Unleash the Night (6 page)

Dev moved to the bed and pulled a small card out of the back pocket of his jeans. “It says ‘thanks for last night.'” Dev gave him an amused smirk. “So what? Did you finally get lucky and find someone desperate for a quick lay?”

Wren snapped at Dev, forcing the bear to jump back from the bed.

Dev's eyes narrowed on him. “You better knock that shit off or else we're going to go round. I don't care if you are wounded, I don't play.”

“And neither do I, asshole.”
Wren sent the words to him mentally.

Dev stared at Wren in amazement. “Wow. Multiple syllables and a whole sentence from the tiger. Who'd have ever thought it? Whoever she was, she must have had a lot of talent to make
you
speak. Next thing you know, she'll have the dead walking. Quick, call a Dark-Hunter. I'm sure some of them would like another resurrection.”

Wren growled, but before he could lunge, more flowers were brought in by four of Dev's brothers. Lots more. Within a few minutes, the whole room looked like a funeral parlor.

As soon as they had the flowers stacked around the bed and dresser, all the guys left except for Dev and his younger brother Serre.

Serre shook his blond head as he paused by the foot of the bed to stare at Wren. “Man, Wren. I'm impressed. No woman ever sent flowers to thank me.”

Dev snorted. “Don't be that impressed. I'm thinking she didn't send flowers to thank him. One flower says thank you. This many says she thought he was dead. Or that she killed him.” Dev glanced about speculatively. “Hmm … I'm thinking, put a tiger in her tank and that didn't quite rev her up. What she needs is to go hunting for bear.”

Wren lunged at Dev, but before he could catch the bear, Serre pulled his brother back out of range.

“Knock it off, Dev. You definitely don't want to come between the tiger and this woman.”

“Why not?”

Wren rose into striking position on the bed. This time, he wouldn't miss.

“
That's
why,” Serre snapped. He shoved Dev out the door, then turned back to Wren. “Go on and rest, tiger. We've got your back.”

Wren settled back on his bed as Serre shut the door. Even so, Wren could still hear them out in the hallway.

“Good God, Dev. Have you completely lost your mind? Don't tease the psychotic tiger. He's getting all angry and frothing at the mouth. Someone's going to think he's rabid.”

Dev scoffed, “Yeah, but teasing him is like throwing meat at Kyle. It's highly entertaining.”

Serre made a disgusted noise. “Yeah, and I wish you'd stop throwing meat at poor Kyle in the bar. He can't control himself with that. Next thing you know, he's shifted into a bear,
Maman
is having a fit, and all of us are left to control the crowd and keep them from remembering that they just saw a kid become an animal. It's a pain in our collective asses.”

“Yeah, but I can't help myself.”

Wren heard Serre growl threateningly at his older brother. “You know if you don't learn to, Papa's going to kill you one day.”

“But until that day comes, I'm going to have a lot more fun with the whole lot of you.”

Serre sighed. “Until then, do us all a favor, and lay off the tiger. I know you've done everything on two legs … then again, you've done most everything on four, but this girl is different where Wren is concerned. For once, turn the libido off and go after one of your usual lays.”

“What are you? Insane? I'm not interested in Ms. Preppy Uptight Sloan Ranger. Jeez. I'd get khaki between my teeth. Can you imagine? I've never been in khaki and I never want to see a woman out of it. It scares me.”

Their voices drifted out of hearing range. Wren collapsed back on the bed, relieved to know Dev was just being his usual asshole self and didn't really have any ambitions toward Maggie. That alone had saved his life.

Then again, Wren shouldn't have any ambitions toward Maggie, either. What was it about her?

Not that it mattered. He wasn't going to see her again. He might be crazy, but he wasn't suicidal. Nothing good could come of him spending time with a human. Nothing.

*   *   *

As soon as she was out of her last law class, Marguerite headed back to the French Quarter. She'd blown off her study group for the afternoon in lieu of going to see Wren. She really wanted to give him a proper thank-you face-to-face for saving her.

It was the least she could do.

