A Shift in the Air (3 page)

She tugged her hood lower.
Staying in the same city as the werewolves terrified her, but
whatever thread connected her and the water elemental pulled taut
every time she’d thought about going back to Phoenix, stopping
her.
The city called to her, held her here,
too, despite all the reasons she should flee. The cold, drizzly
rain soothed her jittery mind, and she’d had a little too much fun
at the outlet mall a few months ago, buying thick sweaters, a rain
coat, gloves, and scarves—all things she’d never needed in
Phoenix.

She’d opted for her natural, darker
hair color, hid her blue eyes behind colored contacts, and pierced
her nose. A new-found love of running trimmed her curvy frame,
though the habit had brought her too close to the water elemental
more than once—apparently they shared that particular passion.
Passing the alpha’s mate running around Green Lake had sent her
diving behind bushes the first time, but Mara hadn’t paid her any
notice.

There was something wrong—an odd
resonating tone that called to her air element--and she’d taken to
timing her runs when she knew Mara would be out as well. She ached
to soothe the elemental she’d had a hand in harming, and every run,
every close call, helped her figure out what to do.

Rain drummed an endless staccato beat
against the hood of her jacket, and she crept closer. The first
quartz pushed easily into the sodden earth at the south corner of
Mara’s yard. A dog barked in the distance, and she couldn’t stifle
her gasp.

“
Shit.” She fingered the
crystal around her neck. “Protect me,” she whispered, and the
gentle caress of her element brought a hint of fiery smoke to her
nose. The ache of loss cinched tighter as images of Katerina’s
charred body falling from the high, metal towers by the lake
assaulted her memories. Murdered by her own sister. Why? Why had
Katerina been so hell-bent on revenge? Why hadn’t Bella stopped
her? How did Mara wield fire so easily?

Something nudged her mind, an inky
blackness that searched her out at night and left her screaming in
her dreams. With a shake of her head, she shoved the dark thoughts
away. She longed for one more day with the woman who’d been part
sister, part mother to her for years. She’d beg her to end this
life-long quest for revenge. If only Katerina hadn’t found the
werewolf last year. The son of the wolf who’d killed Katerina’s
mother, Cade Bowman—and planning his death—became Katerina’s whole
life. His agony cemented the final stone in the wall of Katerina’s
revenge. But her plan went horribly wrong. The memory of Katerina’s
final scream shattered the stillness of the night, and a gale sent
a garbage can next door clattering down an alley.

Calm down. Three to
go
. She crept to the east. The second piece
of quartz scraped against the root of a bushy sage plant, and the
calming scent mixed with the fresh rain. A smile tugged. Sage kept
evil at bay. A wise choice after the hell the alpha and his mate
survived. Though her part in it had been small, she often woke with
the bitter taste of regret on her tongue, born of dark dreams of
death, and someone looming over her…a man she couldn’t see but knew
she feared.

Forcing the memories away,
she reached over the five-foot cedar fence and unhooked the latch.
Once she slipped into the backyard, she gaped. A pool spanned
Mara’s yard and the yard of the house next door. Shit. The rest of
Bowman’s pack probably lived there. Stupid. They’d rip her apart if
they saw her.
Finish the task and get the
fuck out.

Racing to the north corner, she sank
to a knee and shoved the third piece of quartz against the back
fence. One more. Rose bushes lined the west side of the property,
and thorns scraped against the back of her hand, blood welling dark
and fast, dripping onto the dirt. Her fingers shook, and the fourth
quartz tumbled free. She pushed the crystal a finger’s depth into
the earth.

A lock snicked. Terror shot through
her, and she scrambled along the rose bushes, calling on her
element to hide the desperate noise of her escape. A large, shadowy
figure emerged from the house next door and stared up at the sky.
She stopped, watching, cowering with thorns pressing into her back,
her breath caught in her chest.

His thick mane of hair
tumbled over broad shoulders. Under the house’s porch light, his
muscular chest tapered into a narrow waist, with a deep
v
of muscle that angled
down into loose-fitting pants.

