Fangs of Anarchy - Forbidden Alpha (Part 2) Girl Most Lycan: A Werewolf Vampire Shifter Romance (3 page)

Jerk.

As they strolled out of the woods, his hand occasionally
reaching for her ear, Irish asked, “So, tell me, fair maiden, did you shift
because you thought you’d have to save me? Little
ol
’
me? I’m so incredibly touched I’d cry if I had the ability to shed tears.”

Yep. She was going to kill him.

While Irish texted Liam to grab his bike from the library
parking lot, Claire changed into a pair of jeans and a sweater, cursing him the
entire time, fighting the urge to walk right out into her living room and knock
his head against a wall.

What he’d done wasn’t just foolish, it was dangerous. If
Courtland grew angry enough with Irish for making a game out of something as
serious as the death of his brother, he’d lash out without thinking. When the
Dogs didn’t think, really bad things happened. Bad things that would only lead
to a war between races.

The peace they’d all managed to keep since the government
had shipped them off to their own territories was bliss compared to other
regions she’d read about online and watched on the news. She didn’t want that
to change because Irish was protecting her.

Why
was he
protecting her? That was a question she wanted answered tonight. Last night, he
had been all about his sister Hadley, and she’d been in full agreement. Nothing
was more important than the children.

Just as she was pulling on a pair of socks, Irish pushed her
bedroom door open, Mr. Darcy in his arms and purring loudly, as though Irish
was the original king of catnip.

She lifted her chin, setting aside the fact that Irish liked
cats, which made her heart turn to goo.

And he knows his way
around the English language; some might even say his vocabulary is broad. And
he saved your hide.

Oh, and his name is
likely listed under the word “amazing” in the dictionary. You know, because his
bedroom skills
,
bar none, far surpass
anything you’ve ever imagined in your wildest imaginings.

He’d been a fantasy for a very long time—so long now, she’d
forgotten what it was to think of any other man. Finding out that fantasy had
substance, texture, and knew words longer than three letters was…well, that was
no good. He was too attractive on too many levels. Too big, too overwhelming,
too much, too…

There was no way for them to be together. Not in this
dangerous new world. Which meant this had to stop now.

Right now, Claire
Montgomery.

And there was nothing saying he wanted to be with her. Maybe
she’d just been a dalliance he’d forget all about. Maybe his words from last
night were words he’d used a million times before.

Maybe.

Her heart pulled tight in her chest and her stomach clenched
hard at the thought of seeing Irish every day and pretending nothing had
happened between them. It had been easier before they’d made love.

Back then he was just a curiosity—something she’d often
wondered if she’d only built up in her mind because he was forbidden to her.
And the forbidden was almost always more exciting than it was in real life,
right?

Now that she’d experienced the reality, and found out he was
everything and more, it was going to make anyone after him a complete nightmare

Dropping Mr. Darcy to the bed, Irish plopped down beside
her, forcing her to focus on the immediate problem here.

Distance. It was the only way to keep from throwing herself
at him. She couldn’t allow what had happened last night to happen again. It
would only make it harder for her to walk away. Something Irish was bound to do
anyway—for the safety of his clan and, most of all, for Hadley.

Claire hitched back on the bed, crossing her legs and
calling Mr. Darcy to sit in her lap as if he were her
McGyver
version of an Irish-away-a-
nator
. “First, let me just
get this off my chest—”

“Are you going to yell?” he asked, cracking his knuckles and
wrinkling his nose. “I have sensitive ears and it’s been a long night, Claire.
You werewolves sure know how to howl. Be kind to the vampire.”

Her head almost popped off her neck. Was this some kind of
joke? Claire’s blood boiled. “What the hell were you thinking back there,
Irish? You could’ve gotten yourself killed, you stupid, stupid man! Why would
you do something like that?”

As he prepared to answer, she threw up a finger to stop him.
“And something else to think about, Prince Charming, you didn’t just risk your
own life, you risked the lives of your clan! And what was all that nonsense
about me raising Hadley? Are you so much of an imbecile that you don’t realize
how much she loves you—needs you? Or maybe how much Hadley would resent being
raised by a woman who allowed her brother to go to his death to cover the woman
in questions ass?”