By the time she reached Sanctuary, it was just after six in the evening and already dark outside. Glancing around the dim interior of the bar, she saw a tall, dark-haired man who was bussing the tables. Not particularly attractive, he had stringy hair and was marked all over his body with colorful tattoos.

As she continued to look around the thin crowd, she couldn't find a single trace of Wren, but she did spot the waitress from the night before, who was walking over to a table with a tray loaded with drinks.

Marguerite headed over to her as the woman unloaded the drinks to the men who were ogling her.

“Hi,” Marguerite said as the woman left the table. “Is Wren working tonight?”

The waitress frowned at her as if she were the worst sort of creature. “You're that woman who was here last night with the dickheads.”

Marguerite blushed at her words. “Yes, and I'm sorry about that.”

“You should be. You got Wren into all kinds of trouble.”

Her stomach shrank at the waitress's words. “I didn't mean to. Please tell me you didn't fire him for it. It wasn't his fault. I had no way of knowing they were going to act like that.”

Still the waitress eyed her warily.

“Look, I'm really sorry about it.” Marguerite held up the present in her hands. “I just wanted to give this to Wren as a small token, okay?”

“Token for what?”

Marguerite's heart sank as she realized the waitress wasn't going to help her. No wonder she was shy. It was hard to be otherwise when people could be this rude and off-putting. It was so much easier to be alone. “Just, please, see that Wren gets this.”

As she turned to leave, the woman stopped her. “Hey, were you there when Wren got shot last night?”

Marguerite went cold at the question. Did she hear that correctly? “Excuse me?”

“Never mind,” the blonde said as she turned away with the bag in her hand. “I'll make sure he gets this.”

It was Marguerite's turn to stop the waitress as concern welled up inside her. Surely Wren wasn't hurt. She would have known had he been shot last night.

“What were you talking about?” she asked the waitress. “Wren didn't get shot last night. The bullet missed him … didn't it?”

The look on the blonde's face confirmed Marguerite's fear. The bullet hadn't missed.

“What happened to him?” Aimee asked.

Marguerite swallowed as guilt consumed her. “I was being mugged and he came out of nowhere to chase them off. One of the guys had a gun that he fired, but Wren told me that he wasn't hurt. I didn't see a wound on him.” Surely she would have seen a gunshot wound, wouldn't she?

If he'd been badly wounded, he would have said something. After all, no man took a bullet without complaint.…

“Wren saved you?” The waitress asked the question as if she couldn't believe he would have ever done such a thing.

Marguerite nodded. “The bullet just grazed him, right?”

“No,” the waitress said firmly. “Wren almost died last night.”

Marguerite felt sick at the news. This couldn't be real. Surely the waitress was just playing with her. “What hospital is he in?”

She could see the debate in the woman's expression about whether or not to answer her, and she couldn't blame her. Good grief, she'd gotten Wren insulted, assaulted, and shot—all in less than an hour. That poor man most likely never wanted to see her face again as long as he lived.

Aimee narrowed her eyes at Marguerite before she took a step back. “You're the one who sent him all those flowers today, aren't you?”

“Yes. Had I known he was hurt, I would have sent even more.”

That seemed to amuse her. “Hang on.” Aimee handed the bag back to Marguerite before she took her to stand by a door behind the bar. “You wait right here and I'll be back in a few minutes.”

Marguerite nodded as she noticed the hostile looks the bartenders were giving her. They were dressed in T-shirts and jeans, and though they were handsome, there was an air of lethalness about them. They appeared to resent her presence there in the bar area, but she couldn't imagine why …

Unless they knew about Wren and they blamed her for it.

Nervous and unsure, Marguerite turned to see the man with long black hair from last night. Justin. That had been his name. Like the others, he was staring angrily at her. He didn't say anything while he put away clean glasses.

It seemed to take forever before Aimee came back to beckon her through the doorway. “Follow me.”

Marguerite let out a relieved breath as the woman led her into the large commercial kitchen. There were five cooks buzzing around pots and ovens while two men washed dishes in a large sink. None of the workers paid any attention to either of them.

