Last Wolf Standing (11 page)

“You should get some rest,” he finally murmured. The low, scratchy sound of his whiskey-rough voice shivered across her skin, melting through her senses, giving her that hot-beneath-the-skin feeling again. “The last two days have been hard on you.”

She laid her head against the seat and closed her eyes, willing herself to relax—but she could still feel Mason’s dark eyes watching her, taking in the rise of her chest, every slow, calculated breath that she forced herself to take. Knowing that she wouldn’t sleep, she finally opened her eyes and said, “Do you mind if I ask some questions?”

Mason lifted his brows, looking somewhat cautious, while Jeremy called out from the front seat, “Let’s hear ’em, doll face.”

She rolled her eyes at the outrageous nickname, but couldn’t help grinning. “Well, you said yesterday that you were different from Simmons. Other than the obvious—I mean, he’s a total creep and you guys seem relatively sane—how are you different from him?”

With his elbow propped on the door, Mason rubbed his long, scarred fingers across his mouth and stared out the window as he explained. “We’re wolves—werewolves, like him—but we’ve never been part of our birth pack. Before Simmons went rogue, he was a full-fledged member of the Silvercrest Lycans.”

Something in his tone warned her that this was…shaky ground, but Torrance didn’t back down. No, she needed to get as good a handle as she could on what she was dealing with here. “Why aren’t you members?”

Jeremy steered the SUV onto a two-lane highway, then spoke up before Mason could answer. “Because we’re half-breeds, meaning one of our parents is human and one is Lycan, or werewolf. In mine and Mason’s case, our mothers are human and our fathers are wolf.”

“So your werewolf fathers married human women?”

“Yeah,” Mason replied, his voice mild despite the tension riding his big, powerful body.

Shocked by this bit of news, Torrance took a moment to simply watch him, appreciating the way the afternoon sun shone through his shaded window, putting him in a soft, natural spotlight. She liked the way his ragged jeans hugged the hard, thick muscles of his thighs. Liked the way the soft flannel he wore fit across those wide shoulders and the rigid biceps in his powerful arms. Heck, despite her fear of what he was, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t like it all, the whole unbelievable package.

Realizing she was staring at him again, she jerked her gaze back to her lap. “Your mothers must be pretty amazing.”

“They are definitely that,” Jeremy agreed, sending her a lopsided grin in the rearview mirror when she looked up at the sound of his voice.

Glancing at Mason, she asked, “So what are your parents like?”

“Attached at the hip,” he snorted, turning his head back toward the window after a fleeting look in her direction. A golden streak of vibrant sunshine cut briefly through the now quiet storm clouds, setting the deep auburn tones of his hair alight. Her fingers tingled with the blossoming desire to reach out and run her fingers through the windblown strands; feel their warm, silken heat against her skin. A heady, erotic vision of wrapping her fingers in that gorgeous hair and pulling him down for a hot, wet, openmouthed kiss burned through her mind, until his next words pulled her back to reality. “They’re so wrapped up in each other, so in love, it’s damn near disgusting.”

Whoa. Something sharp and disturbing skittered through her system at his muttered words—and from the front seat, she heard Jeremy rasp a soft curse under his breath. Carefully, without inflection, she said, “You think love is disgusting?”

“Naw,” he grunted, looking frustrated as he cut her a quick look from beneath his lashes, as if he wished he could take back the uncomfortably revealing words. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what is it about your parents’ relationship that makes you…” Her voice trailed off, not knowing quite how to phrase her question. Despite the strange connection between them, he was still essentially a stranger to her.

“I love them. I think they’re great,” he explained quietly, his low voice barely audible over the heavy sound of the tires upon the road. His left hand flexed and fisted where it rested atop the hard-muscled length of his left thigh, revealing his obvious tension. There was something here, something important, but Torrance couldn’t put her finger on it. “They’re the best parents a kid could have ever had, and believe me, I gave them their share of grief.”

