Last Wolf Standing (15 page)

“Ohmygod, I think he’s still alive,” she gasped in a hoarse rush, moving closer to the long, lean body that lay curled on its side, the chest moving slowly in and out. “He’s still breathing!”

“What do we do with him, Mase?” Jeremy muttered under his breath.

“Hell if I know. We don’t—”

“You can’t do anything but take him back and make sure he’s okay,” his little redheaded hellion announced with firm conviction, dropping to her knees beside the young Lycan’s body and checking his pulse. Her other hand lifted, brushing the thick chestnut locks back from a face that looked too innocent to belong to a killer—but Mason knew better than to take things at face value.

“Get the hell away from him, Torrance.”

She cut a sharp look up at him, slim brows pulled together in a frown. “He’s just a kid, Mason.”

“He’s also a killer,” he barked, ready to reach out and pull her away. “And a monster, remember? One of the things you hate.”

Anger washed over her features in a warm wave of crimson heat. “Hating and fearing are two different things. And he’s not a killer,” she argued, refusing to back down. “He saved me, and you’re going to help him.”

Mason snorted a harsh sound of disgust. “Says who?”

“Says me.”

He arched both brows high on his forehead, wondering how a woman could be so full of contradictions. She was fascinating, obviously—but Mason had a grim feeling she’d spend the rest of her life keeping him on his toes, if not running him through the emotional wringer. “And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll help him on my own,” she vowed, crossing her arms over her chest as she glared back at him.

“I knew it,” he rasped, planting his hands on his hips and shooting her a baleful glare through narrowed eyes. “I damn well knew you were going to be trouble. The second I caught your scent in that damn café, I knew you’d end up complicating everything!”

“Me?” she gasped in outrage, surging to her feet so that she could poke him in the chest with one pointed finger. “You insufferable jerk! Since meeting you, I’ve been attacked twice, had my apartment trashed, my workplace vandalized, my friends terrorized and been forced to put up with your mercurial mood swings.”

Jeremy made a rough, choking noise at her back, as Mason’s irritation escalated. “I do not have mood swings.”

Torrance snorted. “Hah! Tell that to anyone who knows you!”

“She’s got a point, Mase,” the blond drawled.

“You want me to leave you out here to bleed to death?” he snarled, glowering at his grinning partner.

“Don’t listen to him, Jeremy. He’s just…cranky.”

“Oh, damn,” Jeremy snickered, the low laughter quickly turning into a groaning sound of pain as he clutched at his side. “Stop making me laugh, woman! I’m in shreds over here.”

“Will you both just shut up?” he muttered, and then, in a softer tone, he stared down at her and said, “You know, you’re awfully lippy for someone who’s supposed to be afraid of me, Tor.”

Her mouth compressed into a hard line as she continued to glare at him. “I’m too irritated to worry about being afraid right now.”

He wanted to say more, but his cell phone began buzzing on his hip. “Dillinger,” he clipped out, after flipping open the phone.

“Hello, Mason.” The connection was crap, crackling and weak, but he knew it was Simmons. “Did your little honey girl enjoy her mountain welcoming party?”

“Yeah, it was a blast,” he drawled, mouthing the bastard’s name to Jeremy and Torrance, who were both watching him closely.

“I just wanted to make sure she knew what she was getting into with you. And, of course, it’s fun putting you in my place. How’s it feel to be the hunted one?”

“You can only hunt something that runs, Simmons. You want me, you know where to find me. Unlike you, I’m not chickenshit enough to hide like a coward.”

“Ah-ah-ah,” Simmons scolded. “Make me angry, and I’ll do more than just kill your little redheaded plaything the next time I get my hands on her. I’ll give her a taste of what a real man is like. Then eat her while she’s still warm from coming.”

His fingers tightened to the point that the phone made a metallic groaning kind of noise, grinding and sharp, but he forced himself to remain calm. “I’m afraid we’ve thinned out the numbers of your new little psycho party of assholes. Looks like you’ve been a busy boy lately, Simmons. What’s the problem? Can’t find a woman who will put out for a useless piece of dick like yourself, so you’ve decided to play gang leader?”

