How to Tame a Werewolf: Seven Brides for Seven Shifters, Book 3 (6 page)

Starting at the top of Spock’s head she took inventory, comparing him to Ian Somers line item by line item.

Haircut and color. Perfect.

Brow bone and eyebrows. Damn straight.

Eyes. Wow.

Nose and cheekbones. Sweet hot damn.

Lips and Chin. Wait a damn minute.

“He’s bleeding. Why the hell is he bleeding?”

Spock held some gauze, speckled in red, to his face. Rue pulled his hand away to get a better look at what had happened to him. There was a fresh cut that curled around the slight cleft in his chin. Her heart pounded as she grabbed the sides of his face and examined the injury. He sat still allowing her to turn his head from side to side.

“It’ll be fine,” he murmured to her, strumming her thighs with his fingertips, his tone soothing.

Rue told herself she wasn’t concerned about Spock. Nope. Not that much anyway. She was more troubled by the fact Ian Somers didn’t have a scar.
Right? Sure.

“It’ll heal in a half hour or so,” Jak interrupted, wiping his hands on a red towel. “His facial hair had grown into the scar tissue. It was a mess and we had to keep opening it up to tweeze each individual follicle out.”

Rue gave him a hard look and the big tiger took a step back. Worried over whether the cut had hurt, she gently traced the pad of her thumb over the half moon shape. The skin knitted together beneath a stroke of glowing blue as her thumb moved, leaving a thin pale scar behind.

She jerked back as Jak leaned in and stared from Spock’s chin to her and back at the chin. “That’s a hell of a thing.”

Before Spock could ask what happened someone called out, “Are you Ian Somers?”

Rue’s entire body went rigid. There were things you dreamed of, daydreams you held dear, but never expected to happen. This moment brought one of Rue’s dearly held wishes into full fruition. The person who’d asked Spock if he was Ian Somers was the star of the YouTube wine circuit, host of Vine Whine, Rue’s personal favorite, Andrea Cramer.

Rue would deny it if anyone asked but she might’ve clutched her pearls. Maybe.

Please, please, please, do not let Spock embarrass me. He can do this. Right? Sure.

Spock rose from the chair, dropping the bloody gauze into the trash. He thanked Jak with a nod, and extended his hand to Andrea. “I am. And you’re Andrea Kramer of Vine Whine, right?”

Whoa, Rue nearly threw a fist into the air. Spock must’ve watched YouTube before he’d fallen on hard times and therefore he recognized Andrea. This just might work out.

“Yes,” Andrea nearly squealed. “I kind of love you a little. Nope, bunches. I love you like skateboarders love weed brownies.”

With a sexy little tilt of his head Spock replied, “Well, I’m happy to be your drug of choice.”

Andrea squealed again. “Where have you been? The wine industry has been frantic since you went off to wherever…”

Spock looked down at the unbreakable grip Andrea still had on his hand. She looked down too and refused to let go. Hell, she didn’t even look contrite.

Rue freakin’ loved this woman.

Spock smiled at their seemingly conjoined hands and answered, “I’ve been on a sabbatical. You know, doing my thing. Shaking a few trees.”

Andrea sighed and kind of melted. Rue worried the YouTuber might drop to the floor and pass out.

“My subscribers are going to go crazy when I tell them about this on tomorrow’s episode. Hold on, can you do a drop for the show? Something like, ‘This is Ian Somers and I’m hanging out with Andrea on Vine Whine’?” She paused and fixed him with a stare that said she would not be denied. “Say yes.”

Spock finally took his hand back but wrapped an arm around Andrea’s shoulders. “That’s not really my thing. The last time somebody put me on the internet the vineyard got mobbed by YA book fans looking for their favorite bad boy vampire. No more for me, thanks.”

Rue cleared her throat. Hello, recommendation. Perfect opportunity.

Andrea pouted. The roughly five-foot woman was so stinking cute with her short blonde hair, pixie looks, and big green eyes. Who could resist that face? Rue wanted to put her in her pocket and take her home.

“You could use my show to let your mom know you’re okay,” Andrea offered, her voice full of sunshine.

“She knows,” Spock said drily. “I send word through our network every few months. That reward is more about encouraging someone to drag my ass home.”

Rue made another plaintive noise. Spock glanced at her then back to Andrea. “I could make a selection for your Fresh Pick segment.” He gestured to Rue. “Actually my protégé will do it and I’ll make the introduction.”

Wow, Rue had picked the right accomplice. This guy had mastered the art of the con. He’d skirted his lack of wine knowledge while making Andrea think he’d be doing her a favor. Maybe fate had finally decided to roll toward good fortune for Rue.

They shot the video and Andrea thanked them profusely before assuring them it would go up the next day. Afterward, Jak invited them all out, so they joined him and a few members of his staff at a nearby Wine Cellar.

Rue spent the rest of the afternoon living a new
sommelier’s
dream. She impressed Andrea with her knowledge and her picks. Most shockingly, Spock sipped a couple of the offerings and pretended to enjoy them. Not to mention, Jak picked up the tab. What an absolutely fabulous day.

