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Relief flooded through him. He brushed her hair off her forehead, touching the lock of white that shone like a beacon in the front. “I’d worry about you if you went home.”
“Really?” That earned him a ghost of a smile.
“I’d end up standing on the sidewalk watching your apartment day and night.” The rogue might be dead, but her life was in jeopardy. Instincts, honed to a fine edge over the years, screamed this was a personal attack against him—against the white lone wolf—and Zoe was collateral damage. Why now and why her? Her unique coloring was a part of it, but was there more? There were too many pieces of the puzzle missing.
It was too late to go back and change his actions. He wasn’t sorry the rogue was dead, only that he’d killed him before interrogating him.
Zoe might have answers without realizing it. He knew nothing of her childhood history. There could be vital information he was missing. One look at her pale face and he swallowed his questions…for now.
He had to be careful not to let down his guard. Every action screamed she was innocent, but a kernel of suspicion remained. She’d crossed directly in his path that day on the street by design—someone else’s or hers. His wolf snarled in protest. As much as he hated to think it, he hadn’t stayed alive this long by being careless. Women had tried to kill him before.
This time there was more than his life at stake. Some mage thought they could steal his immortality. That put the other lone wolves and Zoe directly in their sights. For a man who’d lived and worked alone almost all his life, it was strange to have to consider the well-being of others. Every action he took affected them, whether he wanted it to or not. The gray and black wolves could handle themselves. She couldn’t.
He cupped the side of her face. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
A single tear escaped the corner of her eye and trickled down her face. Groaning, he leaned forward and caught it with the tip of his tongue. “You’re killing me.” He brushed a kiss over her cheek.
Don’t pressure her. She’s shaken and vulnerable.He tried to force himself to move away but couldn’t.
“Devlin.”
His cock sprang to life, an involuntary reaction. He’d killed for her. Now he wanted to claim her. Every muscle in his body tensed when she raised her hand and pressed it against his jaw. He turned his head inward and kissed the center of her palm.
“Let me take care of you.” This was a first for him, but he yearned for it with every fiber of his being.
Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead against his. There was no way she could know this was a way of expressing affection among werewolves. He’d missed this simple contact. His chest expanded as he sucked in a deep breath.
When she raised her head and placed a kiss there, every protective instinct he possessed slammed into place. He wanted to howl in denial, to fight against the intimate bonds wrapping around him, even as he wanted to ensnare himself in them for eternity.
“Will you help me up?” This human woman had no idea how much power she wielded. He prayed she never did. “Your eyes are glowing.”
“Don’t be afraid.” At this point, it might kill him if she feared him.
“I’m not. They’re beautiful.”
He gave a rough laugh. “That’s a first.” He’d been called many things over the course of his life, none of them complimentary. He carefully eased her into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. After setting her down on the counter, he started the water running into the tub and retrieved his lone button-up shirt. It was clean and would make accessing her injuries easier. “Do you need help? You’ve got some deep bruising.”
He wanted to see her naked, but not like this—hurt and vulnerable.
“I’ve got this. Thank you.” She eased off the counter and tugged away the remnants of her ripped top, leaving her in a lacy white bra.
He almost swallowed his tongue. Her breasts were round and firm and filled the cups to perfection. The image was marred by the smear of blood on her chest and the slow trickle down her arm.
She gripped the counter with one hand. “I’ll call if I need help.”
There was nothing more he could do, not unless he wanted to invade her privacy. Standing outside the closed door, he rested his hands against the frame. Every rustle of clothes, every muted moan as she undressed, had his grip tightening until the wood began to crack. Releasing it, he stepped back. A splash sounded a second later.
He backed away from the door and sank down on the bed, praying the doctor arrived soon.
…
Pietro was late for a check-in. Solange assumed the worst. The idiot had been a problem from the beginning.
“You said this would work.” Charles Armstrong, her longtime lover, glared at her from the other side of the large oak desk. Like everything else in the room, it was a symbol of power and status. The grand view of the city his office window offered usually delighted her, but not tonight.
“And it did. The white wolf was drawn to the woman, as I promised. It’s not my fault the wolf you sent after her failed to capture her. I told you Pietro was out of control. That one has a taste for blood and for killing.” Her fingers played with the thick gold chain around her neck, ending at the huge ruby pendant that rested at the base of her throat.
He flashed his fangs and growled. “I’ve plotted and planned for over a hundred years. May I remind you I’m going to be a hundred and thirty my next birthday.” While he had decades of life left, he was beginning to show signs of aging. Her magic kept him as strong and vital as a wolf in his prime, but even that couldn’t keep away the smattering of gray at his temples. “I haven’t spent a lifetime building an empire to lose it because your magic is lacking.”
