Savage Hunger: Savage, Book 1 (16 page)

His throat tightened at the wave of tenderness that rose inside him. The need to possess faded as the subtle need to protect replaced it. He ran his palm down her back, tracing the gentle ridge of her spine as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Warrick tried to ignore the thoughts of tomorrow, and the feeling of impending trouble. Sienna had thought tonight was horrible, but she had no idea the man she would be facing tomorrow.

Unfortunately, Warrick did.

“Rise and shine!”

Shit
. Warrick’s muscles went taut at the harsh drawl, but he kept his eyes closed, giving himself a moment before he faced the man at the end of the bed. Silently he cursed a blue streak that the shifter had entered the room without Warrick immediately waking up. He never slept that heavily.

But apparently last night he had. Sleeping like the dead with Sienna in his arms. Not even stirring once until the agent who now stood above them had spoken. But he was awake now. And so was Sienna if he judged by the sudden tension in her body.

Warrick finally opened his eyes, making sure there was no trace of sleep in his gaze.

“Quinton,” he greeted with a slow drawl. “You should’ve called first, I would’ve had breakfast ready.”

“Cute, Donovan.” Any amusement—if there’d been any—disappeared from Quinton’s gaze as he slid it over them. His icy blue gaze narrowed on Sienna, before his mouth thinned. “So this is the piece of ass who’s causing so much trouble?”

Any question on whether Sienna was asleep disappeared as she sat up in bed. “Piece of ass? Who the hell do you—”

“Sienna,” Warrick cut in, placing a warning hand on her thigh before she could rip the older agent a new one. “This is Quinton. A senior agent with the P.I.A.”

Quinton was an icon. No one really knew if Quinton was his first name or last, but it’s all he went by. Who he was known as. He’d been with the agency for thirty years and was highly respected within the shifter community. He was cold and ruthless and hardcore. You didn’t fuck with him. Even Warrick’s crack about breakfast had probably been pushing it, but hell, he’d hoped to diffuse the tension.

Warrick had always looked up to the older agent, who’d always put career and community first, who’d helped train Warrick, and who’d never settled down with a family and shown no desire to do so. Quinton had always been the man Warrick strived to become. Quinton had been everything Warrick’s father hadn’t been.

And now, by the hard gleam of anger and disappointment in the agent’s gaze, Warrick knew he’d just taken a huge step back in holding the other man’s respect.

Fortunately, after Sienna’s initial burst of anger, she seemed to pick up the warning that she needed to back the hell down where Quinton was concerned.

Quinton hadn’t taken his gaze from Sienna, and if anything he seemed to be analyzing her more closely.

“You’ve caused a helluva mess from what I’ve heard,” he finally said. “What’s your name?”

Come on, Sienna, open your mouth and reply.
Warrick silently urged her to be acquiescent, or at least borderline polite. And for a moment he was convinced she wasn’t going to answer, but then she lifted her chin and replied calmly.

“Sienna. Sienna Peters.”

Quinton’s head tilted and shock flashed quickly in his hard gaze, before it was gone again. “Peters, you say?”

“Yes,” Warrick answered before she could. “As in the daughter of Kevin Peters who works in the lab.”

Quinton was silent for another moment, his expression now completely unreadable, before his mouth tightened into a hard smile.

“Isn’t that nice. Well, I don’t care who the hell she is. She’s going to start talking. Now. Out of bed, princess.”

Sienna’s heart thumped around in her chest like a Ping-Pong ball during a match. Who was this man? She knew instinctively she should be afraid of him. Not only from Warrick’s fingers that squeezed a warning on her leg, but also from the harsh, no-bullshit coldness that radiated off the man.

Quinton was older, probably late fifties, with hair that might’ve been blond at one point, but now seemed whiter. Tanned, weathered skin only emphasized pale blue eyes that held no warmth.