Despite the poor connection, he could easily hear the harsh blast of Simmons’s angry panting. “My followers embrace the truth, Dillinger.”

“And what’s that?” he drawled, keeping his tone cocky. “The fact you’re a pathetic bastard who tries to make himself feel like a man by preying on those weaker than himself? Yeah, you’re some hero,” he snorted.

“That we should become what we were destined to be,” the rogue snarled, the words tremoring with his rage.

“Monsters?” he laughed, purposefully goading him.

“Gods!” Simmons roared, and there was no mistaking the madness in his maniacal tone. “The deliverers of death.”

“We’re men, you ignorant jackass. The only one with a God complex is you, and you’re screwed in the head.”

“We are the beasts,” Simmons countered in a calmer tone, obviously striving for control. “The kings. And they are nothing more than a petty food supply. Human nature is weak, Dillinger. How long did you think it would hold us back from realizing our true nature? From what we crave?”

“We’ll see how kingly you feel when you’re tracked down like the dog you’ve become,” Mason promised in a quiet rasp. “And in case you’re too thick to fully understand what I’m saying, I’ll spell it out for you. I’m coming for you, Simmons, and when I get you, you’re dead.”

“You may have taken down my foot soldiers, but not even you and Burns together managed to kill me, Dillinger. I’m not afraid of you.”

Mason smiled, the hard curve of his mouth almost cruel. His hatred for the rogue was strong enough that he could feel its ugly presence weighing heavily in his gut; the kind of hate that could poison your soul. “Then that’s your second mistake.”

Simmons chuckled softly. “Oh, yeah? And what’s my first?”

“Daring to touch my woman.”

With those parting words, he disconnected the call.

Chapter 7

A fter the bodies had been hidden in the woods, where Mason explained a second set of Runners would later deal with the remains, he used a heavy chain and the Tahoe’s powerful engine to drag the fallen trees off to the side of the road. Then they’d loaded the unconscious Lycan into the backseat with Jeremy, and Torrance had ridden up front with Mason while he drove the rest of the way up the mountain. It didn’t take them long to reach what he called Bloodrunner Alley, where he and the other Runners lived. Mason had described the Alley as a secluded, slightly sloping glade, surrounded by the wild, natural beauty of the forest, housing only the Runners’ individual residences, since they lived separately from the Silvercrest. There were ten cabins in all, though not all of them were currently being used. And despite the fact they had to go into human civilization to stock up on goods (refusing to buy them from the pack), they had all the modern amenities, from power to hot water and high-speed Internet access, just like the Silvercres’ town of Shadow Peak, built higher up the mountain.

According to Mason, to an unsuspecting human eye, Shadow Peak looked like any other small mountain community. Only the inhabitants knew the truth about the locals, and they seldom encountered unwanted visitors. Still, as a precaution, there were scouts posted for the town throughout the forest, to alert them to any humans who came near, traveling the mountain roads. When she’d asked if the Alley had scouts, as well, he’d said no, explaining that they were so well hidden, they didn’t need them.

He’d also explained that both the Alley and the town itself were built on private land that had belonged to the eldest pack families for centuries, with access only by private roads that were clearly marked. And even when they left the mountains, the Lycans and Bloodrunners blended well into the human world, complete with driver’s licenses and Social Security numbers. Even their genetic makeup cloaked their true identities, as there was nothing in their DNA to alert the medical world of their species. The only real threat to their existence came from the rogue wolves, who threw the laws which kept the Lycan world safe by the wayside in order to satisfy their baser hungers.

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Torrance had hoped for a clear view of the Alley, but by the time they arrived, the sun had long since dropped behind the treetops. All she could make out was the outline of several large, rustic-looking cabins.

They parked in front of the nearest one, and while Mason carried the teenager downstairs, Torrance took the opportunity to look around the spacious, high-ceilinged room.

