My Sister Is a Werewolf (6 page)

“Later than I intended,” Jensen agreed, taking a drink of his coffee. “I hope I didn’t wake you when I came in.”

“Nope, just happened to get up and see your truck was still gone.”

“How was golf?” Jensen asked, feeling the need to change the subject. He’d thought about last night enough already.

His grandfather might look older, but he still stayed plenty active. Today being an example. He’d been out of the house before Jensen had even managed to crawl out of bed. Of course, sleep hadn’t come easily last night.

“My putting was for shit,” Granddad muttered. “And that Harold Wilks moves the ball, I swear he does.”

Jensen chuckled. His grandfather had called his best friend “that Harold Wilks” for as long as Jensen could remember.

Granddad poured himself a mug of coffee, then joined Jensen at the ancient, scratched kitchen table. He sifted through the sections of the paper that Jensen had already set aside, finding the crossword. He pulled the ever-present mechanical pencil from his shirt pocket and began to study the puzzle. Moments later, the scratch of the pencil on paper filled the room.

Jensen returned to absently reading the sports page.

“Did you have fun?” Granddad asked, not looking up from his puzzle.

But Jensen glanced up, knowing the old man was more curious than his nonchalant inquiry suggested.

“When?” he asked, being just as cagey.

“Last night. Did you have a good time?” Granddad said, still penciling in the squares in front of him.

“Sure.” Jensen fiddled with the handle of his mug.

Granddad nodded and he wrote in another word. Jensen returned to an article about the Mountaineers and their winning streak. Or at least he thought that was what the article was about. Maybe it was their losing streak.

“Did the good time have a name?”

Jensen’s head snapped up. His grandfather had always been good at offhanded prying—and far too accurate.

“No,” Jensen said, just as easily. “The good time didn’t have a name.” He didn’t even have to lie about that.

His grandfather nodded again.

Jensen gave up on the paper and rose to refill his coffee cup. He was exhausted. Sleep had evaded him most of the night. He’d just lain in his childhood bed, remembering. Remembering Katie. Remembering his life here in West Pines.

And remembering the woman with pale eyes and no name. In fact, it was startling how much he’d thought about her. How many times he’d replayed what they had done.

Even now, he could feel her in his arms. He could taste her lips. Smell her heady scent. And feel the tightness of her body. So vivid, so exciting. His body nearly itched to touch her again. A nameless woman who’d hooked up with a stranger, then left. So unlike Katie. So unlike any woman he’d ever imagined himself with. But then, he’d only imagined being with Katie, hadn’t he? Until now.

“You know,” his grandfather said slowly, and Jensen blinked back to his grandfather. He braced himself for what was coming. They’d had this talk before. It always started this way. He didn’t want to hear it again.

“You can’t just hole yourself up here with an old man. You got to do a little living.”

Jensen set his mug down, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have been living. And I’m not holing myself up. I’m here to take over the business you started. I want to do that.”

“But that was never your plan.”

“Well,” Jensen said with a sigh, levering himself away from the counter, “it is now.”

“Jensen, I just want you to be happy.”

He smiled at his grandfather, trying to keep the gesture as genuine as possible. “I am happy.”

His grandfather peered at him for a moment, studying him with eyes so much like Jensen’s own. Then he turned back to his puzzle. The scratch of the pencil resumed.

“
Don
’t think that I didn’t notice that you didn’t deny the old-man thing,” his grandfather said after a few moments.

Jensen chuckled, that response not forced. He picked up his coffee and rejoined him at the table. Riffling through the paper, he found another section. The sports pages hadn’t managed to hold his attention—maybe something else would. He perused the local news section, pausing on an article about a mysterious beast spotted near a farm a few townships over. This was the second article about this creature in the past week.

He shook his head as he read the newest sensationalized report. A giant beast. A wild wolf. Perhaps a mythical creature.

Try a coyote. A feral dog, at the most exciting.

“You got plans tonight?”

Jensen frowned up from the article. Was Granddad still fishing for more information?

Instead of answering, Jensen asked, “Have you heard all this nonsense about the ‘wolf’ sightings?”

