| |
Mate. The word was worse than pack. I jerked away as if I’d been burned, thrusting my hand under my thigh so it wouldn’t be tempted to reach back out to him. “You think you can choose a mate in five days.”
A simple matter for male werewolves. After all, they considered their mates little better than chattel. Keep the home. Churn out babies. Do everything her partner and alpha demanded.
When Rowan had insinuated his interest in me, he hadn’t mentioned the M word. But he’d made it clear where my duties would lie. I was endlessly grateful my mother hadn’t gotten caught up in the werewolf world of misogyny. Even saddling us with Nick was better than that.
Tank kept talking as if he hadn’t just proven he was no better than the other werewolves I’d had the misfortune of knowing. “The timeline was fourteen days when this gig started. And, yes. I think I can choose a mate in that time.”
I’d been such an idiot thinking Tank was different. I shook my head as I fumbled in the darkness for the ankle brace he’d slipped onto the console between us. “Thanks for covering for me,” I said, giving up on the brace and pushing my door open. Maybe Tank wouldn’t notice my lapse in the darkness. Maybe he wouldn’t use his gift as an excuse to come after me....
I wasn’t so lucky. Air followed as I tried to retreat. A dark shape loomed, not quite far enough away for me to slide past him. “You’re angry.”
He was right. I was furious. “Angry that you’re willing to kiss any female wolf who isn’t related to you? Angry that I happened to stumble in front of your lips? No. Why would that make me angry?”
My throat was tight, my words more heated than I’d meant them to be.
“Athena.” His hand hovered a millimeter away from my arm. As if he wanted to grab me but was forcing himself not to. “Hear me out. Please.”
The please did it. Or perhaps the fact that he could easily have used his superior size and strength to force the issue but didn’t. I swallowed cold air, tamping down anger. Nodded and waited while he searched for words.
“I don’t think ‘mate’ means the same thing to you that it means to me,” he said finally.
Doing everything I could to look away from his magnetic presence, I focused on the sky behind his head. The view was breathtaking, or more like breath giving. As my chest expanded, the darkness of my anger was pricked by endless points of perfect light.
Calmed by the beauty of the cosmos, I managed a question. “What does ‘mate’ mean to you then?”
His answer came fast, as if he’d thought it through at length. “A mate is an equal life partner. Someone to stand back-to-back with in the face of adversity. And, yes, there would be sex.”
My traitorous body clenched in certain very specific places. Tank’s words were as seductive as his kiss had been.
But I wasn’t looking for a mate. I wasn’t looking for anything other than two more years of good money to get Harper through boarding school. I’d found the cash. Now I just needed to hold the line.
I shook my head. “Look....”
Then Tank’s hands were on my shoulders, pushing me behind him. I nearly tripped. Managed to stay upright. Inhaled the overwhelming scent of a wolf riled and aggressive and nothing like Tank.
***
BY THE TIME I CAUGHT my balance and turned around, they’d faced off. Two huge males, darkened to anonymity by lack of moonlight. Both had fists clenched. Both were leaning into the other’s personal space.
“Ryder.” Tank’s voice sounded like a wolf with ruff raised. “What are you doing here?”
Ryder didn’t answer. Instead, he smiled, ready to fight.
I paced along the perimeter of their sight line, ready to throw myself between them at the first hint of danger. After all, I’d seen this sort of posturing far too many times during my childhood from a stepfather who tended to be a mean drunk.
Tank wasn’t mean, but I wasn’t so sure he was thinking straight either. Our conversation had been intense, and to have it interrupted by another male would set off any werewolf. For some reason, I wasn’t willing to let that happen now.
Ryder, in contrast, thought the whole thing was funny. He shook his head, voice syncopated with the faintest hint of a chuckle. “Tank, Tank, Tank. Your wooing skills are rusty. Allow me to show you how it’s done.”
For a big man, Ryder moved fast. One second, he was four feet away from me, feet pointing toward Tank’s feet. The next second, I was bent backwards over his arm while he whispered in my ear.
“Play along. This is going to be a hoot.”
Ryder’s words reflected the fact that his embrace was entirely impersonal. He wasn’t feeling me up the way it likely appeared from the outside. He wasn’t going to kiss me either, even though his face slid so close to mine that he easily could have bridged the gap.
Ryder was teasing Tank...and that pissed me off.
“Get your hands off me,” I growled, letting my knees buckle so I could slide down through the loop of his arms. My ankle twinged only slightly as I swept a foot in a long arc, intending to pull Ryders’s feet out from under him. But...I didn’t manage to connect.
Because Ryder was already falling. The crack of a fist connecting with a face was followed one instant later by Ryder thudding down beside me on his back.
Not that a direct hit kept Ryder down for long. He spat out blood along with a string of expletives, the latter fading into growls as his body morphed into lupine form.
Tank had already shifted. The pair were perfectly matched, a recipe for a long, bloody battle. They’d wind up broken. Far worst off than me on my gimpy ankle.
And the fae? Our Samhain duties? Apparently the big picture had faded in the face of werewolf instinct.
Whatever they were thinking, the males struck each other like battering rams. Two feet from me, the glint of teeth and flashing eyes promised this fight wouldn’t end until someone was hospitalized.
It was hard to make out what was happening, but Ryder must have won the first round because Tank grunted. His response struck me in the stomach. Still, I took a step backward. Not my monkey, not my circus. Or, rather, not my wolf, not my pack.
Tank and Ryder were animals to turn a stupid joke into a life-or-death altercation. Why, when I told myself that, did I not believe my own words?
No matter how hard I strained, I could barely see through the darkness. But I could smell the fury. Hear the thuds of impact. This time I advanced forward. Toward the roiling mass of fur and fangs. If I shifted, Tank and I could stand together. Surely Ryder would back down then....
But before I could do more than grab the bottom of my shirt in preparation for disrobing, movement caught my eye. A cabin door had been flung open. Harper padded out, pale PJs glowing.
And my hand dropped. My sister understood I was a werewolf, but she couldn’t see this. Couldn’t see blood on my fangs and hear my growls. Tank would have to take care of himself.
Another pang in my stomach, even though I was pretty sure the yelp had come from Ryder this time.
Harper couldn’t see this fight...so I’d have to end it the sure way. The way that turned me into a hypocrite but would save Tank’s hide without traumatizing my little sister.
Because the tried-and-true method of dealing with battling werewolves was to call on their alpha. Or their temporary alpha, as the case may be.
I sucked in a deep breath, then I hollered “Lupe!” at the top of my lungs.