Last Wolf Standing (19 page)

She’d already made the bed earlier, so she crawled on top of the covers and laid her head against the pillows, recalling how she’d felt waking up that morning—a strange mixture of shock, worry and lingering pleasure that continued to pulse sweetly through her veins. God, the force of her reaction to him had been overwhelming, sweeping her away with a strength that was more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced.

If she were to make love with him, that would be it. Her heart would be lost for good.

Closing her eyes, Torrance snuggled her head into the pillow, knowing that if she was smart, she wouldn’t let this thing between them go any further than it already had. If she wanted to keep her heart in one piece, she had to take a step back—but even as she drifted into slumber, she knew it wasn’t going to be easy. None of the things that should have mattered seemed to make a difference where Mason Dillinger was concerned. Not the fact that he was a werewolf or how he felt about love and the chaos he’d caused in her life.

Despite all of it—all the logical reasons for keeping her distance—she couldn’t deny that she still wanted him.

He shouldn’t have touched her.

That was the painful truth pounding its way through his brain as Mason sat behind his desk, staring out his office window at the early-morning breeze blowing through the trees, scattering their leaves. The fragile bits of color performed a wild, glittering dance of chaos as they spiraled through the air, flashes of amber and rust and burnished gold, before settling softly to the forest floor. He’d always found a soothing, calming comfort in their flight, but all he could think of today was Torrance.

Last night, for the first time in his life, he’d watched a woman sleep. Watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed—her features sleep soft and innocent. And it was a good thing she’d fallen asleep after shattering apart in his arms, because his beast had been just beneath the surface, prowling within the confines of his body, eager to claim its mate. Only, it wasn’t just sex that it wanted. Even now, his gums burned as his fangs struggled to break free, eager to make the blood bond that would intertwine their lives together until one couldn’t live without the other.

Touching her, feeling her pleasure rushing through her with the primal intensity of a summer storm, had been the most satisfying moment of his life—despite the painful fact that he still ached for his own release. Before it happened again, he obviously needed to set some ground rules for himself. Mating with her was one thing, but there wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let himself become some miserable jackass who couldn’t breathe without his woman by his side. No matter how badly he wanted it, he was not making that bond with her.

And he refused to listen to the little voice in his head that continued to jeer at him, setting him on edge.

You’re just afraid that she’ll refuse you, Dillinger. Afraid that she’ll run if she knows what you really want from her. Afraid of making yourself vulnerable…weak. Afraid of losing her forever—of ending up like your brother.

Christ, he didn’t have time for this! He needed to keep his focus. Needed to keep his mind on the hunt for Simmons—and not the woman he’d left behind in his bed. And then maybe, once the threat to her life was removed, this driving urge to make a bond would recede. At least, he hoped it would. He just had to catch the bastard.

At the thought of the rogue, Mason’s hands clenched atop the padded leather armrests of his chair, the tips of his fingers burning as his claws pricked beneath the thin barrier of his skin. Simmons had learned how to dayshift, and his followers had learned, as well. Mason kept trying to get his head around it, but every thought led to a new bend in the road, a fresh twist that only led to more questions. How? Why? What was the purpose? Did the strange scent on Simmons connect him to the killings that Brody and Cian were investigating? And why the hell couldn’t they track the sharp, acrid aroma?

Something bad was coming. Something ugly. He knew it, deep down in his gut. And he’d trusted that feeling enough times to have faith in his instincts when it came to Bloodrunning.

When it came to Torrance…he was still at a loss.

Damn, he thought, dropping his head back against the soft, supple leather of his desk chair, staring up at the ceiling, the blank nothingness of the sandstone-colored plaster blurring before his dry eyes. His head spun with nothing but a never-ending feed of chaos, looping over and over and over.

