Rhyannon Byrd - Last Wolf Standing

It was that bayou upbringing that had given Michaela her comfortable acceptance of the paranormal—an acceptance that Torrance envied. Truth be told, working at the shop had been a test of sorts for her, to see if she could get past her childhood phobias and embrace the paranormal community. And Torrance had done it, kind of like a person with a fear of sharks learning to enjoy the ocean. She loved her job, had a great rapport with their customers, and though it had taken some time, she’d eventually learned not to fear the unknown.

Well, most of the unknown. She still had a few phobias, brought on by her nightmares, but she was working to get over them. And Mic and her younger brother, Max, were helping.

“So what was he like?” the grinning brunette asked in a deliberately low whisper, probably meant to keep Max from overhearing.

A dreamy sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it, and Torrance suddenly heard herself saying, “Sex.”

Mic’s blue eyes went wide, and a throaty chuckle slipped smoothly past the Southerner’s rouged mouth. “That hot, huh?”

Torrance didn’t think her face could get any redder. Sex! Had she really just said that? Plopping down on her padded stool, she shook her head at the memory of the man who had turned her into a blathering idiot. Though she’d read the phrase a thousand times in romance novels, it had never actually happened to her—but he’d literally knocked her off her feet…and apparently knocked her brains out while he was at it. “Let’s just say that there should be a freaking law against men looking that good,” she groaned.

Mic’s mouth twisted into a sly smile. “Oh, honey, they can never look too good.”

“Well, he looked too good to me.” She sighed, remembering that dizzying moment of shock when their eyes had first connected. God, she was still feeling the vibrations from the jolt that had zapped her. Instant lust, something so warm and primitive, she’d barely been able to breathe through it. Heck, she could barely breathe now, just thinking about him. All she’d wanted was to slide up closer to him, then just a little closer, until they were pressed up against each other and she was surrounded by his animal heat—the dangerous, predatory wildness that had pulsed around him like a fiery glow while his deep, chocolate-brown gaze had promised things too tender and intimate to accept from any man, much less from a perfect stranger. Only…he hadn’t felt like a stranger, and that provocative combination of danger and shelter had been too devastating.

So devastating that it’d scared the hell out of her, sending her running faster than all that crazy talk of his could have ever done.

Michaela laughed softly into the charged silence. “That good, eh?”

Torrance nodded her head distractedly, then gave it a quick shake, determined to stop daydreaming about the tall, dark, wickedly handsome stranger. What had his friend called him? Mase? Mason? That was it! A strong, purely male name that fit him to perfection, just like those well-worn jeans that had so easily hugged his powerful thighs and the faded T-shirt deliciously molded to his muscular chest beneath the darker flannel.

Even his hair had been gorgeous. Not black, but a rich, lustrous brown with reddish streaks that turned auburn in the light. It had fallen somewhat shaggy around the strong, rugged angles of his arresting face, as if he didn’t get it cut often enough, but hadn’t decided to just let it grow. There was the slightest hint of a curl to it, the kind that meant you would snag your fingers a bit when you ran them through the silky mass. With a fierce compulsion, Torrance had wanted to bury her face in those windblown strands and breathe the scent of him into her lungs. It was hot and heady…and animallike. Full of mystery and the wild outdoors, natural and addictive.

Damn it, she was starting to drool just thinking about him, but then, she’d never been affected by a man like that before. In those first moments, she’d thought he was the most beautiful, mesmerizing thing she’d ever seen. Something hot and thick and deliciously wicked had passed between them—something Mic would have called a mystical connection—before his friend rained on the parade. She’d wanted to believe it’d been an accident, but something in his eyes had warned her that he wasn’t being totally honest about tripping her. Then he’d gone over the top, and she’d hightailed it outta there so fast she’d never even looked back.

Well, okay, so that wasn’t totally honest, either. On her way back to work, she’d argued with herself about her decision, uneasy over what felt uncomfortably like an irrevocable loss, as if she’d let something indelibly precious and infinitely significant just slip through her fingers. If things hadn’t gone so weird there at the end, she strongly suspected she would have followed the stud to the ends of the earth just to investigate that thing between them—to find out what it was really all about.

“Yeah, he was that good,” she finally said, “which means he was definitely too good to be true.”

Dropping her gaze to Torrance’s stained polo, Mic grinned. “So what happened?”

A soft laugh fell past her lips, surprising her, but then it had been funny as hell when the blond one had blurted it out. Well, maybe not funny at the time, but looking back on it, Torrance couldn’t help but see the humor in the situation. “He…uh, tripped me.”

Her best friend’s jaw dropped in shock. “He what? ”

“He tripped me,” she explained with a shrug, knowing it sounded crazy. “I, uh, guess to get my attention.”

“Well, I’ve never heard that one before,” Mic admitted dryly, “but I’ll give him credit for an original approach.”

Feeling the raindrops beaded on her cheeks, Torrance swiped her cool hands over her face, pushing the wayward strands of damp hair back from her forehead. “I didn’t know he’d tripped me on purpose until his friend ratted him out. I thought I’d just been clumsy.”

“Some friend,” Mic snorted, raising her brows.

“Oh, you’d have liked him.” Torrance sent the other woman a teasing smile. “He was a total smart-ass.”

“Just my kind of guy,” the brunette drawled, rolling her eyes.

“Anyway, I swear, Mic, I almost swallowed my tongue when I first set eyes on him. He was…”

Her voice trailed off, and Mic prompted her with an interested, “Yeah?”

She struggled to find the right word, but in the end there was only one that would do. “Beautiful,” she said simply.

“As sweet as that is, I need more info,” Mic complained with a throaty laugh. “Come on, Shakespeare, and describe him for me. I’ve got to have a mental picture.”

Torrance sent the grinning brunette her best “as if” look. “So you can try to make love dolls of us? Don’t think I’m not on to you, Doucet?” she snorted. “I saw you looking through those new voodoo books that came in last week.”

Michaela’s eyes went wide with a feigned look of innocence. “I wouldn’t dream of doing something like that. I’m shocked you could even think it,” she muttered, just before she busted up giggling, and Torrance couldn’t help but join in with the Cajun’s infectious laughter.

“What’s all the giggling about?” a deep voice called out. “Did I miss something good?”

Both women looked over to see Max sticking his dark head around the corner of the employees’ door, his deep blue eyes dark and hazy, as if they’d disturbed one of his little catnaps. At nineteen, he was determined to pull his weight and help his sister get her fledgling business off the ground. Hurrying back to the shop after morning classes at the nearby community college, he managed the stockroom and updated the accounts in the afternoons, all before working the night shift as a security guard at the local hospital. Torrance got tired just thinking about the poor kid’s schedule.