Treeland Pack Tales 3: A Trace of Ivy (9 page)

“You and the other enforcers?”

“Yeah.”

“How many enforcers are there?”

“The Treeland pack has five, including me.”

Her smooth brow pleated in a pretty frown. “There are eight
monsters in the pack you’re hunting now.”

Chet would’ve grinned at her obvious concern if he hadn’t
been seething over the reminder she’s spent weeks with the rogues. He tried for
confident and casual; instead he practically snarled. “Daniel fights with us,
and we’re tough.”

She chafed her arms, plainly not convinced but at least not
cowering in the corner. “So are the monsters.”

He moderated his tone and managed to keep it almost
reasonable. “I’ve been doing this a long time. We’re saner, smarter, and
tougher. We always win.”

Not always fast enough to prevent a lot of pain. But she
didn’t need more worries. Her expressive face already held too much doubt.
“Have I ever lied to you?”

She shook her head.

“Then trust me on this. We will find them, and we will win.”

Ivy’s chin slowly dipped. Not exactly rah, rah, go, Chet go,
but an affirmative.

He took what she was willing to offer. He was still a long
way from winning her complete trust. Lucky for him, he loved a challenge. He
glanced at the mantel clock. “Are you sleepy?”

“No.” She stifled a yawn and sat straighter.

“Good, I’m ready for dessert. Want some?”

She patted her flat stomach. “Maybe.”

“Deep dish apple pie—my own recipe.”

“A small slice.” She stood, holding her thumb and index
finger a scant inch apart. “You like to cook.”

“I do. It relaxes me.” He plated two healthy slices.

“Is that unusual for your kind?”

A bit of werewolf speed brought him back to her side.
“Cooking for fun?”

She accepted a plate without commenting on the generous size
of the portion. “Being a master chef.”

“Males outnumber females roughly ten to one, so learning to
cook is fairly essential for those who like to eat.”

“This is amazing.” Ivy forked another small bite of pie.

“You make me happy.”

She looked at him so gravely he had the feeling she saw much
more than he usually revealed. His commitment to her deepened with every breath
he drew. She deserved to know him as fully as he could bear. He cupped the side
of her face, to keep her attention on him, needing to share more of his truth.
“My job isn’t all sweet meadow grass and sunshine. At the end of the day, it’s
nice to come back to clean and orderly and make something delicious. It reminds
me the world holds truth, beauty, and kindness.”

“You are a male of honor.”

Her praise warmed his insides.

“Don’t move. I’ll get more dessert.” His chest expanded with
more joy than he could hold as he prepared food for her with his own hands.

He returned with a single plate. “Let me feed you.”

A smile curved her lips. “Fine, I only want one more bite.”

She lost the battle to drowsiness shortly after they
finished dessert. Chet cleaned up the remains, started the dishwasher, and then
carried her to bed.

Like an exhausted child, she slept with her mouth slightly
open, completely relaxed in his arms. He turned back the covers and stripped
the robe, needing her skin to skin for her sake and his. Then he snuggled her
into his bed. She made a small sound of distress at first contact with the cool
linens.

Except for the ugly scar on her left biceps, she was perfect
and much too fragile. He would have died to prevent any of those bastards
touching her and happily sacrificed a century of his life to have saved her
that rogue bite. His wolf insisted on licking her wound. So he did, soothing
the redness and the knotted muscles beneath the vicious punctures.

He shucked his clothes, leaving them in a pile, and slipped
in next to her. She turned toward him, nestled against him in her sleep, and
seemed soothed by his presence.

Soon she wore a fierce frown. Her legs sawed restlessly, and
her eyes darted behind paper-thin closed lids. Rogues tortured her even in
sleep.

His upper lip curled, exposing fangs. He wanted to rend
every monster that had touched her. Instead he swallowed the snarl and did his
best to calm her.

“Shh, you’re safe with me.” He stroked her arm from shoulder
to wrist, and she grew calmer. Her unconscious response encouraged him to
continue.

Chet kept petting her as he told her what a well-defended
fortress his building was, starting with the basement. “You remember Bob. You
met him in the parking garage. He’s a vampire and as deadly a fighter as any
werewolf. The demons on the next few floors are even more lethal. Right beneath
this apartment, Sin, another Treeland enforcer, has the entire floor.”

