Rhyannon Byrd - Last Wolf Watching

“I don’t know,” she murmured, picking up a coffee mug. “He’s a sweetheart, but I couldn’t ask him to—”

“Sure you could,” Torrance said softly. “It shouldn’t take you more than a day to go down and get the accounts all settled. You can even show David how to do the payroll, then leave everything in his hands until it’s safe for you to go back.”

Michaela gave a wary nod, knowing she had little choice if she wanted to remain in business, and turned back toward the sink, moving on to the last dish. “So what time do you want to leave?”

Brody didn’t answer—just stood there watching her with a strange, intense expression hardening the grooves that bracketed his mouth. “What?” she whispered, wondering what was bothering him.

“Nothing,” he muttered. Then he uncrossed his arms and started to shift away from the counter, only to stop. Shoving his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans, he suddenly asked, “Can you use it on me?”

Michaela blinked at him in confusion. “Use it? Use what?”

He jerked his chin at her, his dark eyes narrowed and heavy-lidded. “That witchy thing that you do.”

“Witchy thing?” she repeated, trying to stifle a laugh when she realized he was deadly serious. “I can assure you, Brody, that I’m not a witch.”

“I want to know, Doucet.”

“Know what?” she pressed, finding some perverse pleasure in pushing his buttons. And he was still calling her Doucet, which just made her feel ornery.

He stepped closer, invading her personal space, and the moonlight spilling in through the open kitchen window played across his face, revealing the stark angles and hollows. His nostrils flared, as if he were breathing in her scent, and she realized that from this close, she could see his scars in vivid detail as they cut over his face, slashing from his left eyebrow, across the bridge of his nose, down to his opposite jaw. Her fingers itched to reach out and stroke them, wishing she could wipe away the deep-seated pain that lingered in his eyes. He tried to hide so much behind his angry scowls, but she saw through them. The liquid depths of his bottle-green eyes were like a window into his soul, beautiful…and yet, so filled with hurt, as scarred within as he was without.

“Just ask me, Brody,” she whispered softly, trying to tell him with her gaze that he could trust her. “I promise I’ll be honest with you.”

Something wild and hot and primitive flared in those mysterious green depths, lost as quickly as it appeared beneath the lowering of his lashes—and in a husky, silken slide of words, he said, “I want to know if you can you read me.”

Chapter 4

They made the drive down to the city in relative silence, the radio delivering a quiet string of blues, the sensual tenor of an alto sax keeping rhythm with the steady beat of the tires upon the road. The second Brody had cranked the powerful V-8 engine, a quiet, exhausted lassitude had poured through her like warm, rich honey. Even now, it melted Michaela into the seat of the truck, while Brody’s scent filled her head, surrounding her in the smooth, intimate darkness.

She took a deep breath, and savored it. God, he smelled good. Not pretty or flowery, but like a man. His scent was as crisp and rich as the outdoors, as the forest itself. Woodsy with traces of musk and salt. Completely delicious.

Sitting there beside him in the midnight dark, Michaela was uncomfortably aware that she’d never known a man whom she found more attractive, more compelling. The more time she spent with him, the more she felt inexplicably drawn to the quiet Runner, as if she wanted to wrap her arms around those broad shoulders and simply hold on to him. Comfort him, easing the hard tension she didn’t need mystical powers to feel pouring off him in waves. And take comfort from him in return, drawing on his strength until she didn’t feel so hollow inside, so broken and barren and wrecked. If he’d only show her a little warmth, she knew she’d be in serious danger of letting her emotions get the better of her. But he remained as cold and remote as ever.

And the fact you’re upset about it proves that you’re losing your mind .

She scowled at her know-it-all conscience and turned to stare back out her own window. Beyond the cozy confines of the truck, a light drizzle began to fall, adding to the strange feeling of intimacy. When his deep, whispery baritone intruded into the soft monotony of sound, she jumped, startled.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to spook you,” he murmured, sliding her an uneasy look, as if he expected her to cringe away from him in terror, now that they were alone.

She gave him a small, self-conscious grin and tucked a curl behind her ear. “You didn’t. I guess I’m just jumpy…still on edge after everything that’s happened. I was so lost in my thoughts I didn’t hear what you said.”

He made a subtle gesture with his shoulders that did something wonderfully wicked to those hard muscles beneath the clinging cotton of his shirt. “I just wondered how you got that little gift of yours. The one you said doesn’t work on me.”

Her grin bled into a soft burst of laughter that she tried to hide under her breath, half watching her fingers play in the folds of her skirt while soaking up as much of him as she could from the corner of her eye. Sorting through her explanation in her head, she decided to start at the beginning. “My maternal grandmother, who lived in the bayou, was a gifted seer, and I guess I was lucky enough to have some of her powers make their way to me, though I’m nowhere near as strong as she was. I have a really good sixth sense about things, and sometimes I’m able to read people.”

“Read them how?” he asked, sounding curious.

“I’m not quite sure how to explain.” She shrugged, nervous under the force of his attention, even as he kept his hands and eyes on the road. But he was focused on her, every part of him. She knew it, felt it, and it was a heady, breathtaking sensation that made her want to scoot closer to him. He looked so strong and solid sitting beside her, so invincible and tough. It made her want to just crawl inside of him and pull him around her like a fortress, like the most amazing security blanket she could ever find.

Blinking in surprise, Michaela winced, startled by the discomfiting thought. She wasn’t the kind of woman who went looking for a man to take care of her or to hide behind. She was a woman who prided herself on her independence and sensibility, but then, the last few weeks had been anything but normal.

Maybe you’re due for a little comforting .

Another dangerous thought, that, and she shook it off, pulling her mind back to her explanation. “Sometimes, if a person is experiencing powerful emotions, I can sense them. It’s like being able to see into their heart. I can’t read their minds like my grandmère could, but I can…I can read their will , I guess.”

“But not everyone’s?” he asked, rubbing one hand against the scratchy surface of his jaw.

“No. Only some people. If a person wants to hide their feelings strongly enough, it’s hard for me to pick up anything. And at times, the harder I want to see, the more difficult it is for me. Some are like a wall—others easier. Mason’s feelings for Torrance are so strong, I had no problem picking up on them the first time I met him. But sometimes, the closer I am to a situation, the harder it is to see anything. It’s almost as if my interest crowds the power.”