The inside of the rustic dwelling fit its owner to perfection. Rugged and intensely beautiful, with a masculine flavor that sported two sturdy leather sofas situated before a rock-walled fireplace, and handwoven rugs in deep shades of burgundy and gray scattered over the deep, luminous gleam of hardwood floors so dark, they looked black. Recessed lighting cast a low, golden glow over the warm interior, an invitation to snuggle up on one of the deep sofas before a roaring fire and enjoy the soothing atmosphere. A faint scent of cedar and wood polish hung on the air, combined with the earthier scents of the forest beyond the wide windows.

The cabin spoke of both taste and necessity, rugged and natural like the surrounding woods, but with a rich, masculine edge to it, invoking a comfortable state of luxury.

Bloodrunning was apparently more lucrative than she would have thought. Torrance grimaced a little on the inside at the knowledge that Mason Dillinger had both looks and money—which seemed to set an even greater divide between them. Even if things somehow worked out between them, she knew that trying to keep him would be like trying to lasso the moon or reach up and touch the shimmering sparkle of a star. Unattainable, always hovering beyond your reach—and yet something you couldn’t keep yourself from wanting.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured when she heard the men coming back into the room, their heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor. She ran her fingertips over the rich brown leather of the nearest sofa, enjoying its buttery-soft texture.

“Would you like me to make you something to eat, or grab you a drink?” Mason asked, his deep voice raspy, roughened around the edges, and she could feel the heat of his body at her back. “The tour can wait until tomorrow.”

“Wow, be still my heart,” Jeremy laughed, and Torrance looked sideways to see the battered blond leaning back against the wall beside an open door, a stairway lying within the shadowed recess. “An offer of both food and drink before you whisk her away. You really know how to lay it on, Mase. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this charming before, bro.”

“This is his charming act?” she gasped, trying to pull off an expression of shocked surprise.

Jeremy winked at her, earning a low, rumbling growl from the man still standing just behind her. “It’s sad, I know, but for Mason, damn. Usually he just grunts at a woman and she’ll follow after him like an adoring puppy.”

“Just what I wanted to know,” she drawled, her voice dry.

He lifted his broad shoulders in an unrepentant shrug, hazel eyes shining with laughter. “Like I said, he wasn’t exactly Prince Charming before meeting you. I gotta admit that it’s refreshing to see the new Mason. Though I’m sure his sense of humor is still warped as hell.”

“And yours isn’t?” Mason muttered with a sharp snort of disgust.

“Naw.” Jeremy grinned, waggling his brows at Torrance. “I’m an angel in disguise. All pleasure…and no bite. Unless, of course, a woman wants me to bite her.”

A hard, heavily muscled arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against the intense heat and strength of Mason’s body. Torrance automatically stiffened at the contact, but he didn’t release her. He just held her there, trapped at his front, with his body warm and solid against her back. “Stop flirting with her, you idiot.”

Jeremy whistled softly under his breath, eyeing the arm banding her middle with a speculative gleam in those smoky hazel eyes. “I forgot to add possessive to that stellar list of personality traits he’s acquiring.”

Torrance looked over her shoulder to see Mason send his teasing partner a sharp look of warning. “Now that I think about it, Burns, maybe I should give our little Jillian a call. Your neck looks pretty bad.”

“Who’s Jillian?” she asked.

“The pack’s Spirit Walker,” Mason replied in a lazy drawl. “She’s a holy woman of sorts, and their healer.”

And something more, she’d be willing to bet, based on the closed look that crept over Jeremy’s golden face at the mere mention of the woman’s name, leaving his once-laughing countenance hard and shadowed.

“I’ll live,” the blond grated under his breath.

“You sure about that?”

Ignoring the taunting question, Jeremy moved away from the wall. “I’m heading down to bunk with the boy wonder,” he muttered, before his teeth flashed in a teasing smile. “You two little lovebirds have fun.” He pulled the door shut behind him, whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like The Love Boat’s theme song.