Treeland Pack Tales 3: A Trace of Ivy (8 page)

I can’t fucking object
to protecting her now, can I?
“They stay outside the apartment.”

“Already arranged.”

Ivy picked up the tray, offering it to Scarlet. “Please try
some, they’re incredible.”

“Thank you.” Scarlet accepted the bite of lobster salad.

Daniel took two, stacked them neatly, and popped both into
his pie hole. Scarlet leaned into him. His leader took the hint. “We gotta go.
Talk to you two tomorrow.”

SCARLET’S CALMING PRESENCE must’ve kept her nightmares away.
When Chet closed the door behind his friends, Ivy fought a fresh surge of panic
and lost.

He must have sensed her fear, because he was right there—a
strong, solid presence standing between her and the images from the past
haunting her. The monsters were alive in her head and she couldn’t evict them
and she couldn’t stop shaking. “D-don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Chet pulled her into his arms. “You’re safe. I promise.”

“I don’t want to get you dirty.”

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m an adult and have
been for a long time.”

She gave in and snuggled into his heat, taking shelter in
his strength. “Just how old are you?”

“Three-twenty-five.”

“Three-hundred-and-twenty-five years? That’s definitely old
enough to know better.” She breathed in his scent, one she associated with
safety. “You should have made me go with Daniel and Scarlet.”

“You need me.” His voice deepened.

She pushed against his hard chest, refusing to be a victim
again, even for him.

“Be still. I need you too.”

“Did you already bond?” She held her breath, not sure what
answer she wanted.

“Damned if I know.” His tone was so disgruntled she gave a
nervous giggle.

“This is new territory for me. Usually I call the shots with
females, keeping it smooth, friendly, and enough fun so they don’t resent my
being in charge. Then I find you, and all my rules are out the door, and I
don’t even mind so much.” He sounded adorably grumpy, which made her feel
better about being such a basket case.

The teeth-rattling cold passed. Still she didn’t want to
leave the comfort of his embrace. “What kind of rules am I breaking?”

“I’ve never had a female sleepover.”

She tried to pull away again. “I’ll call Scarlet. She gave
me her number.”

“Don’t be a goose.”

“As I understand it, I’m a wolfie.” She huffed.

He squeezed her tighter. “Good thing.”

“Seriously, I’ll leave or stay in a guest room, or if you
don’t have a spare bed, I’ll sleep on one of your couches.”

He tilted her chin until she met his gaze. “Absolutely not.”

His eyes glowed with hunger. Her lashes lowered to shield
her from the intensity. She shivered and not entirely from fear. “I’m still not
ready for sex.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re sleeping in my bed.”

“I’d be fine on the couch,” she lied, miserably aware how
much she depended on Chet’s presence to keep her from succumbing to the evil
images lurking in her mind and hating herself for being so weak—so needy.

“Maybe you would, although you’d be much more comfortable in
one of the guest suites. However, I would not get a wink of sleep.”

Wanting to understand this male better, she asked, “You said
you’d never had a woman sleep here, but you’ve had them uh…visit?”

“Not many, not often, and not for a long time.”

What’s a long time to
you?
She decided she would stay happier not knowing. She gave him a
tentative smile. There was no sign of a woman’s presence in the apartment. The
rooms she’d seen were luxurious and elegant, like the male who owned them.

Then she recalled the guest toothbrushes, and doubts
returned. He was rich, powerful, and had his pick of females. Had Scarlet been
right about him bonding to her? And what did that really mean? Was he was serious
about wanting her forever, or simply gallant? No matter what, she owed him her
life and was sincerely grateful for his kindness and his nearness.

“Help me finish dinner.” Chet held out a hand and she took
it, letting him tug her back into the kitchen.

“Definitely.” She’d dreaded the loss of contact and doing
nothing while he cooked. She missed Kat and Tess and couldn’t imagine sleeping
alone. Her eyelids felt as gritty as a beach path and her stomach empty enough
to rub her backbone. She’d probably fall into a stupor two seconds after
eating.

“Dress the salad, please.”

Tossing the veggies with the cruet of dressing Chet handed
her and setting the bowl on the counter took all of a minute. “What else can I
do to help?”

