Awakened by the Wolf (17 page)

Chapter 26

“B
rice Walker!” Mabel Whitcomb's loud Southern twang silenced the commotion inside her diner. Seventyish, robust, dolled up in an unnatural red-colored beehive hairdo and sky-blue eye shadow, Mabel took her time rounding the counter. Arms open, she flapped her fingers in a come-here-and-give-me-a-hug signal. So he did, squeezing her until she squealed like a schoolgirl.

“Lordy, it's been a dinosaur's age since I last saw you. So sorry about your granny. Sweet lady. God bless her soul.”

“Thank you, Mabel.” Brice marveled that she looked the same as when he and Rafe used to sit at the counter scarfing cheeseburgers and slurping strawberry milkshakes after school.

“Gracious.” She fanned herself with a menu. “Why, if I was forty years younger.”

Her gaze trolled past Brice's shoulder and snagged on the elderly gentlemen behind him.

“My, my.” She pushed Brice aside. “Who are your handsome friends?”

“Seriously?” Brice lifted his hands, palms up. “I just got here and you're dumping me?”

Mabel pinched his cheek. “You're too young, sug. But your friends...aren't you gonna introduce us?”

“Mabel Whitcomb, this is Philip Bartolomew and Michael Krussen.”

Both councilmen gushed extolments of her beauty and the praises they'd heard about her fine establishment.

Worn carpet, '80s-style decor and a menu fit for a greasy spoon, no one in their right mind would mistake Mabel's Diner for a five-star restaurant. Still, Mabel beamed, and Brice appreciated the older men's graciousness.

“What can I get you gents to eat?” she asked, seating them in a booth.

“The adorable young lady who checked us into the resort said you had the best open-faced roast beef sandwich platters in the area.” Philip flashed a pearly smile at Mabel, but his gaze drifted to Brice.

“Well, she didn't lie, hon. Some say it's the best in the state.” Mabel touched her hair, grinning broader than a debutante at her coming-out party. “But I'm not one to brag.”

“Ah, my dear, it isn't bragging if it's true.” Philip leaned back in his seat. “One platter for me and a glass of iced tea, please.”

“I'll have the same.” Michael winked.

“What about you, sug?” Mabel asked Brice.

“A glass of water,” he answered, not trusting his stomach.

“Let the gals know if you change your mind.” Mabel moseyed to the kitchen.

“We saw you across the street with Miss Albright when we arrived.” The calculated interest in Philip's eyes undermined his conversational tone.

“How long have you known her?” Michael asked.

“We met Saturday night.” No need to confess that an innocent encounter five years ago had sparked a mate-bond. “Is your interest idle curiosity or something else?”

“The question is, Brice, what is your interest?” Michael's expression gave no hint as to what he expected to hear.

A waitress dispensed their drinks and scurried to the next table.

“I promised my grandmother that I would take care of Cassie.” Brice dropped his wadded straw paper next to the silverware wrapper Philip had placed at the edge of the table. “Not that it should concern the council.”

“Your affinity for Miss Albright does concern us. A great deal.” Philip folded his paper napkin over his lap. “The Woelfesenat appointed you to an apprenticeship.”

“I haven't accepted yet.” A week ago, the opportunity had been a sweet song of redemption. Today it sounded more like a screeching bagpipe.

“The offer is unprecedented, Brice.” Michael squeezed a lemon into his tea glass. “A unanimous vote. You've impressed everyone on the council.”

“The assignments they asked me to handle were sticky, but not complicated. Any experienced negotiator would've had the same outcomes.”

“It is your method that intrigues the council.” Philip rested his arms comfortably on the table. “Particularly with the Maldean incident. In the past, we eliminated anyone unfortunate enough to discover what we are and threaten exposure. You resolved the situation without violence.”

“How, exactly, did you convince that reporter not to release the footage of Congressman Maldean's nephew turning Wahyarian?” Michael asked.

“Negotiation with a side of intimidation.” Working for a legal powerhouse provided immeasurable leverage. “He thought a
werewolf
tape would get him noticed by the networks, so I hit him hard with the unbelievable factor and convinced him that a public release of the questionable video would damage his credibility and ruin his chances of ever landing a job with any reputable news agency. Eventually he understood the ramifications and surrendered all the evidence. In turn, I arranged a job interview at WNN.”

