Last Wolf Standing. Rhyannon Byrd
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clothing, shaking her head in disgust, talking to herself as she muttered, “Great, I’m wearing tomato soup. How lovely. Now everyone at work will think I’ve been ravaged by a bloodsucking vampire.”
“You believe in vampires?” Jeremy asked, eyeing her with a skeptical look of suspicion.
“Hardly,” she snapped, “but then I’m not the norm around Mic’s.”
“Who the hell is Mic?” Mason grunted, not liking the questions firing through his brain in rapid succession. Mic, the boyfriend? Mic, the next-door neighbor who tore up her sheets with her on Friday night? Mic, the macho mechanic who made her melt when he smiled at her? Whoever the hell he was, Mason hated him.
“Who’s Mic?” she repeated, the corners of her mouth turning down in a tight, irritated frown. “Michaela is my best friend and my boss,” she started to explain, before pressing her lips together and shaking her head. “Not that it’s any of your business,” she added.
“I’m making you my business,” he growled softly, stepping closer, crowding into her space.
She took a short step back and stopped, pinning him with a hard glare. “One more move and I’m screaming.”
God, what was his problem? He was screwing this damn thing up before it even got started. Hell, no one had told him that discovering his life mate would turn him into a blundering, chest-pounding idiot. He was as bad as a gangly teenager high on raging hormones, unable to think past the red-hazed lust and possessiveness clouding his mind.
And to make matters worse, he actually wanted to…get to know this woman. Learn things about her. Her favorite food. Favorite color. Books, movies, pet peeves and things she did for fun. All of which sounded suspiciously like getting to know her on a level that went far beyond physical intimacy, to something deeper and more meaningful.
That was bad, because Mason didn’t have a clue how to handle it. He was a Bloodrunner for God’s sake—he didn’t have time for conversation and “getting to know” people. Not that he had any choice here. The importance of making a good impression on the woman he was meant to spend the rest of his life with wasn’t lost on him, and here he was screwing it up with every damn word that came out of his mouth. At least if he’d had Hennessey on hand, he could have asked for some advice from the womanizing Irishman. Then again, maybe having that pretty face around his woman wasn’t such a good idea. Burns was available, and he knew Jeremy never had any trouble when it came to women. But his social skills were as pathetic as his own, so there’d be no help coming from that quarter.
Looked like he was on his own. Damn.
Taking a deep breath, Mason strove for a calm, nonthreatening, I’m-just-a-nice-guy kind of tone. “Look, I’m sorry. This has been a hell of a day already. How about you take a seat and I’ll get you some more food, okay? That way we can sit and talk.” There, that was good, he thought with a brief measure of relief. He’d managed to form four sentences without sounding like a jealous ass or mentioning how badly he wanted her.
But the look on her face told him she wasn’t buying it.
Christ. This wasn’t going to work. He was going to go up in flames, he realized with no small amount of frustration, dragging the back of his wrist over his damp forehead, wondering if the expression in his eyes mirrored the intensity of his need…or if she simply thought he was nuts.
“Is this,” she said after a moment, studying him from beneath the thick fringe of long russet lashes, “some kind of setup?”
Another deep breath, slow and easy, while he struggled to stay in control. “Setup? For what?”
“God only knows. Some radio show? Are you DJs?” she asked suspiciously.
Mason folded his arms across his chest and scowled at her, insulted down to his boots. “Do I look like a damn DJ?”
She shrugged the delicate line of her shoulders, blowing a wayward wisp of curling auburn hair out of her eyes. “I have no idea. Really, I think I should just be on my way now.”
He opened his mouth to try and convince her to stay, even though he didn’t have a clue what he could say at this point. Unfortunately, Jeremy chose that moment to put in another two cents’ worth. “I’m telling you, man, she doesn’t deserve this. Leave her the hell alone.”
Mason didn’t even take his eyes off her as he softly replied, “I don’t have a choice.”
From the corner of his vision, he watched Jeremy’s hazel gaze narrow as the meaning and repercussions of what he was saying—and what he wasn’t saying—began to seep in. “Christ, Mase. If that means what I think it means, then you know you should walk away. You can’t risk it with Simmons more than likely watching us now that we’re closing in on him.”
“And you should know that walking away isn’t an option for me,” he shot back, careful to keep his voice low so they didn’t draw unwanted attention.
“As fascinating as this is, I’m just going to slink away now myself,” she said carefully, obviously freaked out by their conversation and his behavior. Handing her tray to a dour-faced busboy who finally scuffed by, she took several steps away from them. “I’d say thanks for helping me up, but then, you were the one who dumped me on my ass in the first place. Still, thanks.”
“Just give me a chance to explain. Please. That’s all I’m asking. We’ll stay right here, at one of the tables,” Mason said in a low, urgent rumble, grabbing hold of her arm as she turned, careful not to squeeze too hard. Her bones felt infinitely fragile beneath the inhuman strength of his hand, sending a fierce surge of protectiveness through his blood.
“I need to get back to work,” she murmured, trying to break free of his grip, her book tucked up safely under her other arm. “Now let go of me before I pull out my cell phone and call the cops, then start screaming bloody murder.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that,” he said quietly, trying to sound reasonable…normal…even though he knew he was going to end up scaring her. “I swear I’m not going to hurt you, okay? But we need to talk, and then I need to get you out of here.”
The expression on her face made him wince, an unbearable sense of defeat nearly flooring him as Mason realized she had every intention of ditching him. Not that he blamed her. If their situations were reversed, he’d have thought he sounded crazy, too.
“And just where do you think I’m going to go with you?” she demanded, the words thick with sarcasm, and he hated the fear he could scent on her—frustrated that he didn’t know how to ease it, how to make her understand. You didn’t just walk up to a human woman and say, Hey, I can tell by your scent that you’re my life mate, which means we belong to each other for the rest of our lives, and never any other. Oh, and by the way, I’m half werewolf, have a rogue bastard most likely watching me because I’m hunting him down to kill him, and I really, really need to mate with you. Hard. And often. As in damn near all the time. At least not without getting your face slapped or your balls kicked. From the look in her eyes, he figured both were strong possibilities at this point.
Trying to sound as nonthreatening as possible, Mason kept his voice low as he said, “Anywhere but here. Jeremy’s right about this being dangerous. We can’t risk keeping you out in the open with him watching us.”
She looked at him as if he’d just told her he was Elvis reincarnated by aliens. “Then here’s a news flash. Why not try walking away and leaving me alone, before you end up in some serious trouble?”
“Not in this lifetime, sweetheart,” he rasped under his breath.
She shook her head in frustration. “Have you recently escaped from a mental institution by chance?”
“Classic,” Jeremy snorted under his breath. “As wrong as this is, I can’t wait to tell your old man that line. He’ll crack a rib from laughing.”
“Look,