Therefore no one, including Mr. Spock, her perfect Ian clone, could blame Rue for getting drunk off her ass by 4 p.m. in the afternoon. Not even when she stripped naked and went furry in the streets.

Chapter Seven

Rue had called him by his name all afternoon. And it got to Ian. He knew she didn’t recognize him just yet. She didn’t realize the raggedy man who’d snarled in her father’s face was the same man whose name she hoped to build a future on. She merely wanted to avoid mistakes while hanging out with her idol, Andrea Cramer.

Ian had to give Rue extra points; despite being inappropriately drunk in the most hilarious ways, she hadn’t slipped up and called him Spock once. What bothered him wasn’t the deception. After all, impersonating yourself couldn’t be called lying. It was the way she said his name that got to him. She breathed life into it, starting with a soft “E” and ending in a sighing “Ahn.” Each time his name rolled off her tongue it absolutely slayed him. It tugged at his heart and sent shockwaves straight to his balls.

He’d spent the afternoon sipping wine, keeping quiet, basically doing everything in his power to keep both himself and his wolf from tossing the table over his shoulder and pressing Rue against a wall. He wanted to feel the pulse in her thighs throb around him as her heat melded with his.

But he didn’t do women any more.

Therefore he’d made it through lunch, then wine flights, then tapas and more wine without breaking his façade of the perfect gentleman. Then Rue had to go and screw it all up. They’d barely left their new friends behind and started back for her place when she’d stripped in a parking lot—
fuck me
—then shifted and took off. She was running from him right now…and…and…that shit turned him on.

“Aw c’mon, Kitty, don’t do that,” he groaned. Her cat had such gorgeous cream fur dappled in a brown so dark it seemed black and shades of orange-gold. When he’d nicknamed her Pretty Kitty he’d had no idea how well the name suited her.

Watching her retreating form, what choice did he have? He snatched up her clothes and stuffed them into the massive orange handbag she insisted on carrying around. Then he took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. Trying his best not to break into a grin big enough to swallow her handbag, he chased her down on foot.

Rue’s ocelot darted in between parked cars, through people’s legs, into the fronts and out of the backs of restaurants, onto patios and around swimming pools. Ian and the wolf inside him loved every minute of it. The thrill of the wind in his ears, the scent of a sweet female, and the drug of the chase became a hard pounding rhythm in his blood.

The citizens of Muuyaw were used to big cats running around, whether they knew about shifters or not, and Rue wasn’t as big as cats could be. So the worst they heard were shouts of “slow down” or “leash your cat.”

As if Ian could chain this pretty kitty. He imagined he’d allow himself to be tamed long before Rue let someone leash her. And Ian had no plans on ever being tamed.

Rue finally ran up a hiking path and into a park. When she hit a crowded playground the kids went crazy. Tens of them played tag with the ocelot, chasing her tail while their parents yelled at Ian to get his cat under control.

The swelling cacophony sent Rue further up the trail, through some trees and over to a pond fed by a gurgling creek. A small stone bridge spanned the pond. The ocelot chose the crest of the bridge to have a sit down and groom herself.

Ian pumped his brakes, stopping with loose-legged ease. “That was a good time, Kitty. If you ever want to do it again, let me know and I’ll let the wolf out to play.”

He wasn’t even breathing hard from the run. What took his breath away came next. Rue shifted into her human form, giving him a tantalizing view of all that rich brown skin with its reddish undertone. In response, Ian winced as the already tight crotch of his stolen pants got a lot more crowded.

Rue had small, high round breasts, long toned limbs, the gentlest curve to her belly, and a bubble butt that made his palms itch to cup it. Maybe smack it a couple of times, you know, to make sure the perfection he beheld wasn’t a daydream.

Then she giggled and tackle-hugged him. And he split those fucking pants the moment her naked body made contact with his. The sigh he released expressed both relief and total sexual frustration.

“It happened. It happened, I’m gonna be a
sommelier
at Somerfled, Somerflip, Someyield,” she sang, while bopping around doing some hieroglyphic-looking, stiff-armed dance that morphed into a sinuous belly dance.

Ian ignored the sway of her hips in order to keep the conversation light. “You have a way of making what you wish for come true. Don’t you?”

She oomphed, looking at him wide-eyed, on the verge of a grin, still drunk as fuck. “Never before in my life,” she said, and started bopping again, this time with her arms around his neck.

It took all of Ian’s concentration to hold her a few inches away from his body because he had no hopes of containing her. But then, as though to test his resolve, a silky bare boob hit him in the face and a thigh brushed past his erection. Oh yeah, he had to put an end to the madness.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow it down. I’m a man, Kitty. An actual man with a—”

She wasn’t listening and he suddenly realized she was bare butt to the wind naked in a public park. Shifters didn’t care about nudity so it hadn’t immediately bothered him. But now that he thought about it, they were lucky someone hadn’t screamed at them or called the cops.