Granddad looked up from his puzzle. “Gordon Banks said he’s seen it out on Route 219, near Shady Fork. He says it’s nothing like anything he’s seen before.”

Jensen stared at his grandfather for a moment, trying to gauge if he was making light of Gordon Banks’s claim. After all, the same man also maintained he’d seen a UFO out at the old fairgrounds.

But Jensen couldn’t read his expression before the older man returned his attention to his crossword.

“So you didn’t answer me? Are you going out tonight?”

Jensen sighed. “Nope. I’m planning to stay in tonight.” Going out had proven to be too much. Much, much more than he’d ever imagined.

As if on cue, the phone rang, piercing the quiet.

Lord, he hoped it wasn’t Brian or Jill. So far they hadn’t called to reprimand him for slipping out on them when he’d excused himself to use the rest room. He wasn’t in a frame of mind to hear their irritation with him—he was irritated enough with himself. Not for the same reasons, of course, but he still wasn’t ready to talk to them.

Jensen answered the phone on the third ring, taking the maize-colored receiver from the cradle. His grandfather’s phone was still the ancient rotary style mounted to the kitchen wall.

“Hello?”

“Jensen? Is that you, dear?”

“Yes, Mrs. Anderson. How are you?” Mrs. Anderson was the widow his granddad had been “dating” for years.

“Fine, dear. Fine. Your grandfather says you aren’t getting out enough.”

Jensen laughed slightly. Apparently Granddad was sharing that sentiment with everyone.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Anderson.”

“Okay.” She didn’t sound like she believed him.

“Let me get Granddad for you.”

Jensen handed the phone to his grandfather, and listened as the older man made plans for the evening. Jensen took a sip of his coffee. What was the woman from last night doing now? How could he find her again?

He set down his mug with more force than necessary. What was he thinking? He’d had enough “good time.” Despite what his body and wandering mind might think, staying holed up here seemed the best course of action.

Elizabeth fiddled with the magnification of her microscope, growing more frustrated by the second as she couldn’t seem to fine-tune the sample into focus. The cells on the slide shrank and enlarged with each twist, but never came into sharp detail as they should.

She made a low noise in the back of her throat, then straightened from the apparatus. The muscles in her back protested, tight with tension, and she blamed it on leaning over her research for too long. But she knew that wasn’t the cause. Just as she knew the inability to focus the slide wasn’t the microscope’s fault.

Just like she knew that the ache between her thighs wasn’t still noticeable because of last night’s activities.

No, the ache there had changed and morphed, going from a reminder of what she’d done to a nagging prompt to repeat the performance. The restlessness was growing inside her—again. And now she understood what her body was tense for. Sex. But not just any sex. Sex with him. Jensen.

Don
’t go there
, she told herself. And not for the first time in the last few hours. But her mind didn’t listen. Again she was reliving last night, the way Jensen—the mortal male—had felt buried deep inside her. Stretching her, filling her.

She closed her eyes. He’d taken her desperately, forcefully—their mating had been wild, uncontrolled.

It was just sex, she told herself, also not for the first time. But again, her body—and her mind, for that matter—didn’t believe her claim.

Jensen had been different, although not in a way she could define exactly. There was a tenderness in his ferocity. His hands strong, his movements powerful, his eyes haunted.

She kept remembering his eyes. Beautiful eyes like a deep, lush forest, varying shades of greens and browns. She’d seen something in those eyes.

“Yeah, lust,” she muttered to the empty room. Well, the almost empty room. She crossed over to the opening in the plastic, peeking out at the barn. The owls still sat on the rafters, right where they had been last night. Only today, they weren’t alone, either. She glanced over to see a black-and-white creature curled in a tight ball in a nest of hay.

A skunk. The little creature had been in the barn when she came in this morning. He’d waddled around, completely unconcerned with her presence. It had only peered at her, rooted for more bugs to chomp on, and then made itself a bed in the old hay. No scrambling away in fear. No spraying—t
hank
God.

Something was definitely up with the animals in West Virginia. Including herself.

“No sense of self-preservation,” she stated to the sleeping menagerie. One owl opened a golden eye, then they all continued to sleep.