Running the tip of her finger over a crease in the natural leather of the seat, Torrance followed the meandering line while trying to follow the path of his thoughts, reading the meaning behind both what he said…and what he didn’t say. “So you love them, but something about them makes you uncomfortable?”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” he admitted, blowing out a rough breath. “I think if one of them died, the other would just lie down and follow. It’s like they…breathe life from each other.”

She watched his hand slide from his thigh, lying relaxed…and yet somehow expectantly on the seat between them…and her breath held, wondering if he would reach out and clasp her fingers, twining them together. Her heart lurched, feeling tight and heavy in her chest, her pulse fluttering like a schoolgirl’s at the thought of holding hands with him—but she was honest enough with herself to admit that she wanted it. That she wanted this hard, rough warrior to reach out for her and simply hold her hand within the strength of his own, sharing his heat, his touch, the way he had in the parking lot. “I imagine growing up and witnessing that kind of commitment could lead to a person feeling one of two ways.”

“Yeah?” She could feel his gaze on her finger, watching as she followed the crease in the leather.

“Hmm. You either crave the same kind of connection for yourself…or spend your life swearing that you’ll never let yourself become so vulnerable.”

He gave a low grunt, which she supposed was all the reply she was going to get, then crossed his arms and turned his attention back to the repetitive line of trees beyond his window.

Wrapping her arms around her middle, Torrance stared out her own window, at her lap, the back of Jeremy’s blond head, wondering what to say next, thankful when he hit the indicator and began pulling off the highway.

“We’re going to need to stop and fill the tank in this baby before we go any farther.”

They pulled into a station attached to a roadside diner, and Mason immediately opened his door, giving the impression he was making an escape. “I’ll grab us some coffee. Sit tight.” And just like that, he was gone.

Torrance chewed on her lower lip as she thought about their odd conversation, and as if they had a will of their own, her eyes tracked his progress across the small lot, following his long, masculine movements with an avid, hungry absorption. She loved the thick muscles that flexed against his jeans as he moved, the shape of that incredible ass, and the bulge of his bicep as he pulled open the door. Loved the way the wind blew the dark strands of his hair around his head. Loved the rugged cut of his jaw and the sharp profile of his nose.

“If you weren’t such a scaredy cat, you’d be throwing yourself at him, enjoying him for as long as you could have him,” she whispered under her breath, fully aware that it was true…and hating it. The guy could have any woman he wanted—hell, he probably did have any woman he wanted—probably had them morning, noon and night. Yet here he was, with her.

It didn’t make any sense, because if she’d learned anything in life, it was that a handsome face didn’t stay for the long run. With a sharp pang in her chest, she remembered Clint, one of the few men her mom had dated whom she’d liked having around. He’d been so sweet and attentive, playing games with her, taking them on outings—but eventually he’d left, just like the rest of them. No matter how much they’d seemed to enjoy her charismatic mother, in the end they’d all moved on. Every single one of them. And Torrance had learned from the lesson.

Men didn’t stay.

If she got past her fear and became involved with Mason Dillinger, there was every chance she’d end up with her heart broken. She knew it. He’d grow bored with her, and then he’d wander. She’d seen it happen so many times as a child, she knew the routine by heart.

It didn’t matter that he ignored the perky blondielocks behind the counter of the diner who kept swishing her double Ds in his face. And damn it, why was she even thinking about it? It’s not like she…wanted him. Right?

And if you’re buying that one, Watson, then you’re a gullible idiot…as well as a liar.

Not enjoying that train of thought, Torrance focused on listening to Jeremy hook the nozzle of the pump into the gas tank, then nearly jumped out of her skin when his fingers rapped on the passenger-side window. She reached across the seat, lowered the glass and he crossed his arms inside the frame, one golden brow arching when he caught her strained expression. “Something wrong?”

She made a low sound of disgust, jerking her head toward the diner’s front window, where Mason stood waiting for their order while the blonde made eyes at him. “Do women always melt over him like that?”

