Lycan on the Edge: Broken Heart Book 13 (5 page)

important to intervene, then it was obviously

something she needed. But it didn’t mean she had

to like it.

Sophie felt Trent’s gaze on her, but she

concentrated on the sandwiches. She spread

mustard on the bread slices and unwrapped the

ham. “What did you do before becoming a

handyman?”

“Lots of things. I was born in 1790.” An

emotion flickered in Trent’s eyes as he took the

sandwich Sophie offered him. She couldn’t quite

define it. Guilt? Grief? Worry? Hmm. She opened

the refrigerator and took out a couple of sodas. “In

a glass or straight from the can?”

“The can is fine, thank you.”

“I was born in the 1980s. So you’re what, more

than two-hundred years older than me?”

“In werewolf years that’s nothing.”

“True.” She handed him a can, and they sat

down in the breakfast nook. The windows looked

out onto the rolling green fields edged by forest.

Nature called to her on so many levels.

“It’s beautiful out there,” said Trent. “You want

to go for a run?”

Shifting and taking a nice, long run sounded

good. But she’d rarely taken her wolf form since

the Alberich had tried to kill her. She’d been in

wolf form then, too. The few times she shifted, she

felt strange. It scared her.

Memory flashed.

The beast came at her screaming, wielding a

terrifying weapon. She felt the imprint of the

doubly curved blade on her back. She howled in

pain, and instantly, there were a bright light and

a thousand stars raining down on her.

“Sophie?”

She swallowed the knot in her throat. “No,

thank you” she said softly. She excused herself and

left. The only way to get rid of the shakes and the

feelings of impending doom was to occupy herself

so thoroughly she didn’t have time to contemplate.

She went into the basement, feeling better the

minute the fragrant smell of earth and its gifts hit

her nose. She set her mind on finishing the herbs

for drying and tried not to think about her wolf,

about the Alberich, or about Trent.

Yeah, right.

CHAPTER THREE

“I’LL TAKE THE cuckoo clock and the punch

bowl set,” Nana said into the phone. Her gaze was

glued to the TV, specifically the shopping channel

as Hubert enthusiastically endorsed everything

from cutlery to dog beds. “Give me one of those

wind chimes, too.”

Trent watched in fascination as Virginia

Lennox ordered a potato peeler and a cubic

zirconia ring. Earlier, she’d invited him to join her

in the living room, and he’d accepted because he’d

hoped to get more information about Sophie. He

needed something, anything at this point, to get

female werewolf’s cooperation.

Virginia occupied the comfy pink wingback to

the left of the equally pink couch, where Trent

stretched out. Sophie, however, had spent the rest

of the day avoiding him and continued to do so.

“Ooh,” squealed the old gal. “I need the extra

large dog bed.” She glanced at Trent. “You like tan

or green?”

“I’m partial to green.”

“The green one, please.” Satisfied with her

purchases, she hung up the phone.

“Virginia, did you just buy me a dog bed?”

“Consider it a wolf bed.”

He smiled. Then he ventured, “You’re not a

werewolf.”

“Nope.” She glanced at him. “I married one.

Henry was a single dad, and he had a two-year-old

daughter. Her name was Alice—that was Sophie’s

mom. I couldn’t have children with Henry, but I

considered that baby girl mine.”

“Do you know anything about Alice’s mother?”

“Henry never talked about her.” Virginia’s gaze

went distant. “They died together, you know.

Henry, Alice, and her mate, Mark. We lived in

northern California. They’d gone off to howl at the

moon. Died in a forest fire. All three of them.” She

paused, her voice heavy with grief. “Sophie had

just turned five. It’s been her and me ever since.

She wasn’t around her own kind that much. When I

heard about Broken Heart, it was a no-brainer to

move here.”

“Has she talked to you about what happened in

Oregon?”

“Not really. She’s good at avoidance. But that’s

why you’re here isn’t it? To get her talking and

dealing with it so she can move on with her life.”

Unease skittered up his spine. Virginia didn’t

know the full breadth of his job here. He wanted to

help Sophie, that most of all, but he also needed to

get her ready. She had a gift. Like his. Together,

they were the only ones who could stop the

Alberich from killing more werewolves.

“I know Sophie’s been prickly, but she’ll come

around.” Her sharp brown eyes studied him.

“Something happened to her. I don’t just mean the

attack. Something else. I think her keeping

whatever secret she’s carrying is eating away at

her.”

Trent agreed. “I wish there was a way to get

her out of her comfort zone.”

“Good luck with that. She hasn’t been out of

Broken Heart since she came back. Hell, getting

that child to go into town is like pulling cow

teeth.”

“Why would you pull cow teeth?”

“You wouldn’t. That’s why it’s hard.”

Trent didn’t understand the allegory, but maybe

that was the point.