When he’d finished detailing the building’s unique security
arrangements, he rested his eyes for a couple of beats. A whimper of fear from
Ivy started him talking again. He tightened his arms around her and rumbled on,
telling her about growing up in Europe. How his parents had been hunted, how
frightened and hungry he had been for the months he spent alone in the woods.
Things he’d never told anyone.

His voice seemed to bring her comfort, which was a damn fine
thing because he couldn’t make his wolf leave her side.

At last she slept peacefully. He watched the gentle rise and
fall of her chest for a long time.

Ivy woke up alone. Chet’s pillow was still warm and held
enough of his scent to stave off panic. She rolled out of bed, slipped into his
robe, and then scooted into the bathroom. The green toothbrush she’d used last
night waited next to a blue one in a clear glass. Her eyes grew a tiny bit
misty at his thoughtfulness. She no longer thought he was her new jailor, but
she was a long way from buying his “fated to be mated” theory. And no matter
how outnumbered the females were, she was fairly sure males like Chet were few
and far between. She couldn’t imagine he would ever lack for feminine
attention.

When she’d semitamed her hair and cleaned her teeth, she
followed a whiff of fresh-ground coffee to the kitchen. The man holding a cup
was even more tempting than caffeine. She wanted to rub against him like an
affection-starved cat. Instead she perched a few feet away on a stool at the
breakfast counter.

“Morning.” Chet’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he poured
a steaming cup and set the mug in front of her.

“Thank you.”

He cupped her hand, filling the needy places inside. “Do you
take anything in your coffee—cream, sugar, foaming hot milk?”

Saliva pooled in her mouth at the prospect of a favorite
treat. Her eyes widened in wonder. She wore naked adoration, but she couldn’t
change her expression. “You make lattes?”

“Absolutely.” He palmed a taller cup and waited for her
decision.

She went all gooey inside. There was just something utterly
charming about a powerful and dangerous male ready to do her bidding,
especially the hottie in front of her. “Yes, please.”

Seconds later she sipped a perfect blend of milk and coffee.
She closed her eyes and savored the frothy treat. “I’m seriously impressed.”

He shot her a wicked grin. “Then I’m happy.”

A timer dinged, drawing his attention to the oven. He pulled
out a pan of croissants. With swift, efficient movements, he organized
breakfast. A bowl of sliced strawberries, a pot of clotted cream, and another
of jam were arrayed before her.

“Don’t wait for me. The rest will be done in a minute.”

There’s more?
She
bit into a buttery pastry, closing her eyes again in reverent appreciation as
perfect flakes melted on her tongue.

Soon a platter of bacon, sausages, and eggs expanded the
menu.

Chet seated himself next to her and began scooping food onto
his plate. “Damn. I forgot the home fries. Be right back.”

“Are you expecting company?” She helped herself to fruit and
a modest dollop of cream.

He set a serving plate of crispy potato shreds next to the
steaming platter of meat and eggs. “No, why?”

Ivy waved at the groaning counter, feeling guilty over the
bounty he’d spread in front of her when her friends subsisted on bloody scraps.
“This is a lot of food for two.”

“Not when at least one of us is a hungry werewolf.”

Silence reigned for several minutes while Chet ate with
workmanlike economy and she polished off her berries, nibbled a few pieces of
bacon, and stuffed in another croissant with jam. His version of the
all-you-can-eat buffet was a definite plus to being a wolfie. Her super
metabolism had better keep up, or she’d need a spandex wardrobe.

The doorbell chimed while she was sipping her second latte
and still brooding about how powerless she was to help her friends. Fine food
and a coffee treat that had been a daily indulgence until a month ago didn’t
lessen Kat and Tess’s suffering.

“Wait here, please.” Chet prowled out of the kitchen.

A stranger’s scent put her on edge. She untied the robe’s
sash and retied it, wishing she had shoes. Her leg muscles coiled tight—ready
to run. She couldn’t fight the monsters on her own. Her only chance was to
evade capture and get help. Fleeing down a city street in a fluffy white
bathrobe wasn’t ideal, but at least her body was covered. Bare feet put her at
a serious disadvantage.

