Pursued by a Werewolf (Mystic Isle, Book 4) (15 page)

Hunter reached for her, clasping around her wrist and pulling her into the shelter of his arm. He couldn’t be sure if the SOB was dead or not and he certainly didn’t care. The only thing that mattered right now was protecting his mate.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

She slid her palm against his and they double timed it to the end of the road and kept on going until they reached Quai d’Orsay, the street overlooking the
Seine
River. He kept them moving until they’d covered what must have been three blocks. A small, darkened alcove beckoned and he glanced around to make sure they weren’t followed before pressing Avery into the shadows.

“Are you okay?” He dropped the bag and ran his hands over her.

“I’m fine.”

His heart didn’t stop racing despite her quiet assurance.

“Hunter, you know I’m fine. Already healed. He didn’t do any permanent damage.”

“I know,” he said, cupping her cheeks. “But you were scared. Let’s go back to the island.”

Even in the darkness, he could see her smile. “Let’s finish enjoying our evening first. We can’t let that be our memory of Paris.”

He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead against hers. When she used words like we and memory in the same sentence…he wanted to kiss her and never stop. Right now he settled for keeping her safe. “Alright. Let’s see Paris.”

Hand in hand, they walked along admiring the river, the bridges, the fancy lampposts. And the light. So much soft, sparkling light. The silence was peaceful, comfortable and slowly his wolf was standing down.

“I can almost hear the street musicians,” Avery murmured.

“Me too.”

“You know, I’ve never strolled along the river like this.”

“Me either.”

“It's peaceful,” she said staring out at the river.

“Yeah.”

“Funny how you can be in the middle of one of the busiest cities in the world and feel...”

He stopped and looked down at her.

“And feel?”

“Like it's just you and me.” A nearby lamppost showed her expression perfectly. The bravery it took to say those words, the relief of admitting them, the confusion of all of it.

“Are you sure you're okay?” he asked because he didn't yet dare say what he really felt. She was opening up to him. Accepting him. But being patient was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do.

She squeezed his hand. “I'm fine.”

She pulled him along and they continued their walk. Avery pointed out places and offered tidbits about them.

“What's with all the locks?” he asked, surveying the bridge. The banister on either side was filled with what must have been thousands of padlocks.

“This is the Pont des Arts bridge. They call it the Lovers' Bridge.”

He walked a few meters toward the center, looking at all the bits of metal. Some were obviously older, others brand new. A few novelty locks glinted in the lamp light. He reached out and lifted a heart shaped one.

The engraving read
G&H forever.

“Some say if you attach a lock to the bridge and throw the key into the river it's a sign of your eternal love and commitment. Your souls are locked together.”

“Romantic.” But he didn't need a lock and key to bind himself to Avery. It’d taken a well-placed bite in the sweet flesh between her shoulder and neck.

“Others say if two lovers kiss on the bridge, they’ll live happily ever after.” She whispered the words to the river, her hands resting atop the railing.

“You know you can have a second chance, right?” He said the words with caution. After everything she’d told him, she still wasn’t looking at her future.
Their
future.

A single succinct nod was all the answer he got from her. She stared down into the water and he felt a bevy of emotions in her. Her mind was chaotic and her scent held the slightest trace of fear. What had happened to her?

He turned and leaned against the railing, arms across his chest. “I remember the first time I saw you. Maxim and I were sitting side by side and we saw this group of women walk out onto the terrace. Laughing. Having a good time. I thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. You were trying to convince Ceara to join you on the volleyball court, remember?”

“She was too shy.”

“Maxim asked me which of you I was interested in.” He laughed softly. “As if there was any question. And then on the volleyball court, you were a natural leader and so nice to everyone even though none of them were as athletic as you.”

“They needed several mini pep talks as I remember.” There was a smile in her voice.

“You won the game.”

“That we did.”

“You were good at pep talks. Getting everyone to focus.”

“Focus on kicking guy-butt.” He heard her soft laugh.

“Mission accomplished.”