Virginia looked thoughtful. After a brief

moment of quiet contemplation, she skewered him

with a suspicious gaze. “You sure that whole

getting-out-of-her-comfort-zone thing would help

Sophie?”

He thought about his answer, going over the

pros and cons. He nodded. “Yes.”

“Okay then.” She stood and stretched. “Time

for me to turn in. You want the remote?”

“No, thanks. I think I’ll turn in, too.”

She turned off the TV, reached down, and

patted Trent on the shoulder. “You do right by my

girl.”

“I will. I promise.”

After Virginia had left, the room seemed

unbearably stuffy with the weight of his burden. He

only hoped he could keep his word. He wanted to

do right by Sophie, but he worried. Despite

knowing, or rather believing, that she was the key

to ridding the world of Alberich once and for all,

he hadn’t expected the overwhelming attraction.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her, the way she

looked, the way she smelled, and the way she

made his pulse race. No, he hadn’t expected the

intense chemistry when he’d pulled into the old

farmstead, but Sophie made him feel like a teenage

pup in the bloom of adolescence. For a werewolf

his age, he should have better control. Even when

he said things to her meant to help her, even to

himself, he could hear the double meaning.

He walked through the kitchen, exiting out the

back door. Chirping crickets greeted his entrance

onto the enclosed porch. The screened door

leading outside screeched loudly, and Trent

winced at the echoing noise. Stars winked at him

from the night sky, and a spring breeze teased his

senses with the faint scent of honeysuckle. He

thought of Sophie and his promise to her

grandmother.

I’ll help you, Sophie. No matter what.

TRENT ROLLED TO his side and plumped the

goose down pillow. The bedsprings squeaked, and

he grimaced. The quiet dark of the room engulfed

him, and he stilled, looking out the open window at

the clear night. He was tempted to shift and run off

he excess energy building within him. He’d

absorbed more of Sophie’s stress and fear than

he’d intended. She had a surprising way of getting

through his barriers. It was just another sign that

she was the other half. His other half, he supposed.

The ability to heal, to take her pain, was part of the

gift he had been granted. When they went against

the Alberich, she would need him for healing, for

energy, as she prevented catastrophe.

All the same, he couldn’t let her, however

unintentionally, steal his energy. He’d need every

bit of his strength and ability to help her. Her

trauma was deeply embedded, mind, body, and

soul. He’d have to go slow with her, absorbing her

pain a little at a time until she was strong enough to

handle the truth. And the ominous task before them

both.

The werewolf queen, Kelsey, was the only

person who could understand his ability and the

toll it could take. Thanks to her heritage as a

changeling, she had empathic abilities. She’d

accidentally learned how to absorb emotions from

others. Her talent was different from his. She was

more powerful, especially after becoming a

werewolf, and she’d been born with her gift. His

had been bestowed. The power had been had

absorbed at the cellular level—magic and genetics

binding together. And he only had empathic

abilities with one person. Sophie. It was further

proof that she was the one.

He knew well the terror and struggle of dealing

with his demons. It was why he identified so easily

with Sophie. So, he needed to control the fierce

yearning for the lovely werewolf. That longing

was almost a living creature within him, devouring

his good intentions bite by bite. His cock reacted

to the mere image of Sophie with her soft pink lips,

her wide brown eyes, and her silky blonde hair.

No, no. Don’t think of her.

He sighed, adjusted himself and tugged at his

now uncomfortable boxer-briefs. Sophie. The mere

thought of the bewitching woman disturbed his

very core. He’d never reacted to a woman so

immediately and with such...intensity. Not even his

wife. She’d been fierce and strong, and he’d loved

her. They had volunteered to be the weapon, and

she had given her life for the pack. It had taken him

a long time to stop feeling the acute pain of her

loss, and the guilt that he’d been unable to save

her. With Damian’s help, he’d managed to keep

going. To keep living. But now that he’d met

Sophie, he wondered if he’d been living or merely

existing?

What’s wrong with you?

When they’d fallen into the puddle, he’d been

jolted to his core. Even with mud spattering her

face, he’d seen the freckles on her nose. Her

blonde hair had been drawn into a ponytail. He

wondered how she’d look with it down around her

bare shoulders. Trent reigned in his thoughts. Don’t

go there, he warned his libido. He would not think

about how close her luscious mouth had been to—

damn. His blood stirred, pure lust claiming him.

Red underwear, sassy lips, and those secretive

dark eyes should not be enough to justify the raw

heat coursing through him.

Trent cursed as his cock hardened to full mast,

poking against the thin barrier of his underwear.

Think ice. Glacier. North Pole.
Antarctica.
The

whole concept of freezing cold did nothing to cool

his ardent response to the image he had of Sophie.

Stop it, Trent. You can’t help her if you think only

of having sex with her.

He waited, emptying his mind of other lurid

thoughts, allowing the tepid breeze to wash over

his body. Maybe he just needed a cold drink with a

hundred ice cubes. Maybe a two-day cold shower.