Dark Wolf Running (Bloodrunners) (12 page)

The four of them shared a few heavy, thoughtful moments of silence as they worked the problem over in their heads, and then Michaela said, “Maybe the question we should really be asking ourselves is who’s here who wasn’t here before?”

Cian’s dark brows lifted with interest. “Are you talking about Roy’s nephews, the Claymore brothers? About Sebastian and Harris?”

At the mention of Harris Claymore’s name, Wyatt’s heart started to beat in slow, painful lurches, a muscle pulsing just beneath his left eye, while his hands slowly curled into fists at his sides. “I don’t really know them,” he growled. “But from the things I’ve heard about Harris Claymore, he’s nothing more than a thug. And we know they were only recently called back home by their uncle.”

Cian exhaled a sharp stream of smoke and nodded. “I’ll talk to Mason about setting up some kind of surveillance on him. It won’t be easy, if he’s staying with Roy. But we should be able to pick him up the moment he sets foot out of Hawkley.”

Wyatt looked at Jillian and tried to gentle his tone. “This is good, Jilly. It could be the break we’re looking for.”

She gave him a sad smile. “I just want her to be okay, Wyatt. I appreciate you looking out for her.”

He didn’t know what to say to those heartfelt words, so he looked at Mic and asked, “Have you been able to get any kind of read on her? Is she...okay?”

Though human, Michaela possessed the remarkable ability to read the emotions in those she was in close physical proximity to, giving her a rare insight into their feelings. At the moment, Wyatt imagined the worried look on her face was a result of the seething rage she could no doubt sense coiling through his insides, demanding he hunt down Harris Claymore right then and there. The only thing that kept him grounded was the fact that Elise needed protection, and he was going to be damned before he let one of the other Runners provide it for her.

“I’ve been able to pick up a few bits and pieces,” Michaela told him while he struggled to calm down. “She’s worried, but she feels at ease here. I think today is the safest she’s felt in a long time. Carla told us about the argument the two of you had last night, but you did the right thing to force her down here, Wyatt.”

He nodded, wanting to ask her more, but not wanting Elise’s secrets blurted out in front of Cian. He liked Hennessey, but the more distance the womanizing Runner kept from Elise, the better.

“We’ve bought some stuff to make pizzas for dinner tonight,” Jillian told them, offering an appreciated change of subject. “You guys coming?”

Thinking Elise would probably feel more comfortable hanging out with the group, rather than eating alone with him in his cabin, he said, “Yeah, we’ll be there. I just need to get cleaned up.”

“Same here,” Cian said, and they all parted ways.

To Wyatt’s surprise, Elise made her way over to him as he headed toward his cabin, asking him how the patrol had gone as she followed him inside. He teased her a little about the snake incident, which had her laughing, then told her to make herself at home while he grabbed a quick shower. He wasn’t quite sure if there had actually been a spark of heat in those beautiful jewel-toned eyes when he turned to go or if it’d just been wishful thinking on his part, but he ended up taking the first deliberately cold shower of his life. And it sucked as badly as he’d thought it would.

An hour later, they were all gathered in Jeremy and Jillian’s cabin, except for Eric and Chelsea, who had decided to have a quiet dinner at home, and Jeremy and Mason, who were still out on patrol. The open windows let in the cool evening breeze, the air filled with the mouthwatering scents of freshly baked pizzas, crisp Caesar salad and ice-cold beer and wine. Even Max Doucet, Michaela’s younger brother, and his friend Elliot Connors came down to join them, after taking care of a private project for Wyatt, and they fit in as easily as they always did. Wyatt had remained by Elise’s side ever since they’d arrived, and though she was quiet, he knew she was having a good time. He could tell by the relaxed look on her face that she was comfortable here. For a woman who’d been raised on daily doses of hatred and racism, she was nothing at all like her father.

The group was spread out across the living room, sitting on sofas and chairs, while some just sat on the floor. The pizzas were consumed over a lot of laughing and talking, as well as a hefty amount of good-natured ribbing. When Carla asked if there was any more salad, after already eating two platefuls, Wyatt watched as Cian smirked at her. “Jesus, Reyes, you eat like a horse,” the Irishman drawled, which had Michaela jabbing him in the side with her elbow. “Ouch, damn it!” He turned to glare at Mic. “What the hell was that for?”