Vague recollection of Chet telling her about the building’s
residents flowed through her thoughts. A dream?

A large male followed Chet into the room. His size alone
made her think he was another wolf. Both males appeared to be in their early
thirties, although there was something slightly tentative in the new arrival’s
manner, suggesting he was younger. No taller than Chet, he had a thicker,
heavier build and none of Chet’s bone-deep grace and surety. The new male’s
hair was dark brown rather than Chet’s true black. In the midst of his harsh
features, amber eyes glowed with startling beauty. The hot-pink suitcase
dangling from one of his meaty hands made him instantly less frightening.

“This is Ben, another enforcer.” Chet turned his smoldering
charm on her. “And this is Ivy.”

Her lips quirked at Chet’s possessive almost purr. “I’m
pleased to meet you, Ben.”

She started to rise. Chet sent her a look that kept her
bottom planted. “Did Scarlet send you?”

Ben nodded.

“Is the suitcase for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

At twenty-three she hadn’t heard ma’am all that often. She
decided in Ben’s case the honorific had been respectful. “Thank you for
bringing it.”

He started to hand her the luggage.

Chet intercepted. “Set it down.”

Color spots heated Ben’s ears as he followed the order.

Ben’s obvious shyness tugged at her empathy, causing her to
want to put him at ease and take away the sting of Chet’s abruptness. “Are you
hungry?”

“Always, ma’am.”

A strangled groan emitted from Chet.

She ignored him and patted the vacant stool on her right.
“Come sit and have something to eat. Chet is an amazing chef.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ben looked at Chet for permission before
moving.

Chet gave him a single, plainly grudging dip of his chin.

“If you’ll excuse me, I want to see what’s in the suitcase.”
Ivy climbed off her perch, clearing Ben’s path and making graciousness a bit
easier for Chet.

Before she’d reached for the bag, Chet had it in hand.

Sooner or later she had to face being alone. With two big,
strong enforcers in the apartment, she was ready to try a few minutes privacy
right down the hall in Chet’s bedroom. She held out a palm for the luggage.
“I’d like to do this by myself.”

The skin around Chet’s eyes tightened briefly, but he handed
over the suitcase. “Yell if you need anything.”

“Thank you.” She stretched up, and he lowered his head. She
placed a kiss on his jaw. Whisker stubble prickled against her lips while the
brush from the edge of his thick moustache was amazingly soft. She wondered how
a real kiss would feel. The strange sensation of something coming to life in
her belly happened again, making her nervous and gooey all at the same time.
She shook off the fanciful reaction. Now wasn’t the time to try necking.

His scent grew richer, threatening to erase her resolve. Ivy
hurried to the bedroom and closed the door behind her. She’d left the bed
unmade. The rumpled covers and dented pillows seemed an offense amid the
immaculate order. She set the case on a tapestry-covered bench near the
footboard that belonged in the same museum with the landscape in his office and
then straightened the bedding and fluffed the downy pillows. Satisfied with her
housekeeping, she opened the luggage.

A cell phone and a folded piece of paper rested atop
clothing. Ivy held the small device in her palm and read the note:

Hi, Ivy!

The phone is prepaid
and has my cell, our home number, Treeland Pack Headquarters, and Chet’s
numbers programmed. The pack is low on females—long story. But I hope we’ll get
to be friends. Just hit number one to speed dial me!

You’re much slimmer,
so I hope the clothes work for you. The leggings are ridiculously tight on me.
I think they’re adorable and cozy, but the fleece and boots remind Daniel of
sheep—another long story. Please don’t worry about returning any of this stuff.

Hugs,

Scarlet

The warm, bubbly note was so like Scarlet that Ivy gave a
small, shaky giggle. The cell phone was beyond thoughtful. The ordinary device
gave her an instant boost in both independence and freedom.

She wasn’t going anywhere until Kat and Tess were safe, perhaps
not even then. How would it feel to be strong enough to be able leave Chet, to
know the rogues weren’t a threat, to have actual choices? She had no idea, but
she wanted to find out.

She turned the phone on and impulsively pushed 1.