Apparently, Liam Murphy was all talk. When push came to shove, he wasn’t ready to put his money where his mouth was. Or maybe, he was playing it cool so Kelly wouldn’t see there was more to him than the goofy stranded motorist he’d painted himself to be.
A shiver of anxiety rippled down Devon’s spine. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to call him out. She refused to let him see her nervous and off-kilter, though. Through with playing games, with male ego and posturing, she turned to head back behind the bar.
Before she could register what had happened, her right wrist was seized in an iron grip. She let out a surprised yip a split second before Liam spun her around and grabbed her left wrist as well. It was a classic hold. One of the first things she’d been taught in self-defense to free herself from. All she had to do was twist her wrists and bring her hands around the outside of his forearms and she’d be clear.
It should have been so easy. Instead, Devon’s mind went blank. Shit! She knew what to do, damn it! She’d done it a hundred times with her instructor. Liam’s grip tightened, his fingers closing together around her wrists.
She knew where she stood now as well. His grip was solid. The man was freaking strong! It wouldn’t simply be difficult to get free. It would be damn-near impossible.
“Come on, then,” Liam goaded. “Free yourself.”
Arrogant bastard. Devon was dying to smack that smug expression from his finely chiseled face. A little tough to accomplish when he had her hands trapped in what might as well have been vises. A shred of much needed common sense returned to her brain and she pulled back her right leg, prepared to catch him in the knee.
He anticipated her body language and spun her, crossing her arms in front of her in the process so that her back was molded to his chest and his arms caged her in, using her own arms to restrain her like a straightjacket.
“Now what, Devon?” Liam’s warm breath in her ear made her shiver with pleasant anticipation.
She couldn’t let him show her up. Her pride refused to take that sort of hit. On impulse, Devon brought her head back sharply and connected the back of her skull with Liam’s face. His body jerked backward and he let out a grunt of pain. A shocked gasp escaped from between Devon’s lips as he released her. She turned to face him and her eyes went wide at the damage she’d done. Blood trickled from his nose and a wide split she’d made in the skin that covered his left cheekbone. Devon’s shock turned to astonishment as the split skin seemed to heal right before her eyes. It sealed as though by magic, leaving only a rivulet of crimson to betray its presence.
“Holy shit,” she said on a breath.
“Devon.” Liam’s warning tone told her it would be in her best interest not to say another word.
It wasn’t possible.… No one could heal that fast. Devon’s jaw went slack. Her gaze remained locked with Liam’s. Her heart raced in her chest and her mouth went bone-dry. Her brain tried to reconcile what her eyes told her, but getting from point A to point B without short-circuiting might not be achievable.
“Damn, Devon!” Kelly gave a robust chuckle that helped to pull her from her shock. “Remind me not to ever piss you off.” She glanced over Liam’s shoulder at Kelly. He tipped back the mug and finished off his coffee before setting it back on the bar. “I’ve gotta get back to it, but I’ll stop by on my way through this evening if you’re still here. There’s another storm front moving in, so be careful tonight.”
“Yeah.” She watched as he pulled on his coat, hat, and gloves. “You too.”
Liam didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t so much as blink. Devon stayed rooted to her spot on the floor, unable to do much more than force a smile to her face and offer Kelly a friendly wave on his way out. On the inside, she was about to melt down.
A blast of icy wind hit her in the face as the door opened and closed with Kelly’s passage. Silence descended like the blanket of snow outside. Was it too late to run after him and ask Kelly to stay? Because Devon was pretty sure he’d left her alone with a murderer. Or worse.
She jumped as Kelly’s plow truck roared to life outside. Snow crunched below the big tires, the sound echoing in her ears, and she watched through the window at what might be her only lifeline.
Liam’s brow furrowed. His lips formed a hard line and his jaw squared as though he knew exactly what Devon was thinking and he didn’t like it one bit. She took a tentative step backward and he shadowed her movement, taking a step forward. His eyes sparked with bright gold and she realized it wasn’t a play of light or her imagination. His eyes had actually changed color. What in the hell was going on?
