Rhyannon Byrd - Last Wolf Watching

“Are you kidding?” Cian snorted, edging past his partner as he walked into the kitchen. “It was just a playful scuffle. Hell, there were only ten of them, hardly enough to call it a fight. And none of them were brave enough to battle against Brooding Brody,” he drawled, hitching his hip against the counter. He crossed his arms over his chest, a cynical smile twisting the hard curve of his devil’s mouth, but Michaela couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not.

“And Max was okay?” she asked, her attention focused on Brody while Torrance filled the sink with hot, lemon-scented dishwater and Mason finished off the sandwich he’d made while waiting.

Brody nodded in response to her question, but didn’t move away from the archway. Instead, he crossed his own arms and propped his right shoulder against the wall, the recessed kitchen lighting glinting off the burnished stubble on his square chin, softening the stark lines of his scars. “Eric took him away before we left. He’ll take good care of him, Doucet. No harm will come to your brother during his training.”

Michaela worked to ignore the devastating effect of his deep voice—that husky, intoxicating baritone that slipped into her with a sweet, provocative slide and made her hot beneath the skin—but it didn’t work worth a damn. The tight, black cashmere sweater that had kept her warm outside now sat too heavy over her damp skin, filling her face with heat. Lowering her gaze to the steam rising from her tea, the china cup fragile within the straining hold of her hands, she asked, “And after that? After the training?”

“If he doesn’t pass, then we’d all stand together to ensure his safety, if it comes to that,” Mason told her. She flicked her gaze up to see his easy grin as he added, “But if he’s anything like you, that’s not going to be a concern. If there’s one thing I know about the Doucets, it’s that they’re tough as nails.”

“Thanks,” she murmured with a wry twist of her mouth. “I think.”

“Don’t worry,” Torrance laughed, sending her husband a teasing look. “Mase’s compliments are still a little rough around the edges, but he means well.”

The Runner flashed his wife a wicked, hard-edged smile and playfully wagged his brows. “Face it, Tor. You love my rough side.”

“Behave,” Torrance admonished under her breath, but her green eyes glittered with excitement, her cheeks flushed a warm shade of rose. The love the two shared was so potent, so rich and heady and intense, that it seemed to fill the room, making Michaela painfully aware of how…alone she was. All she’d had was Max, and now even he had been taken from her.

“Max will pass his training,” Brody rumbled, breaking the awkward silence. “And until all of this is over, I’ll… be with you .” It almost sounded as if that last bit had stuck in his throat, and she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

“If you’re not up to the task,” his partner drawled, reaching behind him to snatch up one of the cookies out of the perpetually stocked cookie jar, “I could always be a pal and step in for you, partner.”

Brody didn’t so much as twitch, but she could see the vein that began throbbing in his temple, pulsing beneath the dark sheen of his skin as he tilted his head and glared at the smirking Irishman. Energy, red-hot and raging, surged around him like a fiery glow, so real Michaela almost flinched from the burn. “Like hell you will.”

“Why not me?” Cian laughed, sending her a teasing wink. The irreverent Runner obviously loved goading his partner and friend, but Michaela could sense something deeper than mere irritation in Brody’s reaction, and she didn’t need any of her so-called powers to see it.

“Why not you?” he softly snarled. “Because you’d be too busy bedding her instead of protecting her, that’s why!”

Cian choked on another sharp bark of laughter, while Michaela made a soft sound of surprise, thoroughly insulted to think that he’d lumped her into the same class as all the other women who willingly fell into Hennessey’s arms simply because of his looks. “I’m going to assume you’re letting your irritation talk,” she murmured, “and that you didn’t mean that to sound as insulting as it did.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Cian snickered, just before Mason elbowed him in the side on his way to the sink with his plate. The Irishman rubbed at his ribs, but couldn’t stop his soft chuckling, and the frustration in Brody seemed to coil like a viper.

All it took was a woman’s keen intuition to realize that he thought she’d rather have the pretty-faced Irishman watching over her than him. And while it was one thing for other women to prefer his dark-haired partner, something inside of Michaela compelled her to say, “As charming as you are, Hennessey, I’m…that is, I think the current arrangement will work just fine.”

“Wow,” Cian drawled, gifting her with a boyish smile as he rubbed one hand against the sharp angle of his shadowed jaw. “I don’t think I’ve ever been turned down so nicely before.” He looked toward his partner, arching one midnight-black brow. “Seems the lady is happy with you after all, boyo. Congratulations.”

Brody’s scowl deepened and a charged silence settled over the room, the only sound that of the running faucet as Torrance worked her way through the dishes. Too restless to sit still, Michaela shifted to her feet, pushing her chair back in at the table before taking her cup to the sink. “I’ll finish up, Torry. I need something to keep me busy.”

Torrance gave Michaela a quick hug, then slipped into a chair beside her husband. Together, they began talking with Cian about Jeremy and Jillian’s wedding, which would take place later that week in the Alley. Michaela began to lose some of her tension as she listened to their easy, quiet chatter, when she suddenly became aware of Brody standing beside her. His left hip rested against the counter, long arms crossed back over his chest, and she felt that little catch in her breath again. She tried to act natural, but his strangely seductive presence speared through her system like the residual traces of a fine wine, making her senses hum.

From the corner of her vision, she watched his gaze settle on her mouth, before lifting to her eyes. “I know you’re probably afraid of me,” he stated in a quiet rasp.

“Afraid of you?” Michaela shook her head as she looked toward him, wondering where he’d gotten such an idea. “Why would I be afraid of you?”

He arched one auburn brow in an expression that reminded her of his partner, wearing a cynical look of disbelief, as if the answer should be obvious. But the truth was that she didn’t fear him, at least not in a physical sense. No…her caution came from a different source—a basis more intimate than mere intimidation. It came from one that played his scarred, seductive image across the darkness of her mind when she closed her eyes at night; that made her pulse flutter whenever he was near. That reminded her time and again that men weren’t to be trusted.

Not that she was going to explain any of that to him.

“I mean it, Brody,” she told him in a soft voice, the armor around her heart breaking a little at the shadow of vulnerability she could see there in that dark gaze. “I’m not afraid of you.”

For several moments, he looked as if he’d argue, those compelling green eyes narrowed on her profile as she turned her attention back to the dishes. Finally, he sighed and said, “This isn’t going to work the same as it did with Pallaton and Reyes. I’m not going to waste time watching you from the outside looking in.”