Irish opened his mouth to speak, but Claire was quicker. “And
where the hell is Gannon?” She widened her eyes expectantly.

“Is it the vampire’s turn to speak, Miss Montgomery?”

Her lips thinned when she rolled her eyes at him and huffed,
“Go.”

Irish leaned back on his elbows, crossing his ankles. “First
of all, where is your gratitude, young lady? I saved your sweet little behind
back there and I don’t even get a kind word? Not one?”

“Irish—”

“Don’t you ‘Irish’ me. You don’t have to give me medals or
even bring me flowers, but wow. I did keep you from being flayed alive. Would a
kind word break you?”

Sucking in her cheeks, she tamped down the urge to knock his
teeth out and wipe that smug smile from his gorgeous face. “Thank you for
saving me and quite possibly getting yourself killed.”

“Not even an inch, huh? Damn, you’re hard to impress.”

Claire’s heart fluttered like a petal falling to the ground,
but she forced that from her mind, too. He had no business trying to impress
her, because no impression would let her risk the town falling to ruin while
their people engaged in an all-out war. “Stop trying to impress me and tell me
what gives.”

He grinned, batting his eyelashes at her, his playful side
yet another surprise she was earnestly fighting not to like. “Honestly? It was
impulse. When I was pulling up to Ahab’s, I used my special vampire ears and
heard Courtland and his sideshow gearing up to light their torches on your
behalf while they were all huddled in a brainless circle, drinking and
wondering where Gannon was. I admit I didn’t put a lot of thought into it. I
just reacted.”

More heart fluttering. But she’d changed her mind. It was
probably better she didn’t know why he was protecting her.
Do not ask why, Claire. Don’t do it.
“So you made all that up to
protect me?” Oh, she’d gone and asked. Damn him and his magical smiles and
heavenly lovemaking.

“Yes, ma’am, I did.” His expression grew serious, his eyes
intense. “C’mon, Claire. You didn’t really think I was going to let them haul
you off to werewolf jail, or wherever it is you go when you’re in pack trouble,
did you? Gannon was a douchebag. I don’t know why you killed him, but my
instinct tells me you had good reason. Now, I want to know what that reason
was.”

Claire shook her head, eyes piercing his. “Oh no. I’m asking
the questions here. I told you last night, and I’ll tell you again now, I’m not
divulging anything. If you don’t know, you can’t be forced to tell anyone.”

Never. She would never tell a living soul until she had
proof Gannon had deserved to die. It made her stomach pitch all over again, the
thought of how she’d have to go about
getting
that proof, but she wasn’t giving anything up until she could bring irrefutable
evidence to the council.

Once she had it, not even her pack would deny Gannon’s death
was inevitable. Until then, and for the safety of the people who lived in Rock
Cove, no can do.

Irish lifted an eyebrow. “I’m really uncomfortable not
knowing your motives, Claire. Truth be told, it makes me wonder if this whole
thing is much bigger than you, because you’re not exactly the girl most
lycan
to commit murder.” He grinned, likely patting himself
on the back for his play on words.

Claire kept her expression bland, but her heart raced. She
couldn’t risk it, but she wanted to. For the moment, she’d eliminated the
immediate danger, and that was all that mattered. “Aren’t you funny? But I take
comfort in the fact that at least you don’t think I’m some cold-blooded killer.
Now, where’s Gannon’s body? Please say you buried it somewhere no one will ever
find it, because it has my scent all over it.”

Fear sizzled up her spine again at the mere thought. If the
Dogs found Gannon before she could do what needed to be done, she’d be screwed.

Irish looked at her for a long moment, clearly trying to
read her thoughts. But she knew a thing or two about vampires, and he couldn’t
read her mind unless she invited him in—or so she’d heard.

She busied herself forming a mental picture of a big red
stop sign, just in case, while she stroked Mr. Darcy and waited for Irish to
answer.

He rolled his tongue in his cheek. “I took care of your
scent. If
I
couldn’t smell you on
him, no one can. And I promise I buried him somewhere no one will ever find
him.”

“So you led the Dogs on a wild goose chase, risked being
staked at dawn, all for me?”

Dear heart, please
stay in my chest. Love, Refuses To Be Wooed By The Forbidden Alpha Vampire.

