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When I snaked my arms around Wilder’s waist and rested my face against his back, I found it difficult to think anything. The natural peat-and-pine scent of him was complemented by fresh soap and the faint aroma of car oil. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever known a man to smell so manly before. The firmness of his abs under the thin material of his shirt was tough to ignore as well.
I tried to lift my head away and put some distance between us, but when he started the motorcycle and the engine rumbled beneath us, I reflexively tightened my grip. I might have been in scarier situations in the past, but that didn’t mean riding with him couldn’t make me nervous.
His belly shook with a chuckle. I wanted to hit him.
Instead I hugged him, worried one misguided slap would send me falling from the bike. He rolled us into the parking lot then hit a small switch in his pocket to close the garage door. “Hang on tight, Princess.”
I gritted my teeth. His helmet bumped against mine, and the clack made my heart jump. It was ridiculous for me to be this on edge now, when I’d been calm following an actual attempt on my life. I could tell spending any further time with Wilder wouldn’t be in my best interest. Anyone hot enough to make me overlook the huge list of their character flaws was the kind of guy I’d do well to avoid.
He revved the engine and tore out of the lot. My first instinct was to keep my eyes shut the whole way home, but after a few minutes I opened them and watched as the highway blurred past in streaks of gray and green. Wilder handled the bike like a pro, keeping us smooth and straight, never erring from his path. Soon I felt safe enough to lift my head and loosen my grip slightly, shifting my hands from his stomach to his hips. The gesture felt oddly intimate.
The sharp scent of plant life and decaying debris was muted by the helmet, but I still caught it in passing. I’d liked driving this road with the window down, and as much as it pained me to admit it, I could relate to the joy felt by dogs when they stuck their faces out the window of a moving vehicle. The musky way the land smelled had always fascinated me, and having spent so many years in the bayou, I liked to be reminded of the fine line that existed between life and death.
Memere had taught me a lot about what it meant to bridge that line and harness the powers of both worlds, but I’d never been comfortable using death magic. I could, in theory, reach into the great abyss beyond the world of the living and steal magic from those who were gone. But that was dark power, bordering on voodoo, and I had no interest in messing around with voodoo.
The urge to say something bubbled up in my chest, and I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like there was a tense, awkward silence that needed to be broken. The sound of wind rushing past would steal my words away, regardless of what I said. Instead I watched and smelled and let the comfort of home sink into my pores. It didn’t take long until Wilder was turning the bike off the highway and onto a long gravel road. He slowed his pace to keep the stones from rooster-tailing behind us, and we crawled up the driveway at a snail’s pace.
Here the sun was almost wholly blotted out by the overhanging trees whose branches had long since grown to form a canopy over the road. Moss crept up the bark of the trees, making the whole driveway look like something out of a fairy story. I’d seen a lot of plantations in my time, but none of them quite equaled the magic of Callum’s estate.
At the end of the driveway was a roundabout parking area with a fountain in the middle depicting a pack of howling wolves. Not so subtle, but I guess he didn’t need to be anymore. Not to mention it wasn’t common for strangers to stumble onto the property, what with all the Trespasser Will Be Shot signs.
As soon as the motorcycle engine went silent, I hopped off the bike and removed my helmet, the breeze immediately catching my hair and sending it across my face in a black curtain.
Wilder was suddenly in front of me, brushing strands off my face and pushing them behind my ears, his rough thumbs tracing my cheekbones as he did. He smiled, his full lower lip pushing up the corners of his mouth slightly.
Trouble with a capital T.
“Thanks,” I muttered, not sure if I was thanking him for the ride or the hair fix.
“Eugenia?”
I glanced over to the huge wraparound veranda to see my brother, Ben, jogging down the steps towards us. Ben had bypassed the option of attending school, deciding he’d rather learn his leadership skills directly from the king. Callum and Amelia had been grooming him for the throne since he’d been Awakened at thirteen, and he was already looking the part of royalty. My green Tulane hoodie and battered jeans cast me as the sloppy twin next to his sharply tailored navy pants and gray polo shirt. His brown hair was parted on the side and slicked back, giving him the appearance of a Wall Street day trader on vacation.
His sharp eyes narrowed, and he glanced from me to Wilder. Based on their expressions, this wasn’t the first time they’d met.
“Shaw.” He didn’t phrase it as a question, rather a short, embittered announcement of Wilder’s name. It wasn’t like Ben to wear his emotions on his sleeve so openly. I wondered if he had the same presuppositions about Wilder as I did based on Hank’s history, or if there was something personal in the vindictive tone of his voice.
Worried the bristling tension between them might come to blows as could often be the case when high-strung werewolves disliked one another, I cleared my throat to bring their attention back to me. Both men stopped glowering at each other long enough to see what I wanted.
“I need to see Uncle Callum right away.” I hoped my urgency would keep them distracted.
“Wait. Where’s your car?” Ben asked, only now realizing I hadn’t arrived by magical teleportation.
“Wilder towed it. Right after I was almost driven off the road by some insane guy who had it in for me.”
That did the trick. Instantly, Ben couldn’t have cared less about Wilder’s presence. “You really think it was someone associated with the Church?”
I shrugged. I’d told him earlier I thought it was them because it was the most logical conclusion. But how had they known who I was and where I’d be? It’s not like I had a bumper sticker on the back of the Dart saying Werewolf Pride or anything. If it was the Church of Morning, they must have been following me already, otherwise there was no way they’d have found me so easily. I sort of hoped it was some random act of highway violence because that freaked me out less than the idea of being stalked.
Actually, neither thought gave me the warm fuzzies.
Ben grabbed me by the wrist and hauled me away from Wilder,
angling me towards the front steps of the mansion. I glanced back at the guy who’d brought me here and was struck by the need to leave things on good terms with him. He had, after all, picked me up and delivered me safely home. Not to mention he was the one who’d be responsible for fixing my car. I didn’t want him thinking badly of me because of Ben’s behavior, which was ironic considering I’d been willing to pile Hank’s actions on Wilder.
I wrestled free of Ben’s iron grip. He must really want me away from Wilder to be dragging me around like a captive. It wasn’t normal for Ben to make such a big display of his strength or Alpha status in front of another wolf.
Problem was, Wilder had the smell of an Alpha on him too.