“Did he get the position?” Michael asked.

“When a partner in Adam Foster's law firm asks for a favor, not even a news conglomerate will say no.” Although Brice never abused his uncle's influence, he was grateful for its far-reaching scope. Only time would tell if they would continue their work relationship.

The waitress plunked two lunch platters on the table. “If you need anything else, just holler,” she said before rushing back to the kitchen.

Eyes closed, Michael inhaled the scent of his food and sighed. “Our secret is safe and the human lives. You're very resourceful, Brice.”

“Which is why the council wants you.” Philip cut into his open-faced roast beef sandwich, lifted the bite to his nose for a sniff and popped it into his mouth. A satisfied smile curved his lips as he swallowed. “Times have changed. The council wants to change, too.”

“Will those changes allow council members to claim mates and have families?” Brice downed his water in two gulps.

“Never.” Michael put down his silverware and fisted his hands on the table. “The Rule of Unattachment ensures the Woelfesenat remains impartial and uncompromised.”

“I know it seems harsh, but the council can't risk divided loyalties.” Philip's white brows knitted together. “Have you changed your mind about bachelorhood?”

“I've always wanted a family. After I lost my scenting abilities, I didn't believe I would find a mate.”

“And now you have?” Philip's black eyes softened.

Brice nodded.

“Don't be foolish,” Michael snapped. “The Woelfesenat has gift-wrapped a council seat for you. Some wolfans would kill for this honor.”

Brice leveled his gaze. “I'm not killing anyone.”

“No one expects you to.” Philip frowned at Michael. “There is, however, another matter that needs our attention.”

“Our attention?” Brice stretched his right leg, careful not to extend it too far into the aisle.

“A pack of insurgents are terrorizing a remote area of Romania. The council wants them handled before the situation gains unwanted global attention.” Michael wiped his chin and squinted at Brice. “You will assist Philip with the negotiations.”

“My grandmother's memorial is Saturday. Find someone else.” Brice tipped his glass to his lips and caught an ice cube between his teeth.

“There is no one else. Keep a bag packed. You may need to leave at a moment's notice. And if you refuse—” Michael's gray eyes turned arctic “—know that although the council wants to change its ways, some things inevitably remain the same.”

Brice's gut fisted. The force of the reaction ricocheted up his esophagus, and he choked on the tiny ice chips he had just swallowed.

“That wasn't necessary.” Philip glared at Michael. “If the situation deteriorates, I'll travel ahead. Brice can join me later.”

Brice stopped coughing, and a deathly chill invaded his blood. “I'll do whatever I can to help Philip after the memorial, but threaten me again, Michael, and Romania will be the least of your worries.”

* * *

“Jeez!” Cassie slapped her chest. “How long have you been standing there?”

“A couple of minutes.” Mouth stretched in a lopsided grin, Brice reminded her of a mischievous imp. A mischievous, six-foot-four imp whose stormy eyes and tousled hair would've made her heart race even if she wasn't tachycardic from dancing and the fright of getting caught.

Clutching the broom, her makeshift dance partner, Cassie hurried across the living room to turn off the small radio on the entertainment center.

“Practicing the moves I taught you last night?” The seductive amusement in Brice's voice caused her thready pulse to gallop.

“No.” Cassie fanned her face. “Exercising.”

In two strides, Brice stood beside her, reached around her shoulder and readjusted the radio dial. A soft ballad replaced the country rock tempo she'd turned off.

“You need to cool down your body or your muscles will cramp.”

Before she could protest, Brice tossed aside the broom and spun Cassie into his arms. She felt much too comfortable with the proximity, yet she had no willpower to break away.

The hypnotic melody charmed her body to follow his lead in a slow, erotic sway.

Wispy romantic thoughts cluttered her mind. Useless thoughts that had no place in her head. But there they were, drifting along, serene and nonimposing. Like the iceberg that sank the Titanic.