He grabbed her by her waist and turned her sideways, the way he did with toddlers in his pack when one escaped the bath and refused to let anyone put their clothes on. Rue seemed to enjoy it as much as the cubs in his pack did. She cooed and said, “This is fun! Jiggle me. Jiggle wiggle wiggle!” Ian burst out laughing and nearly dropped her.

Somehow he held on and managed to get her black shorts shoved up her long luscious legs. She was no help at all, so he didn’t bother with her panties. She was too giggly and jiggly for him to try.

Rue broke free and starting spinning on the bridge like a superhero. Ian took a moment to ask himself how repressed his poor little kitty was for a sip of wine to set her loose to whole new levels of wacky. He decided to find out. Perhaps he’d been wrong about no one leashing her. She seemed to have chained herself up pretty well with guilt over whatever had happened to her family.

A twinge of concern for this woman who’d struck his life like a bolt of lightning overtook Ian. Her desperation to fix her past made her more than a little delusional and he knew it wouldn’t end well. He’d seen the look on her father’s face, the hatred that lashed out of the man in a violent slap across his daughter’s face. So Ian knew no memory on earth, even one as pleasant as Rue’s, would fix that.

But he’d never tell her.

He’d never take away her hope because she needed to believe to keep going. Ian could see that in her unguarded moments. Kitty was lonely. She wasn’t stupid or a fool, she simply needed to keep believing. Without the fantasy that she could bring her family back together she would fall apart. And he didn’t want to see that happen. He wouldn’t allow it.

Ducking under her swinging arms, Ian dumped her striped T-shirt over her head. Gotcha. Wait. Damn, he’d imprisoned her arms inside the cotton and they were stuck to her sides. Unperturbed, Rue started jumping around making robot sounds. “Oop. Eep. Oop opt opt. Oop. Eep. Oop opt opt.” All while she bounced from one leg to the other, never moving her arms.

What the hell? Ian fell back against the railing of the bridge laughing. He couldn’t help it. This woman wasn’t merely from another planet. She’d crashed into this dimension from a whole other plane of existence.

“I’m so happy,” she exclaimed.

When she heard his laughter she ran over to him, bounced off his front, staggered back and bounced off his front again. “I’m stuck in my T-shirt,” she sang. “Help me. Help me, Spock.”

Ian unleashed the claw on his right index finger and cut the seams down each side of her T-shirt. Rue’s arms unfurled like wings. She flapped around, apparently pleased with her freedom of movement. Of course, all that flapping gave Ian more mouth-watering views of her breasts. To save himself from the agony of two long years without a woman he grabbed and tied the loose hems of her shirt together on each side. She looked like a hippy but those delicious breasts were covered. That’s all he needed to make it through.

Then Rue started to spin again. On one rotation she caught Ian in the chin and sent him tumbling off the side of the bridge. On the way down he smacked his head on the stone ledge before he splashed into the pond.

It was cold. And his head hurt. He must’ve struck it at a weird angle because dizziness overwhelmed him and he couldn’t get his arms and legs to work properly. That wouldn’t normally be a problem—his healing ability would kick in if he gave it a minute—but he’d landed face first into the water and he couldn’t breathe.

Ian didn’t panic. He figured his wolfen side would heal him before the three minutes it took to get brain damage were up. Relaxing, he began to hold his breath. One by one he counted off the seconds, hoping to regain control of his limbs in time to swim to the edge of the pond.

A splash sounded nearby. His name sounded murky when heard through the water in his ears. Actually it wasn’t his name he heard underwater but Rue’s nickname for him. For some reason “Spock” sounded just as good. Strong hands grasped him by the shoulders and flipped him over. Ian dragged in several breaths of air as a slim brown arm wrapped around his neck and gently floated him to the stonework enclosing the pond.

Rue had gone from happily drunk to frantic. “Oh my god, you’re bleeding again. What did I do? What did I do?”

Without the creek water to dilute it, his blood flowed freely down his face, blurring his vision in a wash of red. Ian wanted to tell Rue he’d be fine but she enfolded him in her embrace and cradled his head to her cheek, whispering apologies in his ear as though she’d killed him. She cared. She’d jumped off the bridge into the cold pond water to save him. He couldn’t tell her how much that meant to him because she’d panicked. Or maybe he couldn’t tell her because his body still wasn’t working properly. But most likely he remained silent because her arms were a sanctuary wrapped around him.

A soothing blue glow flashed behind him and grew stronger. The warmth of the light spread to enclose him. Within the blue glow Ian felt the bone and then the skin over his brow knit together. The sudden healing was similar to his shifter healing only more powerful, somehow focused and pure.

Rue opened her eyes in a butterfly kiss against his temple. Her lashes fluttered a few more times and she whispered, “What happened?” before her body went limp, slumping backwards onto the grass. She’d passed out cold.

Although she couldn’t hear him, Ian had only one answer for her, “Bridges and cold water happened.” The symbolism of Rue diving off a bridge to save him meant something to Ian. She’d fulfilled a secret fantasy he’d always carried with him of being saved by a woman who threw her whole body into it. And he had no idea how to handle that.