“Be nice,” she hissed.

“Or what?” Cian asked, arching one of his dark brows.

Michaela gave him a sharp smile. “Or my husband will kick your ass. Right, babe?”

Brody’s thick auburn hair was pulled back from his scarred face with a band, his green eyes burning with emotion as he grinned at his wife. “Anything you want, beautiful.”

Mic looked at Cian. “See? And now you should get up off your sarcastic backside and get the woman her salad.”

Carla laughed. “No thanks. He’d probably just spit in it.”

Elise smothered a giggle behind her hand, and Wyatt couldn’t help but grin at the infectious sound. Had he ever heard her laugh before? Not with sarcasm, but just a real, honest-to-God laugh? He didn’t think so, and it made him want to rub the center of his chest, where there was a sharp, strange burn that had nothing to do with his dinner and
everything
to do with the woman.

“I’ll get your damn salad,” Cian muttered as he stood up from his seat, reaching for Carla’s plate. “And it’ll even be spit-free,” he added drily.

Carla eyed him suspiciously, holding her plate just out of his reach. “You promise you won’t do anything gross to it?”

The look of insult on Hennessey’s face was completely priceless. “Christ, woman. Am I five?”

Carla just gave him that “I’m waiting” look that women did so well, until Cian finally growled, “Fine, I
promise.
Scout’s honor, too, though I was never a bloody scout. Now give me the damn plate!”

“Only you could manage to give Cian a conscience,” Mason’s wife, Torrance, said to Michaela when Cian had walked into the kitchen.

“That was fun to watch,” Brody murmured, winking at his wife.

Michaela opened her mouth to respond, when a booming crash suddenly came from the kitchen. “What the hell was that?” she whispered.

A laughing Max quickly came into the living room. “You guys aren’t gonna believe this, but Sayre just threw her plate at Cian’s head!”

Jillian looked worried. “What? Why?”

“From what I caught,” the soon-to-be Runner told them, “he was making fun of some guy she has a date with next week. Guess she took exception.”

“That’s understandable,” Michaela offered with a frown that matched Jillian’s. “But she’s normally so mellow. It isn’t like her to be riled so easily.”

Brody snorted. “This is Cian we’re talking about, Mic. The guy could make a saint want to kick him in the balls.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she agreed, a look of surprise flickering across her face when Cian stalked out of the kitchen just ahead of Sayre, his dark brows drawn into a deep crease over the bridge of his nose. Wyatt wondered if Michaela was using her “gift” at that moment to get a read on the Irishman and, if so, what she was learning. Because Cian looked like a man ready to commit murder with his bare hands.

Wyatt didn’t know what to make of Cian and Sayre, but it didn’t matter. Even if he’d wanted to figure out their strange little drama, he wouldn’t have had the time. He was too busy watching Elise, hanging on to her every murmured word and expression like a pathetic, lovesick fool. God, he wanted so badly to make her smile at him the way he’d caught her doing several times tonight with the others. Wanted to find a way to break through her shields. To give her things he didn’t even have it in him to give. But he’d go as far as he could. Claim her body. Drench her in pleasure. Make her laugh. Make her smile. Not with one of those pained smirks, but an honest-to-God “so happy she couldn’t hold it inside” kind of smile. The kind that would light her up from the inside out and make him feel like the luckiest man alive.

She started to get up with their dishes, but he told her to relax and took them into the now vacated kitchen himself, determined to show her that he wasn’t one of those chauvinistic assholes who expected a woman to wait on him hand and foot. His mother, God bless her, had taught him from an early age how to treat a woman right. And while he usually kept his relationships so brief there wasn’t much of a chance to put what he’d learned to use, he was for damn sure going to use it now.

Grabbing himself a fresh beer, he started to head back, when Carla came through the archway, setting her empty wineglass by the sink.

Catching a glimpse of his partner’s expression, Wyatt knew exactly why she’d followed him into the kitchen. “Wow, is it already time for another lecture?” he drawled. “And here I thought you were starting to slack.”

She grimaced, then sent him a contrite, kinda crooked smile. “I deserved that,” she murmured. “But I’m worried about you.”