She ducked back into her lab, shaking her head. Too strange. She couldn’t believe any animal—with the exception of humans, who were notoriously unobservant—would sleep in her presence. She’d never seen that kind of behavior in all her years of lycanthropy.

She had to admit, she rather liked the company, no matter how unorthodox it was. It could be lonely here. Of course, she’d take loneliness any day, given her other choice. Briefly, she recalled the days with her pack. With Brody. No, loneliness was better.

Why was she thinking about Brody again? She could go months without ever thinking of her estranged mate.

Jensen appeared in her mind. Because of what she’d done with him. Guilt. Of course, her guilt didn’t stop her from wondering what Jensen was doing right now. What was he thinking about her and about what happened?

Argh. She was truly getting a one-track mind here, but as she turned back to her lab table, she knew she wasn’t going to get anything done. She needed a break.

She’d go in the house, have some dinner, and then maybe try to get more sleep. The fact that she’d slept was probably the reason she felt better this morning.

Okay, she could tell herself that. But she knew why she’d managed to get sleep, and that was all t
hank
s to Jensen.

No. No. She would just stick with this idea. Food, then rest. And she’d see that she’d be fine. She’d be back out here working later.

“You’ll see,” she said up to the owls and the skunk as she exited her makeshift lab. The birds didn’t react. Nor did that skunk. She suspected they didn’t believe her any more than she believed herself.

Chapter 6

“O
kay, I’m heading out.”

Jensen stopped chopping onions to glance at his granddad. The old man sauntered into the kitchen, sporting a freshly pressed white shirt, khaki trousers, and what was left of his hair slicked into place.

Jensen gave him a low whistle, then grinned. “You look ready for more than just bingo.”

“Maybe,” Granddad agreed. “I sure ain’t staying in and eating beef stew on a Saturday night.”

“It’s going to be some damned good stew,” Jensen called after him as he headed out the back door.

Jensen turned back to his chopping, moving on to carrots. Cooking might not be the most exciting thing to do on a Saturday night, but it was a hell of a lot less upsetting than the events of last night.

He’d much rather chop veggies than be back with that woman.

Ha! Now if that wasn’t the biggest lie ever told. He didn’t feel proud of it, but he’d imagined himself back with her half of last night and most of the day today. Despite all his efforts to forget about it, to write the encounter off as a fluke—which it had been—he kept thinking about it. Which was why he stood here chopping carrots with more force than necessary as if they were the very cause of all his wayward thoughts and troubled feelings.

He finished the carrots, scooped them up, and added them to the simmering stew. Then he busied himself with cleaning the kitchen. Once that was done, he found himself alone with his thoughts, and nothing to do.

Maybe he should have joined his granddad for bingo, although he knew his grandfather would have had an even bigger issue with that. Bingo at the Congregational Church. Definitely not what his grandfather had in mind for him.

Glancing around the kitchen, he couldn’t find anything else to keep him occupied. He moved to the living room and collapsed onto the sofa. Pressing the remote, he flipped through the TV channels, finding nothing to hold his interest.

“Who are you kidding, anyway?” he muttered, finally switching off the TV and tossing the remote onto the coffee table. Nothing seemed capable of keeping the mystery woman from his thoughts for long.

He paced over to the window. A breeze rustled the leaves of the huge oak on the front lawn. The sun had nearly disappeared behind the mountains. The crisp evening air was just the thing to cool the need in him.

Right, probably about as well as the cold shower had done.

But as soon as he stepped outside and the wind ruffled his hair and he smelled the earthiness of fallen leaves, he did feel his muscles relax. He strolled down the drive, focusing on the crunch of the gravel under his feet. The rustle of the leaves overhead calmed him. The bite of the cold slipped through the thin material of his shirt, and even that seemed to relax him.

This had been Katie’s favorite time of year. She loved the colors, smells. She loved Halloween. She was the only adult he’d known who planned her costume for months in advance.

He pulled in a deep breath. Now, this felt right and normal. Thoughts of Katie. That’s what he knew and understood. He didn’t understand the wildness of the previous night.