“Come here and shake the mushrooms while I check the
steaks.” He passed her a pair of oven mitts. The stovetop and ovens were side
by side, and so were she and Chet. As she kept meaty slices of portabella from
burning in the melted butter, her hip pressed against his unyielding thigh.

She’d fought not to cringe from Daniel’s firm hold on her
shoulder, but she yearned for Chet’s closeness. Was this because of the effect
of his touch, the way Scarlet had explained, or was there more to her craving?
Disturbed by being so clingy, she chattered. “Until I was taken and met the
other captives, I never imagined I was anything except an ordinary human.”

“I would wager a substantial sum you were never ordinary.”

Ivy peeked at him from under her lashes. The male was
utterly gorgeous. Before the attack she would’ve been tripping over her feet
after just one of his smoldering glances. What a pity she was such a pathetic
mess. But then if not for the rogues, she would never have met him. She forced
her mind back to what she needed to say. “What I’m trying to explain is
sometimes life takes turns we didn’t expect, and we have to adjust. I didn’t
plan on being a wolfie, and you didn’t plan on nearly bonding with a damaged
female.”

He started to speak, but she bumped his hip.

“Watch yourself, sweet torment.”

She swallowed at the erotic threat in his tone and at the
frightening need inside her that escalated from his casual endearment. “Please
let me say this. I’ll get past the need for constant reassurance. Scarlet said
I’d be much stronger in a few days. She also explained how permanent bonding
is. I do not want to repay your kindness by stealing your peace and ruining
your life.”

“Is it my turn yet?” Chet scowled at her.

She dropped her gaze again. “Sure.”

“You are not spoiling anything for me. The bonding
phenomenon is part of my DNA, the same as a werewolf heritage is part of yours.
What caused me to act like an ill-mannered pup was my misguided notion that I’m
in control of my own destiny. Needing someone else like I need fresh meat came
as a surprise. One I did not handle well.”

A sigh of relief puffed from her.

Chet cocked an eyebrow. “My bad behavior pleases you?”

“No, it’s just that needing you isn’t so awful if you need
me too.” The truth was his need was a heady thing, empowering her in unexpected
ways. She let herself be pleased with his explanation—with him. “Is it normal
for me to need your touch?”

“You are a constant threat to my control, sweet torment. And
yes, wolves are very tactile—we need a lot of physical contact. Especially…” He
didn’t finish his thought, but small spots of color darkened his cheekbones. He
moved away to turn off the ovens and plate the meal.

Her cheeks heated to match his as she imagined what a
sensual lover her dangerous dandy would be. She tucked away the possibility for
now and followed him into the dining room with the salad and her wine goblet.
She was inordinately pleased to find he’d set two places side by side in the
center of the dining table. His nearness grounded her in ways she didn’t want
to think about until she was stronger and clearer. There were six chairs on
each side and one on each end. After he’d set down the platter and a lazy
Susan, he held her chair.

Self-conscious over wearing nothing except his robe, she
resisted the urge to pretzel her legs, and let herself be scooted in to the
table. She took her napkin, laying it gently across her lap.

Her mouth watered from the aroma of charbroiled steaks, hot
potatoes, and sautéed mushrooms.

“I’m starving.” She dished up a mound of greens, lifted the
salad bowl, and offered it to Chet.

He scooped out a generous portion and passed it back. “More
wine?”

“Yes, please.” She forked greens into her mouth and chewed.

Chet ate even faster than she did. The salad course came and
went in seconds.

When she stared at his empty plate, he explained,
“Werewolves have a fast metabolism and shifting burns lots of calories.
Therefore, we feast more than eat.”

“Needing to consume extra calories is one of my favorite
fantasies.” She accepted a baked potato and considered the lazy Susan’s
selection. Pottery bowls in varying sizes held condiments. A gravy boat was
filled with a pale, glossy sauce.

“You don’t need to worry about your weight. I counted your
ribs.”

The reminder he’d seen her naked heated her cheeks. “The
rogues’ menu wasn’t appealing.” The admission brought a nasty flash of rotting
meat and never being allowed clothes. She locked away the ugly images and made
herself speak lightly. “I usually have a healthy appetite. Tonight I’m ravenous.”

