Kristal Hollis - Rescued By The Wolf

Chapter 4

Testosterone and a slew of wolfan hormones stormed Rafe’s veins. Burning up all his restraint, Rafe stood perfectly still as Grace moved lithely out of the room with her hips sashaying in an erotic sway that beckoned both the man and wolf.

God, she was pretty. Long, shiny hair the color of corn silk. Bright green eyes that put polished emeralds to shame. Soft golden skin and an athletic body with just the right amount of curve. None of which he should’ve noticed. And yet, he had, and more.

She had a ready smile and a kind heart toward people and animals. He liked her spunk, more than he should.

And she smelled really good, too.

Another time, another place. Another life. She could’ve been the one.

But, he’d had a true mate, bonded heart and soul, and he’d lost her.

He wasn’t arrogant enough to believe it could happen twice. Besides, he wasn’t compatible with a human female.

Unlike Brice, whose grandmother was human, Rafe came from a purebred line. He’d inherited no human traits. Any he had were learned from Doc.

Since childhood, Rafe wanted to do right by the man who raised him. He’d modeled Doc’s manner, his style, his philosophies. He might have followed his father’s career path if he could’ve overcome his aversion to hospitals.

He hated the gut-churning scents that permeated the air. Fear, sorrow, sickness, desperation and death.

Grace’s human senses weren’t developed enough for her to detect the smells as acutely as he could, but she seemed to dislike hospitals as much as he did. Last night, he couldn’t, in good conscience, leave her there overnight when she clearly didn’t want to be there.

When he’d brought her home, he’d expected her to drill him about his abrupt decline of her offer of friendship a few months ago. Instead, she was gracious, respectful and annoyingly considerate.

She’d even gifted him with genuine smiles as if he’d never hurt her feelings that day. He knew he had.

But, he’d done what was necessary, pushing her away. Establishing a boundary. For her safety and his well-being.

Only she still ended up hurt and he was still drawn to her in ways that defied reason.

He needed to reinforce the no-friend zone and stay the hell out of her way.

Rafe pinched his sore ear, then drew back his hand and stared at the tiny drop of blood smeared on his thumb pad.

His stomach rolled.

Ah, hell!

Grace had not claimed him.

One, she had no idea what a bite meant to a Wahya. Hell, she didn’t even know what they were.

Two, they weren’t having sex when the bite occurred. It wouldn’t have taken much to physically tip the balance toward consummation, but close only counted with horseshoes and hand grenades, not claiming a mate.

Three, a human couldn’t legitimately claim a Wahya. Only a Wahyan bite during sex could establish a mate-claim.

A mate-bond, well, that was an entirely different matter. He doubted he and Grace were compatible enough for the ethereal connection to spark, so he had no cause to worry. Whatever was between them was purely physical.

Rafe knuckled his fingers in his hair and sucked in a deep breath to clear his head. Unfortunately, Grace’s scent permeated the room, overpowering his heightened senses, damn near swaying him to abandon all reason, give into primal urges and bed her hard, fast and forever.

Only forever wasn’t as long as he once believed. Forever with his former mate hadn’t even lasted his lifespan.

Rafe closed his eyes, willed his heart to stop racing and his body to cool. He had to get Grace out of his home and out of his system.

Without one window in the apartment, he was going to have a helluva time getting rid of her scent.

He pulled on a gray T-shirt and dark blue coveralls. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he put on his socks and work boots. He stared at the rumpled sheets, rich with Grace’s intoxicating scent, then stripped the bedding. Her phone tumbled to the floor. After pocketing the device, he folded the Murphy bed into the wardrobe. Next, he grabbed a clean, white button-down shirt and the bundle of sheets, and walked down the narrow corridor to find Grace.

He hesitated at the doorway to the kitchenette. The walls were painted the same flat gray color as the concrete floor. A 1950s-style white Formica table with chrome hairpin legs and two matching chairs sat in the middle of the small room.

On her toes with her back to him, Grace leaned against the single basin sink. To her left, a tiny dish drainer on the counter held one black mug, one plate, one fork, one spoon, one knife. To her right, was his small microwave. In the space where a dishwasher would normally go, Rafe had wedged a dorm-size refrigerator. And instead of a stove, he had installed a stacking washer and dryer in the corner.

Grace muttered, opening the cupboards above the sink. Regrettably, all Rafe’s pantry had to offer were three cans of sardines, half a loaf of bread, a bag of chips and a container of beef jerky.

“I’m all out of porridge, Goldilocks.”

Grace jumped. “Jeezus.” She turned toward him, clutching her chest. “Wear a bell or something. My heart almost stopped.”

Rafe clenched his jaw to stop himself from admitting that he knew CPR. Neither of them needed to think about mouth-to-mouth anything. Especially since her light pink tank top fit her like a second skin and she was braless.

“Put this on.” He tossed her the button-down shirt.

She pressed it to her face and sniffed. A curious pride pearled in his chest at the innocent gesture of her scenting his clothes.

“Hey.” Her eyes widened when she realized he was watching. “I’m making sure it’s clean.”

“I know how to do laundry.”

“Knowing how and doing it are two different things.” She shoved her arms into the sleeves.

Rafe dumped the sheets into the washer, dropped in a detergent pod and turned on the machine. He pivoted on his heels with a ta-da, but she was too busy fussing with the buttons on the shirt to notice.

“Nerves from last night?” He waved aside her trembling hands to finish the buttons for her.

“Caffeine withdrawal.” She held her arms out for him to roll up the sleeves. “I usually have three cups before nine a.m. I’m a little behind schedule this morning.”

“It’s almost noon.” He finished her sleeves.

“Explains the killer headache.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I couldn’t find the coffee or the pot.”

“Don’t drink it. Don’t own one.” He thumbed aside the blond strands curtaining the superficial cut at her temple. The slight wound had scabbed and a dark-purple goose egg had formed. His gut tightened.

It was only a minor concussion, but the fact that she’d sustained an injury because of him made him sick to his stomach.

“I need coffee, now! Isn’t there a diner across the street?” Her ponytail swished as she wandered out of the kitchen.

He followed her down the lighted corridor. There was something about her wearing his clothes that made his insides warm and his heart kick a possessive beat.

“I don’t know how you can live in this concrete bear cave.”

“If I were an animal, it wouldn’t be a bear, Goldilocks.” He pushed open the heavy metal door.

“Let me guess. A wolf?” She ducked beneath his arm and stepped into the R&L Automotive Services side of the building.

“Yep, but he wouldn’t like being closed in.”

“Do you?”

“No, but I have a severe insomnia. When I converted the storage room into a living space, I decided not to cut windows into the cinder block walls. I didn’t want outside light or noise to bother me when I’m trying to sleep.”

“So the pills on the coffee table help you sleep?”