All afternoon, Cassie had lectured herself against the dangers of getting too cozy with Brice. He was the piper. She was the hypnotized mouse. Following him down this path would ruin everything she worked so hard to achieve.

If she had listened to her own good advice, they wouldn't be slow-dancing right now, and she wouldn't be thumbing her nose at the future. Nothing good would come from moving beyond the friendship stage. Despite Brice's ridiculous revelation that she was his mate, Cassie knew better than to believe in fairy tales.

He hooked his thumb beneath her chin. Hypnotically, Cassie rose on her toes as he leaned down. The instant their mouths touched, she forgot why kissing him was a bad idea. The possessive way he held her, wrapped in a protective bubble of suspended time and space, made her want to believe in the strange connection he claimed existed.

In a few short days, she'd not only grown accustomed to his company but also craved his nearness, and his touch. Her defenses refused even a pretense of raising a shield to protect her from the fallout.

Vaguely aware of Brice walking her backward as they kissed, Cassie offered no protest when he nudged down on the couch. His hands roamed her body, his mouth skimmed her throat and his teeth scraped against her tender earlobe.

A waterfall of sensations cascaded through her senses. Dizzying. Daring. Devastating.

She scrunched her fingers in his hair. Pulled him closer. Claimed his lips in an urgent, sweeping kiss.

Brice cupped her bottom, pressing her pelvis against his erection. She scraped her fingernails down the back of his shirt, scaling lower and lower until her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans.

The barest movement of their compressed bodies pulsed a sexual fever through her veins. On fire, she squirmed. His hand slid beneath her shirt, glided up her abdomen and cupped her small breasts. He flicked her nipples, and fiery ribbons of desire streaked her core causing her to wiggle her hips.

Brice groaned, deep, primal, possessive, making her sex wetter. He tugged and angled her beneath him. Although they were fully clothed, the exquisite friction of his palm grinding against her mound caused her sex to clench with need and expectation.

How in high heaven did she keep getting herself in this situation? The madness had to stop before she lost herself completely.

His fingers slipped inside her panties and his mouth swallowed her protest. She bucked at the sensation of his fingers sliding along her folds in a maddeningly steady rhythm until her entire body was primed.

Brice's lips brushed her ear. “Come for me, Cas.”

She didn't need his permission, but the sexy desperation in his gravelly voice broke the last string in her restraint. She exploded as a deluge of mind-numbing sensations pounded her being. She tasted Brice's kisses on her tongue, smelled his scent in the air, heard the erratic race of his heart slow to a leisurely canter and sensed his presence all around her, buoying her through the rapids.

An eternity of bliss marked the minutes it took for her senses to return to reality.

Her brain was ready and waiting.

What have I done?

She shoved away from Brice. “No, no, no, no!” Panic shrilled her voice. “I shouldn't have let this happen. I don't know what came over me.” Her statement wasn't entirely true. What came over her was an incomprehensible lack of judgment induced by an undeniable and totally irresponsible affection for Brice.

“Easy, Cas.” Brice caught her arm. “We did nothing wrong.”

Wrong, no.

Catastrophic? Yes.

“We cannot do this again.”

Brice was the type of man with whom she could fall helplessly in love. Any intimacy with him opened up vulnerabilities she was too weak to defend. She wasn't prepared to contend with his rejection, wasn't strong enough to survive when it inevitably occurred.

“Never. Ever. Understand?” She disentangled from his hold to the sounds of muttered curses. Running might trigger his animal instinct for chase, so she walked away. Each purposeful step anchored her to her course—the kitchen. A much better choice than the bedroom in case Brice attempted to seduce her again. The kitchen had a lot more artillery, including iron skillets.

Cassie peeked through the oven glass. The tarts were perfectly golden. She pulled them out and placed them on the cooling rack, then began wiping down the counters, pretending what happened between them was no big deal. Too bad it was truly momentous.

Brice was the first man she'd kissed, the first man to touch her intimately and the first man to bring her an orgasm not achieved by her own hand.
Damn him!

A few years into the future, she would be willing and ready to venture down the path of mutual sexual gratification. Now was too soon. She still had too much to lose.