“As I recall, you were focused on something else.” She was smirking and damn if that didn’t hit him square in the heart.

“I’ve been focused on that something else since then.” His admission didn’t seem to make a dent. She didn’t make a confession of her own, in fact, she didn’t say a word.

He sighed. “Let’s get back to the island. I have a day of activities to plan.”

He kept his tone as light as he could when what he really wanted to do was shake her and yell “
look at me, see me. I’m right here. I’ve always been right here.”

She licked her lips and nodded. “We need to finish shopping.”

Right, the slumber party. The whole purpose of this trip. Not a romantic stroll through Paris. He’d forgotten.

He nodded once, trying to hold the dejection at bay. Latham’s words echoed through his mind.
Give her time.

“Alright.”

After a trip to the nearest drugstore her bag was filled with magazines and nail polish, she smiled up at him.

“And now, a dark alcove.” Her whispered words shot straight to his cock. If only she was making the request for a different reason.

They strode past two dozen parked mopeds, across a cobblestone street, and headed for the
Seine
. He averted his gaze as they passed a decadent lingerie shop; there was only so much a wolf could take. Just seeing the skimpy hints of lace and satin in the window reminded him of the outfits he’d taken off of Avery two solstices ago.

He glanced around and spotted the perfect alcove on the narrow street that ran along the edge of the river below. The stairs at the mouth of the bridge would take them there.

“Come on.”

He took her hand and led her down the stairs.

“Any idea what activities you guys are going to do while we’re painting our nails and talking about you?”

“Maybe a little water skiing if the weather permits. Maybe a little surfing off the north shore. I know Max is partial to jet skis.”

They huddled in an indention along the stone wall.

“That sounds like fun.”

Before he could respond, she reached for his hands and they were zooming through space.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Some of these are actually pretty,” Avery murmured, studying the bridal gowns. The slumber party was in full swing and surprisingly, she wasn’t the least bit sleepy.

“This one’s hideous,” Coco said, holding up a photo of a dress that must have weighed fifty pounds thanks to all the lace and beadwork. The boxy hips and poofy sleeves were, in a word, weird.

Coco, being Izzy’s best bud, had flown in for the occasion. The three of them sat on the sectional sofa in the cottage, poring over wedding magazines. Ceara reclined on the floor, her back against the sofa, painting her toenails a deep cherry red.

It was so nice to have all her coven mates under the same roof. And they had Pearl and Rosanna to round off the evening.

While they were drinking wine, watching romantic comedies, and painting their nails, the guys, along with Coco’s mate, Grayson, were on whatever adventure Hunter had planned.

Avery glanced over at her bedroom door, remembering the way he’d skillfully sidestepped her obvious interest when she’d
flashed
them back from Paris. She’d landed them smack dab in the center of her bedroom; feet from her bed. After enjoying a very romantic stroll through the City of Light… Did she need to paint him a sign?

Obviously, she did since she was still tingly and achy in some important places.

She growled inwardly. It was obvious now. The wolf was playing hard to get, making her want to beg. She wasn’t above begging, especially after she’d seen him in those jeans last night.

But he’d simply made his excuses about having to plan an impromptu bachelor’s party for Shade. And he’d left her there, once again, with a far-too-chaste-for-her-liking kiss. Was that the third or fourth time? She’d lost count.

Truth be told, she’d crashed hard about five minutes after he’d reminded her to lock the front door behind him. And she’d still been asleep when Valencia had woken her for the slumber party.

Avery’s memory of slumber parties was pretty much summed up by comfortable clothes, giggling girlfriends, lots of food and plenty of nail polish. While she desperately missed potato chips and candy covered chocolates, wine was a decent substitute as far as she was concerned.

Dressed in her favorite yoga pants and soft knit tank top, she was the epitome of comfort. Wine flowed freely from the dozen bottles on the bar. And there was plenty of giggling over hideous dresses. They’d already watched one of the romantic comedies she’d brought from the mansion.