He wasn’t necessarily a tall man, but his muscles were big, and his surly personality guaranteed he wasn’t someone you wanted to tangle with. But for some reason, her mind rebelled against being rational and her emotions turned toward irritation instead of fear.

Besides, there were some things you just didn’t compromise on. “Sorry, that’s not really going to work for me. I need to shower. How about we say a half hour.”

Quinton made a grunting noise, but one corner of his mouth twitched. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes. Then I’m having one of the boys drag your skinny ass out of there—I don’t give a shit if you’ve still got soap in your hair.”

He spun on his heel and retreated, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Sudden silence echoed in the room, making her forget about the man who’d just left and become hyperaware of the one in bed next to her. She’d woken up completely besieged by the presence of Agent Quinton. But now with him gone, the combo of Warrick’s thigh against hers and memories of last night had a hot flush, rushed through her.

Oh sweet heavens, what Warrick had done to her…

“You’ve got about thirteen minutes, Sienna,” Warrick said brusquely, tossing back the sheets and sliding out of bed. “Or Quinton
will
drag you out, ass naked or not.”

Obviously last night wasn’t at the forefront of Warrick’s mind. Sienna’s stomach twisted with a disappointment she didn’t care to acknowledge. She nodded and slid out of bed, heading toward the bathroom. “I don’t like him.”

“You don’t know him. He’s a good agent.”

“I know enough to realize the guy probably wouldn’t win any personality awards.” She cast a final glance back at Warrick and promptly wished she hadn’t.

He was nearly naked save for the pair of navy boxer shorts and her gaze slipped over his broad shoulders and muscled chest. She gripped the doorjamb, her mouth drying out as she completely forgot what she was supposed to be doing.

She watched him move closer and her pulse fluttered as he came to a stop in front of her.

Arching an eyebrow, he murmured, “That shower?”

“Right. Right, yes, I’m going.”

God, she looked like an idiot! Turning around she went into the bathroom and shut the door. But it didn’t close. Warrick’s palm pushed it back open as he followed her into the bathroom.

Her eyes widened as she took a quick step backward. “What are you doing?”

“We’ve got about ten minutes now, Sienna. I could stand to wash the grime off as well, so I hope you don’t mind co-showering.”

Co-showering? As in together? Her heart nearly stopped and she couldn’t even blink. Warrick, naked beside her in a tiny shower stall? Really, not the best idea when she had to psyche herself up for what was about to come.

But he didn’t seem to expect an answer, because he’d already strode past her and turned on the shower. When he dropped his boxers her face burned scarlet.

He reached in to check the temperature and glanced over at her with a nefarious grin. “Oh come on. You can’t possibly be shy after last night.”

Oh dammit,
now
he was ready to bring that up? Sienna tore her gaze from his body, especially from the very male part of him that seemed all too awake. She weighed the idea of skipping the shower, because getting in there with him—

“Nothing’s going to happen, Sienna,” he promised and stepped into the stall and under the water. “I’ll keep my hands and eyes to myself. There’s not time for anything but a quick shower anyway.”

With a soft curse, Sienna stripped off her T-shirt and stepped into the shower with him. The warm water sluiced over her body as she made the pathetic attempt to not allow any part of her to touch Warrick. But they barely fit into the stall and more often than not parts of her would brush against hard, manly parts, sending warmth through her body that had nothing to do with the water temperature.

Warrick seemed completely unbothered on the other hand, she thought irritably. She may as well have been a coatrack thrown into the shower with him, for all it affected him.

“You need to be straight with Quinton.”

Finally! The slight crack in his voice was the only indication he wasn’t nearly as unfazed by their showering together as he’d have her believe.

“
Sienna
.”

“I heard you.” She reached past him for the shampoo and made quick time lathering up. This needed to be a lightning-quick shower. For more reasons than one.

As for being straight with Quinton. Not freaking likely. She didn’t trust the guy. Anyone really. Well, maybe Warrick. But anything she told Warrick would probably just get repeated to Larson. Or back to the ominous Quinton.