In fact, he didn’t want to understand. He wanted to enjoy his twilight stroll and lose himself in his memories of Katie. He walked for a while longer until the cold actually started to become uncomfortable rather than invigorating. Then he headed back to the house, feeling calmer. More normal.

“Hi, there.”

Jensen stopped midstride as he heard the husky, purring voice that he’d finally gotten out of his mind. Or rather, the voice that he
thought
he had gotten out of his head—obviously he was fantasizing again. But slowly he pivoted in the direction of the fantasy voice.

He half-expected to see nothing, just the swaying of tree limbs, the shadows in the twilight. But there
she
stood, leaning against the porch railing of his childhood home.

“Hello,” he managed, realizing he sounded as stunned as he felt.

They stared at each other for a moment, until she pushed away from the railing.

“So do you want to invite me in?”

This seemed to be the patented phrasing for her pickups.
So do you want to...
 
Fill in the blank. Of course he knew the real question she was asking. Just as he’d known last night, too.

“Are you having problems with your home?” he asked, stalling, also using the same approach of last night. He couldn’t let her inside, even though his body was more than willing to invite her in. Hell, one part of his body was already pointing the way.

Damn, this was not good. Not good at all. But she did look so, so tempting. As tempting as he remembered. Although she looked different somehow, too. Then he realized the leather pants and jacket were gone, replaced by a long skirt, tiered with different-colored materials. She wore a faded jean jacket. The style was more chicly hippie than tough biker tonight. Even her hair appeared longer and thicker, framing her delicate features. He liked the look. A lot. Of course, he’d liked the other look, too.

She smiled widely. “No, my home is fine. I just want to see yours.”

He nodded, then, almost against his will, he found himself stepping toward her. Once he reached her, he wedged past her and climbed onto the porch. Her scent enveloped him as he passed, spicy and delicious. The smell ignited him, making his body react. He pushed the front door open, then stood back to allow her to enter.

What the hell was he doing?

She didn’t hurry, so obviously she couldn’t see the war waging inside him. The part of him that was repeating,
send her away
as the other part blithely ignored it, urging her inside. Or maybe she did see, and she already knew which side would win.

She sauntered by him, her body not making contact with his, either. It didn’t matter—his body reacted. Even more.

“So,” he said, as he followed her into the living room, trying to stare at her narrow back, and not the sweet sway of her hips and bottom, “how did you find me?”

“Oh, I just sniffed you out,” she said, tossing a smile over her shoulder.

He nearly groaned. God, this woman was sexy.

She paused in the living room, turning to face him, her pale eyes roaming down his body.

He shifted, praying that she didn’t see the outline of his erection through his worn jeans. Good thing his shirt was untucked. Although her eyes did linger for a moment in that general vicinity.

He cleared his throat. “I was just making dinner. Would you like to join me?”

Her gaze came up to meet his eyes. “Sure.”

Even though he knew he must look like a rattled teenage boy, he strode from the room as if he was afraid she’d attack. Or worse, that he wanted her to.

He busied himself with checking on the stew, wrestling with the lid of the old kettle, which hadn’t had a handle for as long as he could remember.

He glanced at the woman. She smiled slightly, watching his struggle. He had the feeling that the small grin was about both his struggle with the lid and with her being there.

“My granddad really needs new cookware,” he said, for no other reason than to fill the excited air between them.

She leaned against the kitchen table, idly fingering the back of one of the ladder-back chairs.

“Do you live with your granddad?”

Jensen nodded, his gaze locked on the gentle caresses of her long, elegant fingers over the smooth wood.

“Is he home?”

He shook his head. “Gone. Bingo.”

The woman smiled—a wide, hungry, very predatory smile. Blood rushed through him at the sight, centering in one part of his body. A part that was already stealing its own fair share.

“Then we’re all alone?”

“Yeah.” At least he’d managed that one word without sounding like an overeager, yet scared shitless, teenager.

Her smile widened—she had an amazing smile. A smile he couldn’t look away from. That is, until her hands slid down over her thighs, catching the loose fabric of her skirt.

Slowly she knotted the material, each bunching of the skirt drawing it higher and higher until her calves were exposed. Then her knees. Then the smooth, creamy skin of her thighs. Finally she stopped, the material billowing just high enough to glimpse the pouty curve of her sex and small thatch of tight curls hiding the moisture beneath.