Familiarity toyed with her frantic
mind. The way he held himself, the hand that scraped over his chin,
even his scent. Low tones of her element played a melody only she
could hear as she called the air to her. Who was he? One of
Bowman’s pack? He had to be.

Move
. The order sprang to her mind, and the red crystal around her
neck warmed. Katerina always protected her, even now, dead and
gone. Once again insulating her frantic movements with her element,
she reached the fence, climbed up and over, and ran for
home.

***

Liam O’Sullivan threw a credit card
down on the bar. “Jameson. Make it a double.”

The bartender, a tattooed, pierced
hipster wearing a fucking fedora of all things, nodded. “Coming
right up.”

Across the bar, someone was midway
through a strangled karaoke rendition of “Sea of No Cares,” one of
his favorite songs, when his thoughts turned dark. “Shite. Keep ‘em
coming.” In two swallows, the whiskey disappeared, and the slow
burn in his gut made the warbler’s abuse easier to stomach. If only
booze would quiet the constant memories and sadness that held his
heart in a vise. Eleven years. Eleven years of loneliness, pain,
and regret. That he’d received her letter three days after her
death hadn’t mattered. He’d forever associate this date with
her.

He thanked God when the song ended,
and he sipped the second drink. He’d learned well. If he pounded
too many doubles too quickly, most bartenders would cut him off
faster than he could say “another.” Liam could toss back at least
six drinks before he felt anything, courtesy of his werewolf blood,
but he’d taken the day off today and had been working on a near
constant buzz since just after breakfast. When Livie and Shawn had
returned to the pack house with his niece, Serena, Liam had left.
While they didn’t share blood, the members of the pack were as
close as family—closer. He never wanted little Serena to see him
like he was today: full of piss and not giving a fuck what happened
to him.

The second drink gone, he turned his
attention to the television over the bar. Two outs in the bottom of
the seventh and the Mariners were up three to one. Nodding to the
bartender, he tilted his glass. “Think Felix still has it this
year?”

“
Damn well better. We’ve
finally got a chance. You want another?” With a quick glance, the
bartender filled Liam’s glass again before shifting his gaze to the
television. “Best pitching in the world won’t do shit without run
support.” Before Liam could reply, the man shuffled off to tend to
a group of tipsy co-eds at the other end of the bar.

The mechanics of the game kept his
miserable thoughts at bay for a time until a breeze ruffled his
hair. The scent that haunted his dreams mixed with that of beer,
whiskey, and fries from a nearby table, and Liam slammed back his
drink, desperate to quell the memory.

“
I’d like a Makers.
Double—neat.” A quiet voice beside him held a musical lilt, and he
turned a bleary-eyed gaze to the woman sliding a hip onto the next
stool.

“
Put it on my tab, mate.”
Something about her called to him. The strained tenor of her tone,
the way her pale fingers twisted the bright pendant at her throat,
the raw need that twitched a muscle in her jaw. Golden chestnut
curls draped over narrow shoulders, and he blinked away the vision
of another woman, another time.

“
Thank you.” She withdrew
her wallet and passed her credit card to the bartender. “But I can
buy my own drinks.”

“
Suit yourself. What’s your
name?”

“
I’m not interested in
talking.” Desire danced in her eyes for a breath, and she cocked
her head, but then turned her gaze to the baseball game, now in the
bottom of the ninth.

“
Fine by me.” The bartender
slid both drinks along the bar, and Liam lifted his, tipping the
amber liquid towards her. “To not talking.”

She stifled a chuckle. “To
silence.”

“
Ya won’t find silence
here.” Liam gestured to the karaoke machine and the group of
college-aged girls huddled around the monstrosity. “If ya want
that, we should get out of here.” The challenge rasped from his
throat.

“
We? You’re full of
yourself, aren’t you?” The woman ran a hand through her curls,
stirring his memories once again. Shite. This dreaded day had
addled his mind—that or the alcohol.