“Devon.…”
“Don’t come any closer.” Her heart beat a wild rhythm in her chest as she took two stumbling steps away. She drew in a sharp breath when her back met the bar. The knotted wood of the handcrafted countertop jammed uncomfortably into her spine and she braced her arms behind her as though it would help her to be strong in the face of the impending attack.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” Liam actually looked pained at her severe reaction. His nostrils flared with an intake of breath and a deep crease cut into the skin above the bridge of his nose. A low rumble reverberated in his chest, so much like the growl of an animal that it left her shaken.
Devon bucked her chin in the air. She doubted he bought the act of bravado, but it was worth a shot. “That’s exactly what a psychopath says before he’s going to do exactly that.”
Hurt sliced through his expression and a pang of regret tugged at Devon’s chest. Liam had said it himself, though. Compassion was the enemy in a situation like this. She couldn’t afford to feel compassion. She couldn’t afford to feel anything for him.
“You don’t believe I could hurt you.” Liam’s confident tone gave her pause. She puffed out her chest, kept her posture defensive, as her hand wandered behind her for a glass, a bottle, anything she might be able to bash him over the head with. Her fingers brushed the cool wooden handle of the knife she’d used to cut limes with last night and she paused. All she needed was a couple more inches and she’d have it.
“You have no idea what I do or don’t believe.”
Liam leaned in closer. His woodsy, masculine scent washed over her and Devon’s eyelids drooped for the barest moment. She didn’t know what she believed. Her gut told her she’d be safer with Liam than anyone else in the world. A slight shift to her right gave her the extra reach she needed to wrap her fingers around the knife. Without thinking about her actions, her arm whipped around in a downward stabbing motion. Her gut might have trusted him, but her brain wasn’t on the same the page yet.
* * *
Liam could’ve blocked Devon’s blow. He could have plucked the tiny paring knife from her hand before she could even track his movement. But if he was going to go all in with her, she needed to see. She needed to believe. It was the only way she’d accept the situation.
The blade ripped through the fabric of the T-shirt she’d lent him and sank into the flesh above his left pec. Devon hadn’t put much force behind the blow. It was more of a superficial wound than anything. Liam gritted his teeth against the slight bite of pain—it had all of the impact of a wasp sting—and when Devon pulled the knife away, shocked at her own actions, he peeled the T-shirt off and discarded it on the floor beside him.
Devon’s eyes went wide as the knife slipped from her grasp and landed on the floor with a muted thunk. Liam’s skin tightened as the wound began to heal and her eyes slid from his shoulder to his face. Her voice escalated with every word that left her lips. “What in the hell is going on?”
“Devon.” Liam kept his voice low and level. “I need you to stay calm.”
“Calm?” Her own reaction was the opposite of level. Her eyes bulged and her jaw went slack. “I hit you hard enough to break your nose, cut your cheek, and stabbed you! Your skin closed up and healed instantaneously! That’s not even possible!”
It wouldn’t do Liam any good to feed into her panic. “It is possible,” he said low. “For someone like me.”
“What?” Devon asked on a bark of incredulous laughter. “An alien?”
Liam leveled his gaze. “A werewolf.”
Devon’s manic laughter rang out around him like a chorus of angry bells. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Tears trailed down her cheeks as she continued to laugh. “I mean, you’re working some kind of angle, aren’t you? You run out in front of a car in the middle of the night, fake some stupid amnesia routine, and then … what? Rob your victims blind or beat them to death before moving on to the next person?”
She didn’t believe her own accusations. Liam knew it by her scent. It was a lot to take in: the knowledge that the world wasn’t the place you thought it to be. He understood her shock. Her denial. It was easier for her to believe he was a lunatic than a supernatural creature. The human mind was a fragile thing. Liam needed to let her come around to the truth in her own time. If he tried to push her, she’d surely crack under the strain.