He forked an enormous porterhouse onto her plate.

She leaned away from the steak. “I’m hungry—not ready to set
a new world record. I can’t eat all that.”

“Not a problem, I’ll finish your leftovers.”

She narrowed her eyes, assessing how serious he was. Chet
was a foot taller and probably a hundred pounds heavier, but he didn’t seem to
have any body fat. Could he really eat five pounds of beef, buttery mushrooms,
a loaded baker, salad, and have room for more?

“You’re a skeptic,” he teased.

Ivy nodded, took another sip of the fruity wine, and then
carved off a juicy bite of steak. The meat was medium rare and
baby-butter-lettuce tender. When the beef was well on its way to her empty
stomach, she indicated the gravy boat. “What’s the sauce?”

“Béarnaise.”

“Ah. Something I haven’t had in a very long time.” She
decided not worry about clogged arteries tonight, poured a small puddle on her
plate, and then got serious about eating.

Halfway through the food on her plate, she sensed Chet’s
eyes on her. She set down her utensils and blotted her mouth. “I was hungrier
than I realized.”

“You’re full?”

“Utterly.” Her gaze skittered across his plate, which was
empty except for a very bare bone. She nudged her still-laden plate toward him.
“Please, help yourself.”

She sipped wine as Chet deftly carved the remainder of her
steak into economical bites, alternating them with baked potato. In a few
minutes, the rest of her dinner was only a tasty memory. If she’d put away that
much food, her stomach would’ve pouched. Amazingly his abs remained as smooth
and ripped as when he’d started.

The silence stretched, but she felt oddly at ease with it.
Perhaps she was numb from everything that had happened, or simply exhausted,
but her anxiety had been all but smothered by a good meal, warmth, and easy
company.

Chet’s hard thigh overflowed his chair and pressed against
hers. His body heat and intoxicating scent surrounded her.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” She asked, entirely too comfortable
for serious concern.

“Absolutely, the second you’re ready. But you can relax. I’m
a very patient male.” His lips grazed her temple before he straightened and
began clearing.

Something she wasn’t entirely sure about seemed to stretch
inside her, nudging her toward Chet. She shivered and not from any chill in the
air. Even the slight brush of his mouth against her face made a heady sensual
awareness sing in her veins.

She pushed back from the table. “I’ll help.”

“I’d like that.” He smoldered at her, a look more delicious
than any dessert.

Together they made quick work of putting away the dirty
dishes and refrigerating the condiments. She set their goblets and the
remaining wine on the counter.

He lifted the bottle and tilted it toward her glass with a question
in his eyes.

“Yes, please.”

CHET GUIDED HER to the living room with his palm in the
small of her back. His hand spanned her narrow waist. The feminine curve of her
hip, barely visible under his fluffy bathrobe, teased him. “Tomorrow we go
shopping.”

“For what?”

He waved for her to sit, sank onto the couch next to her,
and then tucked her nice and tight against his side. “Clothes—you can’t show up
at pack headquarters in my bathrobe.”

She gathered the loose garment’s neckline more securely.
“Scarlet said she’d arrange something for me to wear tomorrow.”

“Excellent. You’ll enjoy the trip to the West Hills mall
more if you’re dressed.”

Her chin tilted. “I don’t need a lot of clothes. I’m not
staying.”

“My mistake, I thought you wanted to help find your
friends.”

“You know I do.”

“The packs have been hunting this rogue group for a few
weeks. We will catch them, but it’s unlikely to happen in the next day or two.”

“Sure. I get that.” Her shoulders slumped.

He regretted using her loyalty to the other captives to gain
her cooperation. Although he wanted her to stay, he reminded her it was her
choice in order to ease his conscience. “You don’t have to stay. We will catch
them with or without your help.”

“You said ‘this group of rogues.’ Are there others?” Her
voice caught.

“Not right now. Not that I know of anyway.”

“But this is common?”

How did he answer that? He moved one shoulder, trying to
play down a problem that had cost him lots of sleep. Ivy had enough nightmares
without him adding to them, but he wasn’t going to lie to her. “A rogue pack is
fairly rare, maybe one a year. Lone rogues happen way too often. Tracking them,
eliminating them, is a lot of what I do.”