“You should have been alive three hundred years ago,” Valencia said with a smirk. Though Pearl was the princess in the room, Valencia sat in the club chair next to the TV, ever regal in an expensive, silver silk pajama set. Goblet in one hand, she flipped through a thick magazine looking at the pictures with half interest.

“Or the seventies,” Avery said with a grimace.

Since Mystic Isle didn’t have a wedding planner on staff, Rosanna had taken it upon herself to do the job. She was perched on the chair opposite Valencia, taking notes on a white legal sized pad.

Avery liked Latham’s assistant. Rosanna was sharp and friendly and obviously a hopeless romantic. She’d sighed her way through the movie. And she got dreamy eyed when Izzy told them the story of how she and Shade had met.

“I think we’ve got everything nailed down,” Rosanna said, scanning the list she’d written. Pen in hand she scribbled another note and made a few check marks.

“Not having any attendants makes it much simpler,” Avery said, flipping past the articles to look at the dresses. Luckily, fashion had leaped forward in the last thirty years so Avery didn’t see a single dress that reminded her of the silk and lace monstrosity she’d chosen for her own big day. But still, discussing wedding details took her back in time. She tried to forget her own painful experience and concentrate on how perfect Izzy and Shade were together.

They complimented each other perfectly.

“Thanks for not making us wear hideous pink dresses,” she added, smiling at Izzy.

“I should,” Izzy said with a nod. “Since you hold out on us.”

“Hold out on us?” Avery parroted, meeting Izzy’s light blue gaze.

“She means held out on us. As in, you and Hunter,” Coco said. “Word around the island is you’re seeing each other.”

Oh she’d like to see more of Hunter, lots more.

Coco’s eyebrows wiggled up and down conspiratorially. Avery knew that look. It meant “dish…or else.”

Avery settled back into the cushions, tucked her legs to the side and sighed. “You guys have known me for years. Since when have I been seeing anyone?”

She hoped her light, joking tone covered up the chaos inside her. Honestly, she had no idea where she stood with Hunter.

“Since two solstices ago.” Coco obviously wasn’t going to let this go.

Avery met her friend’s gaze.

“We’re just friends.”

Who should be having sex.

Really fabulous sex.

“Tell that to someone who believes you. You’re different Avery. Let’s examine the evidence, shall we? You used to eye every guy who walked by. You always had a man waiting in the wings. The first time we came to Mystic Isle, you tried to seduce the guys who delivered our luggage.”

“She did not try to seduce them this trip,” V said, her voice thoughtful.

Traitor.

“I think that Hunter’s the reason you stopped. The reason you’re different,” Coco said.

“You only have eyes for him,” Ceara added with a knowing smile.

Avery shrugged, not ready to commit one way or the other. She felt more at ease with him than she had with any other man, ever. That was true. But would that last?

“We’ll see.” If she was different it was probably because she’d been so completely appalled that she’d started chatting up the man from Izzy’s past. A year ago as Izzy had sat at the poker table playing hand after hand, Avery had unknowingly brought the enemy into the camp.

Evidently Izzy hadn’t even known that he was a vampire. But that still didn’t make Avery feel better. The bastard had let Izzy get raped and brutally beaten by a werewolf. Valencia had turned her just before she bled out.

And what had Avery done? Chatted him up so she wouldn’t have to think of Hunter, and then she’d introduced the jerk to Izzy and Shade.
Oh gods.

Izzy, the doll, hadn’t missed a beat in telling the asshole off. And she’d brushed off Avery’s apologies. But Avery had sworn to be more careful in who she hung out with after that.

She sighed, trying to calm the rage and heartache that consumed her whenever she thought of that night. It didn’t help much. Maybe she should join Hunter in the whole punching bag thing. There might be something to beating her fists into a helpless bag and visualizing all the jerks who’d done her and her friends wrong.

“Ah hah! There is a story there,” Izzy declared. Avery glanced up at them. Even Rosanna was sitting forward in her seat.

There was more story than they could possibly imagine. But she didn’t feel like seeing the pity in their eyes. This was supposed to be paradise, with endless fun and frolicking.