“I haven’t lied to you, Devon. Couldn’t even if I wanted to. I tried, and believe me, it wasn’t pleasant.” The mate bond made sure of that. “My name is Liam Murphy. I moved to Stanley four months ago. I am the Alpha of the newly appointed Sawtooth pack. We were ambushed while out on a hunt last night. That’s all I remember.” Thanks to his wolf. He needed those details back. As soon as fucking possible. It would be nice if the wily animal would stop with the stubborn routine and be a little more forthcoming.
“What do you mean you can’t lie to me?”
Her words came softer. Calmer. Liam let out a slow sigh of relief. He was throwing her into the deep end of the pool, barely giving her time to tread water before he submerged her once again. She was strong, though. She could handle it. His wolf wouldn’t have chosen her otherwise.
“Our senses are keener,” he said. “We can smell a lie. See the imperceptible shifts in body language that a human can’t see. We’re faster, stronger, immune to human diseases. We heal almost instantaneously from most wounds. We are dual natured. Two halves of a whole. The wolf controls our instincts and impulses. Our wolves recognize their mates. Through sight, smell, all of those tiny perceptions that have been bred out of humanity over millennia. The mate bond is sacrosanct. Any lie I told to you would burn through me and cause me unbearable pain.”
Liam wanted to close the distance between them. To comfort Devon. To allow himself some small physical contact with her in order to comfort himself. He craved that connection. His wolf demanded it. And yet, he held back. Held them both back. Liam would give her as much time as she needed.
Devon’s head came up at his words. She searched his face, her own expression pinched. He saw the confusion in every groove cut into her fine features. Smelled the sharp tang of her doubt and worry. Beneath all of that, Liam sensed her curiosity. He hoped she held on to that and let it grow rather than quash it.
“You can’t lie to me…” she began. “Because you’re a werewolf and the animal part of you thinks I’m your mate.”
Yes! Relief washed over him. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. “I don’t think, Devon,” Liam said. “I know.”
“Show me.” Her jaw took a stubborn set and she crossed her arms over her chest. “If you’re a werewolf, then prove it.”
Liam raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s not that simple, Devon.”
Her hands went to her hips. “Why not?”
He admired her fire. “The transition is…”—living it was one thing, explaining it, another—“difficult.”
“Uh-huh.” Her doubt angered his wolf. The animal part of him surged to the forefront of his psyche, scratching to be let out.
“When the moon is full, the transition is as easy as slipping into a pool of warm water. I can initiate the transition if I’m under a great deal of stress, or if I allow the animal to take control. The transition is painful under those circumstances. And it’s not something I’d want you to witness.”
“How do I know you’re not making excuses?” Devon was talking herself out of her belief and Liam couldn’t afford for her to do that. He’d prove it to her if he had to, but it would be a gruesome sight. His bones would break and re-form. His body would obliterate and remake itself. Fur would sprout from his skin and the sounds he would make would undoubtedly frighten her.
She’d issued a challenge, though. And that very alpha part of him refused to back down. He wanted to teach her a lesson, one that she’d be wise to heed: don’t tempt a werewolf unless you’re ready to face the consequences.
Liam took a long step backward. The transition could sometimes be violent and he didn’t want Devon to be unintentionally hurt. If she thought witnessing him heal before her eyes had been a shock, she hadn’t seen anything yet.
The wolf grew anxious. Pinpricks of sensation danced over Liam’s skin. His muscles tensed and his gums ached. He met Devon’s gaze. Her jaw went slack and he knew that his own eyes were no longer deep brown, but had given way to feral gold. The shift had been initiated and there was no turning back now. It was going to hurt like a motherfucker and he would be weakened from this. But it would be worth it if it convinced Devon once and for all.
“Keep your distance.” Liam’s voice grated in his throat with the warning. “And don’t make any sudden moves.”