Warrick reached past her for the shampoo she’d set down on the ledge, and his knuckles brushed the curve of her breast. A soft gasp ripped from her throat and her body went taut.

“Son of a bitch, this was a bad idea,” he muttered savagely and stepped as far away as the small stall would allow.

She barely bit back a snort of disbelief, and a pithy “I told you so”. Instead she finished conditioning her hair and soaping her body. Then she was out of the shower and bundling into a towel before he could catch a glimpse of her hardened nipples and flushed cheeks.

Sienna had just pulled on a T-shirt and pair of shorts when the door to the room swung open. Sweet Jesus, Quinton had been dead serious about pulling her out.

His gaze narrowed on her. “Fifteen minutes is up. Go sit your butt down in the kitchen and I’ll be out there in a few minutes.”

Placing a hand on her hip, Sienna arched a brow. “A few minutes? With those extra few minutes I could’ve blown dry my hair.”

The older agent was silent for a moment, his gaze so cold a slither of fear rippled down Sienna’s spine. Okay, so maybe she should’ve kept her mouth shut on that last one.

But then Quinton let out a soft laugh laced with genuine amusement. “Sorry to disappoint you.” His gaze slid beyond her to where Warrick had come out of the bathroom, towel around his waist. “Tell you what. With those extra three minutes why don’t you make good on your boyfriend here’s comment about breakfast. I haven’t eaten. Go whip me something up.”

Whip him up something? Hot fury built in her belly and Sienna’s eyes flashed her loathing at him. Then she remembered Warrick’s warning about how important this man was. And knowing she was only doing this for Warrick and his career, she bit her tongue before she could give him a verbal lashing to bring his ego down a peg, then stormed out of the bedroom.

Chapter Ten

“I’m surprised,” Quinton said softly after Sienna
 
left, “that you’d let a little human pussy mess with your head this much, Agent Donovan.”

Goddamn the man.
Warrick’s hands flexed and the beast in him roared with anger, itching to come out and fight. But starting one with Quinton would be equivalent to career suicide.

He took a deep breath and murmured, “With all due respect, sir, Sienna Peters is nothing but a family friend.”

“Sure. And I spoon with all my friends in the morning too, son.” Quinton nodded, his smile derisive. “You’re a better agent than this, Donovan. You’re heading toward the top. You don’t want to fuck it up now.”

Like your father did.
The words hung unsaid between them in the air.

Everyone knew about Warrick’s father. That he’d been a damn good P.I.A. agent, his career on the fast track to greatness. Until he’d started hitting the bottle a little too hard after a botched mission. Got sloppy, and fucked a human reporter, spilling all his secrets one night while drunk off his ass.

Since memory wiping had still been a couple years off back then, the woman’s life had been quietly terminated. His father, a total disgrace, had been banished from the P.I.A. as well as the shifter community. Warrick had only been two years old at the time and had been raised by a mother who’d been left to deal with her husband’s infidelity and betrayal of the community.

He didn’t remember his father, and had only seen him once after the banishment. And that was when he’d accompanied his mother to identify his body when his dad had overdosed on painkillers. But Warrick had lived with the stigma of who his father had been. Had fought to make his own path and not follow in his father’s infamous footsteps.

Every day had been a struggle, an upward climb against the elements to prove he wasn’t his father. And nothing—not a bottle of vodka or a human woman—was going to take that from him.

“I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am,” Warrick said fiercely, his expression hard. “You can be assured I have no intention of fucking it up.”

“You already have. You killed one of your kind, Warrick. Or have you forgotten already?” Quinton shook his head, his hard gaze full of accusation. “Larry Millett, forty-two years old, father of two. Dead now. By your jaws.”

Quinton’s words hit heavy, like toxic darts, into Warrick’s conscience. But Warrick drew in a slow breath and closed his eyes, visualizing the scene from last night. The wolf, unprovoked, as it attacked Sienna.