Jeremy’s chest rumbled with a soft laugh. “Yeah, but don’t let it bother you, Torry. None of them have ever mattered to him, and Mason isn’t the type to fall in love and then wander.”

“Jeez, Jeremy,” she wheezed, completely stunned. “Who said anything about falling in love? I don’t believe in love at first sight. And he doesn’t even know me.”

“Oh, he knows you.” His hazel gaze sparkled with humor, smile lines crinkling sexily at the corners of those mischief-filled eyes. “If you don’t believe in love at first sight, then call it good ol’-fashioned lust at first sight. But it’s more than that. Finding a mate isn’t like being randy or having a bad case of the hots, though there’s no doubt that the hunger is there. It’s more…intense than that. Now that he’s found you, it’s not a matter of another woman turning his head—because she won’t.” He paused for a moment, as if carefully weighing his next words. “He could take another woman, but it wouldn’t be because he wanted her. He’d have to make himself do it, and in doing so, know that he was destroying the bonds he’d made with you—and that would be like ripping his heart out.”

Something in his voice was too personal, as if he spoke from experience, but he didn’t offer an explanation…and Torrance wasn’t about to pry.

“So, um, what exactly do you mean by ‘mate’?” she asked, feeling dazed by his strange words.

He gave her an odd, piercing look, rubbing his hand over his gold-stubbled chin. “I thought Mason might have explained that back at the shop, while you two were chatting in the parking lot.”

She shook her head, whispering, “Must have escaped his mind.”

The blond’s mouth twisted into a boyish smile. “Well, in our world, each male and female has a perfect other half, a life mate, who…completes them, as corny as that sounds. There are still those who believe that humans can’t really be mates to wolves, but they’re full of shit. I’ve seen too many successful unions not to believe that species doesn’t matter. All that matters is what’s inside.”

“And you think that Mason believes I’m his…mate?” she croaked, swallowing an uncomfortable lump of surprise.

“I don’t think it, Torrance. I know it. You are his—which is why Simmons will be so intent on having you. The bastard suspects you’re special, because Mason wouldn’t risk putting a woman in the middle of a Bloodrun unless he had no choice. In this case, he doesn’t.”

Her laugh sounded nervous and fragile even to her own ears. “I guess we’ll have to see about that.”

“Trust me, honey, he wouldn’t have pulled you into all this if he wasn’t completely convinced. It’ll all work out in the end. Just take a deep breath and take it one step at a time.”

“That may be easier said than done,” she muttered.

“I don’t know,” he drawled. “Something tells me you’re the kind of woman who can do anything she sets her mind to.”

Hah! Little did he know. Right now she felt like a woman who wanted to go and hide under her covers for about the next…say, twenty years. Needing to pull her mind off Mason and mates and masochistic werewolves who were trying to kill her, she said, “Can you tell me more about a Bloodrun?”

Jeremy nodded, the look in his eyes warning that he knew she was changing the subject but was going to let her get away with it for now. “Like Mason told you before, Bloodruns are what we do. If we want the chance to become a part of the Silvercrest pack, we have to kill a given number of rogue Lycans. When we reach that assigned number of kills, we can quit Bloodrunning, or hunting, and become members of the pack.”

Her brow furrowed as she asked, “And so you’re still trying to reach your given number?”

“Naw.” He grinned, flashing her his killer smile. “We both completed our required kills a long time ago.” His shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “This is what we do. We were raised with the pack, so we know exactly what they’re like. Even when we were kids, they treated us like something to be ashamed of and swept under the rug. We couldn’t care less about becoming a part of Silvercrest.”

Torrance wondered if that was true—and despite the terror that filled her at the thought of an actual werewolf pack, her heart broke for the two boys who had been excluded because of some stupid, idiotic prejudice. She wanted to ask more, but Mason came through the door of the diner, carrying a drink holder that held three paper cups of coffee in one hand and a paper bag in the other.