At least not until they reached another door at the end of the long steel tables. A tall blond man was standing in front of it, and he appeared less than pleased that Aimee wanted to take Marguerite through it. He looked just like the man who had thrown them out of the bar last night, except he didn't seem to remember her at all.

“What are you doing, Aimee?” he asked in a growling tone.

“Move, Remi.”

“Bullshit.”

Aimee put her hands on her hips. “Move, Brother, or you'll limp.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You don't scare me, swan. I could tear your head off and not flinch.”

“And I could hurt you in a much more permanent way.” Her gaze dropped to his groin. “Now move it or lose it.”

Curling his lip, he reluctantly complied.

“Ignore the scowl,” Aimee said as she opened the door. “It's his natural countenance. Believe it or not, it's far more becoming than his smile. That just looks creepy.”

Marguerite didn't know what to think as Aimee led her into a posh old-fashioned parlor. The house was absolutely beautiful. Weirdly enough, it looked as if it were in some kind of time warp or something. There was nothing on this side that looked modern at all. Nothing.

Her eyes fell to the door that held five Stanley dead bolts and an alarm system that would rival NASA's.

Okay, not entirely antique. But other than those telltale items, it was like walking onto an old-fashioned movie set.

Aimee led Marguerite up an intricate hand-carved stairway to the second floor, which was lined with mahogany doors. The waitress didn't pause until they were halfway down the corridor. She knocked on the door, then cracked it open.

“You decent?” she asked, keeping her body so that Marguerite couldn't look into the room.

There was no answer.

“Yeah, well, you have a visitor. So you need to be human for a while, okay?” After a brief hesitation, Aimee stood back and opened the door wider. “I'll wait out here until the two of you are finished. Just call out if you need anything.” Then under her breath she added, “Like a priest, cop, or lion tamer.”

Marguerite frowned. What an odd thing to say, but then, she was quickly learning that everyone here was a bit strange.

She stepped past Aimee, into the room, and froze as she caught sight of Wren lying on a large sleigh bed under a black comforter that matched the black curtains covering the windows. His skin was ghostly pale. The flowers she'd sent earlier were lined up on his dresser and before it, but other than that, there was absolutely nothing personal in the room to mark it as his. It looked as if he were nothing more than a visitor just staying a night or two.

Her heart hammered as she went to him. His breathing was labored and a large Ace bandage was wrapped around his shoulder and upper chest. With the black comforter draped over his lower half, he was bare from the waist up, showing her a remarkably toned chest and arms. The man was incredibly well built, with a full six-pack of abs. The only hair on his chest was a small trail of dark blond hair that ran from his navel down to disappear under the covers.

But what held her attention most was the amount of obvious pain he was in.

Marguerite knelt beside the bed as guilt tore through her. This was all her fault. All of it.…

“Why didn't you tell me about this?”

He didn't answer. Instead he reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from her face. “You shouldn't have come back here, Maggie.”

His hand was rough and callused. Unlike the guys she knew, his hands were used to hard work, not oiled manicures. “I wanted to give you a small token to say thank you for last night.”

Wren glanced at the flowers in his room. The bears and other Were-Hunters had been harassing him unmercifully about them. Not that he cared. To him those flowers were unbelievably precious.

No one else had ever given him a present before. No one.

He started to push himself up, only to have Maggie stop him.

“You shouldn't move.”

The concern on her face tore at him. “It's okay.”

“No.” She gestured to the bandage, where a red spot was forming again. “See, you're bleeding. Should I call someone?”

He shook his head. “I'll heal.”

Her beautiful brown eyes castigated and doubted him. “I can't believe you didn't tell me you were shot last night. What if you had died?”

He snorted at that. “I've been shot enough to know when it's not fatal.”

Marguerite gave him a stunned look. Was he serious? With him she was never quite sure. He tossed things out at her in passing conversations that would be horrifying if they were true, and the bland way he spoke of them led her to believe that they just might be.