A knock rattled the door, jerking him from his troubled thoughts, and Mason swiveled around in his chair to find Jeremy sticking his tawny head into the room. “Kid’s awake. His name is Elliot Connors, he’ll be eighteen next month, and he’s Silvercrest. That’s all he’s spilled. He’s pretty quiet, but I’d like to go ahead and see what we can get out of him.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Mason answered, leaning over to shut down his laptop.

From the doorway, Jeremy asked, “Did you get ahold of Dylan?”

Mason shook his head. “I tried, but no luck.”

Dylan Riggs was the youngest member of the League of Elders and one of the few pack members Mason considered a friend. With his warm brown eyes and kind smile, many had thought the Lycan too soft to serve in a leadership role after the passing of his father, until he’d proven them wrong by defeating a string of challengers. Beneath his boyish exterior lived a hard warrior willing to fight for what he believed in. He’d been an ally, as well as a friend to the Bloodrunners from the beginning—fighting for their cause when older members thought they could use the young half-breeds as little more than guard dogs for the pure-blooded members of the pack.

Dylan had spent the past few weeks visiting his younger sister in a remote part of Alaska. She’d moved up the year before as part of some existentialist movement—which meant no telephone. There wasn’t even a cell phone tower within a hundred miles of the camp where she lived. Dylan was expected home anyday now, so Mason had given his cell a try—but there was still no answer. He hoped the Elder made it back soon, because he could use his insight, as well as Dylan’s close connection to the pack. Simmons’s ability to dayshift was worrying enough, but the fact that his followers possessed the ability, as well, struck a chord of terror deep in his gut.

Something was coming all right. And it wasn’t good.

“Come on,” he rasped, moving past Jeremy and into the hall, “let’s see what Elliot Connors has to say.”

Minutes later, Mason sat on the edge of the downstairs sofa, his hands clasped loosely between his thighs, while Jeremy stood with his back against the wall, the teenager huddled on one of the beds, his left wrist handcuffed to the heavy wooden headboard. Being a Lycan, he could have smashed the sturdy bed to pieces if he’d wanted, but not without making enough noise to wake the dead.

“You’re Dillinger,” the teenager stated in a flat, hard voice, his dark eyes cutting between him and Jeremy, as if he were waiting for one of them to attack. “I’ve heard about both of you. You’re like legends. They say you keep Bloodrunning because you like to kill.”

“If someone deserves to die, we have no problem taking them down,” Mason answered honestly, scenting the fear on the boy; a cold, cruel sweat that covered the teenager’s skin. “But we’re not here to kill you, Elliot. We do need you to talk to us, though. Answer some questions.”

Elliot’s dark gaze grew cautious, narrow with suspicion. “What do you wanna know?”

“We need to know about Simmons. Anything you can tell us about him.”

“Don’t you already know everything?” he hedged.

“The dayshifting, Elliot.” Jeremy’s voice came hard with impatience, and the teenager seemed to curl in on himself. Worry and fear were too evident in the tight lines of his expression, making him look older…run-down.

“What about it?”

“We need to know how you learned to dayshift. How Simmons learned it. And why it’s screwing with our ability to track him by scent.”

The teen shook his head from side to side, mouth grim with something that looked surprisingly like guilt—an uncommon emotion for a rogue Lycan. “I don’t know,” the boy mumbled, staring at his lap.

“Elliot, if you don’t work with us, we can’t…”

His head jerked up, face ruddy with color. “I don’t remember. I don’t want to remember! It was a freaking nightmare and I don’t even wanna think about it!”

There was something here. Something that ran deeper than meat lust and evil. “You seem like a decent kid, Elliot. Why get mixed up with these assholes?”

The teenager’s ragged breathing filled the room, harsh and gasping, as if he’d run uphill. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“We always have a choice,” Jeremy countered.

“Whatever,” Elliot muttered, his lip curling with attitude. “You gonna kill me now or what?”

“For whatever reason, you saved his mate’s life,” Jeremy told him, his tone dry, “so no, he’s not going to kill you.”

