He blinks, a hint of sadness in his eyes as he says, “I’ll be watching you all night, same as always.”
I nod, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him about his elusive VP. The longer I hold it back, the worse the secret burns, but the way he’s looking at me makes the words dissolve on my tongue. Am I asking for his help with Bluff, or his blessing? Will he be happy to hear that we’re scent matched, or will he only see the barriers, and all the reasons it might be bad for the club? But mostly I want to know what it will mean tohim. Will he be jealous of the connection we have, or will he shrug it off, stepping back before we’ve even had a chance to explore what might be between us?
Instead of asking him any of that, I back up a step and run straight into Tricks, who’s leading a bunch of kids in some kind of chaotic conga line. “Come dance with us, butterfly!” she hoots, and ignoring my protests, drags me around the quad at the front of her shrieking procession. When I finally manage to extract myself, I stagger over to a picnic table near the gym and flop onto the bench seat. “Jesus, Tricks,” I mutter, yanking my skirt back down to respectable levels. “Give a girl a little warning next time.”
“That was like watching my fourteen-year-old self get dragged around the ballroom by my Great Aunt Clara,” an alpha with mahogany curls and movie star looks tells me in a southern drawl. “Painful.”
He’s definitely not someone you’d overlook in a clubhouse, and a quick glance at his cut tells me he’s one of Ark’s guests. The President of the Flaming Chains, no less, with the road name of Sinner.
“It felt even worse than it looked,” I mutter, accepting the fresh beer he’s holding out to me. As I pop the top, I give his cut a pointed look. “I thought the Chains didn’t like the weather this far north.”
He raises his brows at me, his smile all white teeth and dimples. “You follow the Flaming Chains, darlin’?”
“I know you’re originally from Lexington.”
“We’ve just started a new chapter nearby.” He glances down at my vest. “I’m at a disadvantage, since you know my name and I don’t know yours.”
“It’s Abbie. No road name.”
His gaze settled on my scent gland, and his smile grows. “I’m guessing you’re the famous Butterfly. Which explains why you’re keeping Ark’s dog tags warm for him.”
“They’re my brother’s,” I correct him, tucking them back under my tank. “Samson Taylor. They served together.”
Sorrow is like a cloud drifting through his honey-gold eyes. “I knew your brother from rallies and thereabouts. I’m sorry for your loss, darlin’.” I nod and he points his beer at me. “Maybe one of those tags was your brother’s, but I’d bet my next drink on the other one belonging to your president.”
“It’s open bar,” I tell him, my fingers twitching to pull them back out and check. “And I’m not officially an Iron Flyer.”
“Then maybe you’re open to a little sit-down with a new club...?” His voice trails off and I follow his gaze across the party to where Ark is standing toe-to-toe with another alpha. I can only catch glimpses of them through the crowd, but as I rise to my feet, I can clearly see the tension in Ark’s frame. “Never thought I’d see him here,” Sinner says, surprise deepening his drawl.
“Who?”
He turns to give me a quick salute with his fingers. “Excuse me, darlin’, but duty calls.”
Before I can reply, he strides off through the crowd, a couple of other Flaming Chains falling into step behind him. I look around for Wings or Pitt, but I’m distracted by an angry growl coming from Ark’s direction. I put my drink aside and climb onto the picnic table, relieved to see that Ark looks pissed but unhurt. It’s only when my gaze swings to the alpha he’s arguing with that the world narrows down to a tight, black tunnel. Everything fades away except for Bluff’s face, his irritated gaze lifting and latching onto mine.
I doubt anyone else notices the moment our eyes meet, but in my shadowy corner of the quad, the air crackles, my skin buzzing like I've been showered in bonfire sparks.
Ark is barking something at Bluff, but he ignores him, shouldering alphas aside like they have the substance of smoke. I try to see past his midnight-black eyes, but I barely notice his faded flannel shirt or the tight fit of his dark jeans. As he ducks past the Flaming Chains’ president, sweat trickles down my spine and slick pools between my thighs.
He’s coming for me.
This time, he’s not running away.
I force myself to stay still and not leap down to meet him halfway. If he really wants me, he has to prove it. No more walls, no more excuses. Although, there’s no hiding my interest, my perfume blooming around me in an alluring mist. It’s potent enough for a few heads to turn in my direction, but I don’t care.Look all you want.Nothing matters, as long ashecan smell me…
Bluff’s nostrils flare as he stops a few feet away. From my perch on the picnic table, I can see every inch of him. I let my gaze linger on the breadth of his shoulders and the muscles of his forearms, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. But mostly I just bathe in his scent as it wafts over me, a honey and amber wave that makes my knees turn liquid with want.
I lift my gaze to his face, and if I thought he looked wolfish in the gym, now he looksstarved. The deep hollows beneath his cheekbones are starker, his pupils blown into wide black pools. His fists clench and unclench as he returns my appraisal, lingering on my scent gland long enough to make flames lick across my throat.
“What happened to keeping walls between us?”
There’s a sharpness to my words that makes him tilt his head, his hair falling across his scarred cheek. “They didn’t really work in the first place.”
I nod, the admission satisfying a primal part of me. “I told you we need to talk about this. You can’t just run away from being a scent match.”
“Oh, I’m not running away.” He steps forward, close enough for his knee to brush the edge of the bench. “And I didn’t come here to talk.”
“You didn’t?”