“
Look, luv, I just wanted
to buy ya a drink. Because ya look like ya need to forget as much
as I do tonight. I didn’t mean to offend ya. Truce?”

“
Fine.”

“
I’m—”

The woman held up her hand. “No. No
names. We’re going to drink. That’s all. I’m not looking for
anything more.”

***

Two hours later, after another four
drinks for him and two for her, they stumbled out of the bar
arm-in-arm, laughing.

“
Your place or mine?” The
woman, who still hadn’t offered her name, fell against him with a
giggle and spread her fingers against his chest. “You’re
warm.”

“
I run hot,” he said,
dropping his head so he could take a deep whiff of her hair. He
never understood what women did to make themselves smell so damn
good. His keen senses, sharper than any human’s even when muddled
by alcohol, took all of her in—the freckles sprinkled over pale
cheeks, the steady heartbeat that raced when he leaned closer, the
scent of her soap—something blended with fig blossoms. Fuck. The
day and the drink were clearly getting to him if he thought a dead
woman had somehow found him here, in Seattle of all places, and on
this day of all days. A chuckle escaped him, rough and strained,
and the woman’s kohl-lined eyes danced with sparkles of light in
response.

For one night, he could pretend. Sex
had been her idea, after all, and though his imagination had
clearly sent rational thought fleeing for the hills, she’d soothe
his beast for a time. “Yours.”

She pulled back. “You’re not married,
are you?”

His eyes burned until he squeezed them
shut. “No.”

“
Then let’s go. I’m just
around the corner.” She tugged on his arm, sliding her fingers down
to link with his.

He glanced down at the
surprisingly intimate gesture. A whiff of coffee breezed over him,
and granules of sugar danced over her knuckles.
No
. A blink and they disappeared,
leaving only her small hand clutched in his and a dull ache in his
chest.

“
Luv, I’m going to kiss ya
now.” He stopped and cupped the back of her neck. His hands
tangling in her hair, he claimed her lips. She molded herself
against his length, and her tight nipples pressed against his
chest. He started with a quick taste, a nip along the corner of her
mouth, and then risked pressing her back to the brick wall of the
building. A gentle current of air stirred his locks, and the scent
of fig blossoms returned, stronger than ever.

“
More.” She hooked a leg
around his ass, drawing him closer to her. “I want you to fuck
me.”

“
Not here.” He needed her
alone and naked, quickly, before the memories overwhelmed him
again.

“
No.” She shoved him back,
far enough so she could meet his gaze. Something changed in her
expression, and her amethyst eyes reflected sadness, need, and
perhaps a bit of tenderness. Her gaze dropped to the bulge in his
jeans. “Can you manage like that?”

“
Bloody hell, yeah. Lead
the way.”

They rushed down an alley, turned
left, and then ducked into an old, run-down apartment complex. The
foyer smelled like Chinese food and stale fish, and empty beer cans
overflowed from bins in the corner, but at least the floor was
well-swept, the mailboxes neatly marked. She led him up the stairs
to the third floor, struggled to get her key in the lock, and
cursed viciously. “Fucking bourbon.”

The cool of the evening had helped
sober him, and he turned her key. “Inside. Now.”

“
Bedroom’s to the right.
Get naked.” He chuckled and stripped off his leather jacket on the
way, followed by his sweater. Shoes, jeans, and briefs joined them
on the floor, and he flopped down on her bed, giving his cock a
stroke while watching her stalk towards him.

“
Top drawer,” she said, and
her throaty voice sent a chill down his spine.

“
Not yet, luv. We’ve a long
way to go before that.”

“
I’m drunk and
horny.”

“
Exactly. So ya need to
come. But ye’re wearing too many clothes. So why don’t ya remedy
that, and I’ll take care of ya.”

She unbuttoned her blouse, revealing
lace-clad breasts that would fit perfectly in his hands. At least,
he thought so. If she’d come closer, he’d know for sure. “That’s a
start.”