The boy eyed Jeremy with a bleak, distrustful stare. “What about you?”

“You’re safe here,” Mason assured him. “Neither one of us wants you dead, but we’re going to need your help. You have to cooperate.”

“I get it,” he snorted. “You’re gonna squeeze me for information or else. Right?”

The kid’s animosity was blatant, in your face, but Mason couldn’t blame him. He remembered exactly how it felt to be Elliot’s age. Alone, full of anger, trying to find your place in the world. The teenager was a pure-blood, full pack—with all its rights and privileges. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have his own set of issues. Learning to deal with the animal half of your nature was difficult under the best of circumstances—traumatic at the worst.

Something told him that Elliot Connors had a good core, but had gone off course somewhere along the way. But until he knew for sure, he was keeping him under lock and key, not taking any chances.

And there was one thing more he still needed to know. “Have you gone over, Elliot?”

Dark eyes slid away, the kid’s rangy body shifting nervously on the bed. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Have you fed? Taken down a human?”

Like a fragile flame snuffed out, the teenager’s belligerent expression closed in on itself, leaving nothing but smoke in its wake. “I’m done talking,” he muttered, barely moving his mouth. “You wanna torture me, go ahead. Otherwise, just leave me the hell alone.”

Mason stood as he looked toward Jeremy, who gave a short nod of his head, both of them realizing that they’d gotten all they were going to get out of the boy for the moment. There were times when it was best to leave someone alone with their demons, and this was one of them. Elliot Connors was going to wear himself down faster than either of them could—without getting physical, which Mason wanted to avoid.

“If you’ll give us your word not to cause trouble,” Jeremy said, “we’ll go ahead and take off the restraint.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Elliot snorted, and Jeremy walked to the bed, taking a key from his pocket to undo the handcuff. Mason followed behind his partner as Jeremy headed up the stairs, but turned back on the second step, one hand on the rail. “Just one more question.”

Elliot met his gaze, then shifted his angry stare to the wrinkled sheets on the bed. “Yeah?”

“Why did you save her life?”

He watched as Elliot swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, while his eyes squeezed shut. “I didn’t know they were going after a girl,” he said gruffly, opening his eyes to stare at his lap. His hands shook, and he fisted them, squeezing so tight that his knuckles turned white. “When I saw that creep Duff attack her—I didn’t have any choice.”

“You had a choice, Elliot. You could have let the bastard have her, but you didn’t. And that’s why I’m going to let you live,” he told him, then headed up the stairs after Jeremy.

“I’m going to see if there’s a game on and kick back for a while,” his partner said, sounding worn-out, his face tight with strain as he made sure to lock the basement door. “God knows I need it after yesterday.”

Feeling awkward, Mason forced himself to say, “I haven’t told you thanks for sticking around here and keeping an eye on him.”

A slow grin kicked up the corner of Jeremy’s mouth. “No problem, man. I know you’d do the same for me. And we can’t have you bunking with the boy wonder downstairs, when you’ve got a hot-blooded woman in your bed up here.”

A short bark of laughter jerked from his throat, and he eyed the bite marks on Jeremy’s neck, knowing the pain must have kept him awake for most of the night. “You sure you don’t want to have Jillian take a look at you?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” his partner snorted, shaking his head. “Damn woman would probably get a kick outta torturing me. I’d just as soon save myself the pain.”

Mason wanted to argue, but knew it was pointless. “I’m gonna check and see if Torrance is up yet, then take another look at my e-mail, see if anything new came up. I sent out some feelers to a few out-of-state Runners to see if they’ve ever heard of a Lycan being able to mask his scent the way Simmons did. Maybe someone will know something we don’t.”

Jeremy nodded, his expression thoughtful. “When Carter and Hennessey get here, we should try to come up with some kind of plan.”

Looking at the locked door, Mason blew out a deep breath. “Maybe we’ll be able to get some more out of Connors by then.”