Taking a long swallow of his beer, he wiped the back of his wrist over his mouth. “Why?”

She leaned against one of the counters and crossed her arms, then spoke in a quiet, troubled tone. “When a woman goes through something like what happened to Elise three years ago, it...sometimes breaks them, Pall. I know Elise is tough. Just be careful. If she doesn’t want to move on, to try to move past what happened, you can’t make her.”

Voice so hard it was brittle, he said, “I would never do that. I’m not a fucking bully, Reyes.”

Shaking her head, she said, “I know that, Pall. That’s not what I’m saying. You’re golden, okay? Just don’t let her break your heart, hoping for something that might never come.”

He cut his gaze to the far side of the kitchen, his chest rising with a sharp breath as he gripped his beer bottle even tighter. “I’m not in love with her, Carla. I just want to help her.”

Quietly, she asked, “You sure about that?”

“You know me,” he muttered, bringing his shuttered gaze back to her worried one. “You know what I’m like. I care about her, but it’s nothing more than that.”

Her head tilted a bit to the side as she studied him. “Because you won’t let it be?”

“Because that’s the way it is,” he explained through his gritted teeth. “So drop it.”

“Wyatt,” she murmured, “is there something you’re not telling me?”

“Like what?” he asked, feeling hunted, as if she were determined to pull things out of him he was nowhere near ready to admit to. Forcing a bored look onto his face, he took another casual drink of his beer.

“Is she your life-ma—”

“Don’t,” he snapped, cutting her off with a snarl that sounded as far from casual as you could get. “We’re not having that conversation.”

Holding up her hands in a “take it easy” gesture, she said, “Okay. I get it. Just...promise me that you’ll take my advice and be careful. It’s hell to be in love with someone who can’t love you back.”

He frowned, wondering if it were possible she was speaking from experience. Then a horrible thought slammed into him and he blanched.

“Oh, God,” she said with a laugh, frantically waving her hands between them. “Just stop! I’m not talking about
you,
Pall. I swear! That’s just... Seriously, I love you, but
not
like that. Yuck!”

“Then who?” he demanded, ready to kick the bastard’s ass for her.

Patting his arm, she said, “It’s none of the guys, okay? So you don’t have to worry about killing anyone right this second.”

“Carla...”

“Come on,” she said, waggling her brows as she pulled on his arm. “Let’s get back in there before we miss more of the crazy Cian and Sayre show. I swear that shit is hilarious.”

He thought about arguing, then let it go, not wanting to push. And, hell, it wasn’t as if that was the kind of conversation he wanted to have with his partner anyway. Realizing she’d already ditched him and he was now standing in the kitchen by himself, Wyatt went back into the living room and took his seat beside Elise on one of the leather sofas. They hung around for coffee and brownies, listening to Torrance and Michaela tell a funny story about one of the customers at the mystical shop that Michaela still owned down in the human town of Covington, before everyone eventually agreed to call it a night. He and Elise said their goodbyes, then made their way out into the moonlit darkness. They stayed silent as they walked back to his cabin.

“So, it, um, looks like I’m staying for a while,” she murmured as he locked the front door behind them.

“I’m glad you’ve decided that, because I wasn’t letting you go.”

She gave him a tight, nervous smile as she stood beside the end table where a lamp was spilling out a soft, muted glow of light, then took a deep breath and said, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Chapter 7

“O
kay.” Wyatt pushed his hands in his front pockets, hoping the casual gesture would help put her at ease. “I’m listening, El.”

She licked her lips, then whispered, “What happened last night, it wasn’t just because of the war. Or the tensions in town. It was...personal.”

“Because of your old man?”

She shook her head, thick waves of auburn hair that his fingers itched to touch spilling over her shoulders with effortless sensuality. “No. Because of
me.
”

He took a step toward her, his muscles bunching with tension. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Her breath released on a soft shudder, and she blinked up at him. “He... The one you found in my room. He told me...”

As her words trailed off, it took everything Wyatt had to keep his voice soft while his inner beast chuffed with frustration. The dark, dangerous, visceral kind. “You can trust me, El. I won’t tell anyone else what that son of a bitch said unless you want me to.”