His breathing stopped. His body hardened, ripcord tight. He stared, unable to look away from her sweet body.

“I thought... ” Her words trailed off, and that finally brought him out of his dazed amazement—and trance.

When he met her eyes, he saw just a glimpse of apprehension there. Uncertainty. Somehow that, combined with the utter brazenness of hiking her skirt up, made his blood ignite. He wanted this woman. God, he did.

“I thought maybe we could have a repeat of last night.”

For just the briefest moment, sanity held, and Jensen hesitated. They couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t. He couldn’t have another day like today. The guilt, the regret, the longing for more.

Longing for more—that was what got him. The other two emotions hadn’t tempered that one—not in the least. He still wanted this woman—as much as his next breath.

“Do you want me?” she asked, and again he thought he heard uncertainty in her voice.

He stared at her for a moment. Was she kidding? What man could turn down this invitation, offering herself to him as she was.

A man whose love of his life died in his arms, his lucid brain informed him.

But still, he took a step toward her. Then another and another, until he was standing directly in front of her, looking into her pale, pale eyes. Rather than down at her still-raised skirt, which brushed his thighs. He could feel it through the denim of his jeans.

Like last night, fingers traced the curve of lips, of cheeks, of jawline. Except tonight, it was his turn to explore her, tracing her features. Just as she’d done to him.

She remained perfectly still under his exploration, but her eyes seemed to touch him back. Pale moonlight caressed his skin.

“Why me?” he finally asked. This woman could have any man she wanted—why had she picked him? Why had she tracked him down? Why had she wanted him again? Had she spent the whole day remembering, just as he had?

“I... ” She touched the tip of her tongue to the center of her lush top lip as she struggled for the words. “I don’t know.”

The words were hardly satisfying, but they were enough. It was fair that she, too, didn’t understand this all-encompassing need between them.

He caught her chin between his fingers and captured her mouth. Just as the night before, the meeting of their lips erupted into a blazing, wild fire.

Lust
just wasn’t a strong enough word to describe what coursed through him. It was as if, from the moment he saw her, he had to possess her. He had to drive himself into her tight body repeatedly until there was no doubt as to why she’d come back to him.

He wanted to make her his—in the most elemental way possible.

His hands left her face, moving to her waist. He lifted her onto the scratched oak of the table. Then he positioned himself between her spread thighs. She gasped as his pelvis ground into hers.

He paused. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. “No, you feel good.”

He smiled at that, immediately thinking of things he’d like to do that would make her feel much, much better.

But again he caressed her face, tracing the delicate point of her chin, then the fullness of her lips.

“You know,” he said, moving in closer so their mouths were nearly touching. “I’d begun to believe that last night was nothing more than a figment of my imagination.”

“Is it real now?” she asked.

“Yes. Between you being here now, and the torn panties in the front seat of my truck, I do believe it is.”

She pulled back and blinked up at him. He could see she hadn’t expected that response. Then she laughed, the sound full and rich and making more desire curl through him. He smiled, too. Then he kissed her again, catching the warm, rich sound into his mouth, into his body.

The laugh immediately transformed into a moan, a sound no less appealing and even more arousing.

Knowing it showed zero-to-no finesse, he couldn’t stop his fingers from drifting to the part of her body she had so daringly and deliciously offered to him.

The damp curls tickled his fingertips. Fiery heat burned them. Instantly, he was overwhelmed by the scent he’d experienced back in the bar. A scent that made his head spin, his body tighten with barely restrained need, his mouth water.

He pushed her backward on the table. He barely registered the flutter of newspaper scattering to the floor. He was too focused on the sight of her bared to the waist, the scent of her enveloping him, luring him to her.

A scent he wanted to taste on her skin. He leaned forward, kissing her, taking small tastes with little flicks of his tongue. She did taste every bit as good as she smelled, as she looked. And he wanted to taste more of her.

His mouth left her lips, moving to her jaw, to her throat. Encountering the barrier of her T-shirt and her jean jacket, he moved farther down, positioning himself between her thighs.