“Yep.”

“You jerk.”

“Again with the name calling,” he teased, folding his hands
over his deliciously flat belly. “I don’t like your brand of gratitude. Not one
bit.”

Cocking her head, Claire gazed at him in wonder. She’d never
seen this half of Irish. Not even with Hadley, and she wasn’t just confounded
by it, she was also a little thrilled.

“Who are you, Irish McConnell? What’s with all the smiles
and jokes these past couple of days? It’s like someone stole your will to
spread your angst. You’ve always been moody and brooding. Suddenly you’re all
cotton candy and swizzle sticks? Did you find your heart, Dark Overlord?”

He chuckled, low and raspy, the sound rich and warm in her
ears. “I call insensitive, Miss Werewolf. I have no heart, and you know it. As
for the rest, I think it has to do with the fact that this has been the most
fun I’ve had since we were all forced to leave our old lives behind—aside from
the murder part, anyway. Courtland and his crew are idiots. I was just having
some fun with them while I kept them off your cute tail. Diversion is the name
of that game.”

But then she remembered something Courtland said back at the
library—something she’d completely forgotten, adding to her list of reasons why
she should never be involved in a murder. “Courtland said they have a witness
who claims to have seen me murder Gannon. What do I do about that?”
Who could it be?

Now Irish rolled his eyes. “I call bullshit. He’s grasping
at straws. You’re the most likely suspect, because you sure made your dislike
of your future mate with Gannon pretty damn clear. But he doesn’t even know
Gannon’s really dead. He just suspects he is—which makes me wonder, what has
Gannon Dodd done in this lifetime to warrant everyone close to him jumping to a
conclusion that he’s not just missing, but murdered?”

Claire stared at Mr. Darcy and scratched his ears rather
than look directly at Irish. Good question. One she intended to investigate—on
her own.

She shrugged her shoulders with indifference. “Courtland did
say Gannon missed an important meeting, one he’d never miss. Maybe death really
is the only thing that would have kept him from it?”

Irish gave her the eye, scanning her face while she fought
to keep her expression passive. “Maybe.”

“Any info on what they learned from this alleged witness?”

“I didn’t hear anything on the witness front. But I still
think
it’s
bull. The more Courtland talked about you
at Ahab’s, the more he managed to convince his pea brain and the rest of the
Dogs you must’ve had something to do with it. Fueled by alcohol and their
half-assed reasoning, you’re the logical choice. That’s all that was. And even
though you
did
have something to do
with it, the way they reasoned it out is too ludicrous to repeat.

“Right now, Courtland needs to blame someone. Tomorrow, it
could be someone else. If you’d have just kept your mouth shut in the library
and let me take the fall, I would have turned it into the mockery I’d planned
to and it would have thrown him off your scent.”

Claire shot him an indignant look. “So next time, send me a
signal. I did try to send
you
one,
and you chose to ignore it, much like everything I say.”

Irish smiled, making the deep grooves on either side of his
mouth stand out in the dim glow of her bedroom lamp. “Was that what all your
eye rolling was about?”

“No. Eye rolling is a totally different signal. It’s a much
less important signal. And I didn’t roll my eyes, Irish. I looked deeply into
yours. That means ‘pay attention’.”

“Is there a book with a list of these signals I can read so
I can familiarize myself with the eye signal game?”

Fear got the better of her. What Irish said was likely true,
but…

“What if someone really
did
see me, Irish?”

He reached out and grabbed her hand, sending Mr. Darcy to
the floor and pulling until she lay beside him. “Then we’ll deal with that if
it’s true, Claire. For now, Courtland and the rest of his jackasses are
scrambling to figure this out. They have no body. Without a body, there’s no
proof. We’ve bought us some time, little lady.”

Us?
No, there was
no “us” in this.

She fought the wave of pure lust Irish evoked whenever he
was near, the urge to wrap her arms around his neck, press her needy lips to his,
mold herself to his body until every plane, every muscle left its imprint.

She fought because she couldn’t have him. Someday, she’d
have no choice but to mate with another werewolf, and as archaic and ridiculous
as those rules were, they were the rules. To play with fire until that day
arrived would only make the end to this much harder.