another nine, at least. Was combined exhaustion via the bond a thing? I’d have to ask my parents.
The sight of Michael standing by the coffeemaker stopped me in my tracks.
He faced away from me, wearing running shorts that sat low on his hips.
I knew they sat low on his hips because he had nothing else on.
Not even socks. And why the hell did I suddenly find that erotic?
I’d been around half-naked people my whole life.
Wolves stripped clothing off to change form without a care in the world.
At my age, I’d seen more private parts than a seasoned porn director.
It never mattered before. Now I felt like one of those dudes from historical romance novels that sported wood every time they caught sight of a creamy ankle.
That must be it. Michael was so buttoned up all the time that this first glimpse of flesh sent me over the edge.
I blinked and had my second shock of the morning.
Then I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
Nope, still there. The dark ink of stylized runes tripped up Michael’s spine and then spread across his broad upper back.
Mr. Prim and Proper was covered in tattoos.
My brain struggled to fit this fact into the image I had of him in my mind.
He turned around then, treating me to the sight of dense pectorals and thick abs stacked like blocks. Heavy slabs of muscle made up his shoulders and biceps. My jaw nearly dropped. Michael was built like a fucking brick house.
His gaze latched onto mine. Then, ever so slowly, it ran down over me.
I wore nothing but a thin white tank top and underwear.
All of my clothes were at his parents’ house, and I hadn’t thought to pull my jeans back on first thing in the morning, because, again, nudity wasn’t a big deal around our kind. Usually.
A beep sounded from behind him. He pulled his gaze off me and turned away. “Coffee’s ready,” he said with forced nonchalance. I could tell it was forced, because he was working hard to suppress feelings that were far too similar to my own.
I walked to the fridge. “You have any milk?”
“On the third shelf,” he said.
I grabbed it and brought it over to the coffeemaker, stopping just beside him, so close that I could feel the heat radiating off that dense body.
At this distance, it was impossible to ignore the fact that our hearts beat in tandem.
It made me want to reach out and press my hand against his sternum so I could feel the rhythm beneath my palm.
I took a deep breath filled with his scent and let it out. Time to pull my big-girl panties on. “Look, we’re both attractive. It’s totally normal to notice that about each other. We should just acknowledge it and move on so it’s not awkward between us.”
He craned his head toward me, gaze guarded. “You’re not worried acknowledgment could make the situation more… trying?”
Ha. Unlikely. I didn’t think that was possible.
“It’ll be fine,” I said, forcing confidence into the words. “We’re both logical adults. We know that acting on any attraction would be a mistake at this point.”
Our gaze caught, and the fact that we were the same height and neither of us had to crane our neck up or down made it feel far too intimate. I looked away first, unsure of what I saw in his dark gaze.
“Ronald and the rest of my enforcers have called a meeting for three,” he told me.
I took one of the two cups he’d set out next to the coffeemaker, added a splash of milk, then poured coffee to the brim. “I can be ready by then.”
I retreated back to my room.
Okay, more like fled.
I reemerged half an hour later, when I heard him turn on the shower and knew the kitchen was clear. I made myself a quick breakfast with as many calories as I could find, then sat at the island and hoovered it before he was done in the bathroom.
Once he was out of there, I took my own shower and pulled my clothes from last night back on.
I’d been going for stealthy yet functional, with combat boots, leggings, and a black T-shirt that clung to my upper body.
Now, in broad daylight, I looked like I was trying to be a badass.
Not something I usually went for, what with the fact that other wolves already tried to fight me just because of my power.
I braided my hair to get it out of my face and ended up looking like a Lara Croft wannabe. Growling, I pulled it free and piled it on top of my head in a messy bun. Good enough.
Michael waited for me in the living room.
I breathed a sigh of relief to see him back in a suit, tie firmly knotted beneath his chin, face turned down as he examined his cuff links.
It was like he’d put a wall up between us again.
Even the bond felt muted, and I welcomed it.
Despite my earlier words, the look that he’d given me as we stood shoulder to shoulder left me feeling less like a logical adult and more like a hormonal teenager.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yup.”
We took the elevator to the top floor, standing as far apart as it would allow.
The doors opened to reveal a room out of a movie scene.
The rear wall held a small armory of weapons: katanas, subatomic machine guns, throwing knives, a recurve bow, and even a wicked-looking broadsword—just in case someone was feeling medieval.
Maps were spread out on architect tables.
Several desks with computers and large monitors extended in a long row against the wall nearest us, the people who sat at them wearing headphones with microphones, tapping away at keyboards, calling out locations, or relaying messages.
Near the windows, a small group of individuals huddled in quiet conversation. I knew from sight alone which of them were Michael’s enforcers. Three of them projected authority and violence like an aura.
Ronald was at their head, towering over them all.
A waiflike blond woman stood beside him.
Everyone else in the room wore what amounted to tactical clothing, while she wore sky-high heels, a clinging skirt that extended from just above her navel to just past her knees, and a sleeveless blouse tucked into it.
Her hair was pulled back in an immaculate low ponytail, not a strand out of place.
Her makeup was flawless, and I wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her while screaming, “Tell me all of your beauty secrets!”
She detached herself from the group and came over to us, carrying a tablet. “Good afternoon, Mr. Kolbeck, Ms. Fitzpatrick.”
Clearly, someone had caught her up to speed while we’d been sleeping.
I extended my hand toward her. “Layla.”
She reached out and gripped mine in a businesslike fashion. “Emma St. Claire, Mr. Kolbeck’s executive assistant.”
We released each other. She smelled like expensive perfume and humanity, and it made me wonder how a non-preternatural had become part of Michael’s inner circle.
Did she know what everyone else in the room was?
I’d met a few humans in on the secret, and none had ever appeared as at ease around our kind as she did.
As soon as her fingers were free, they went back to her tablet and flew over the screen.
“The rest of the team is already here,” she told Michael.
“I suggest we convene in the interrogation room. I know it’s a bit grim, but the walls are soundproof, and it’s warded, so anything that Ms. Fitzpatrick says or”—her eyes cut to me—“does will remain between us.”
She knew. I’ll be damned.
A few minutes later, we crammed seven chairs around a narrow table in a small rectangular room that was so heavily warded it made my skin crawl. All outside sound cut off once the door was shut. It felt like being in a tomb.
“You’ll get used to it,” a masculine voice said from far too close.
I nearly jumped. I hadn’t heard him approach. I’d been too distracted watching Michael, who stood in the corner speaking to Ronald and Emma as he tried to rearrange his work schedule.