Rogue Wolf (12 page)

“Good. I heated food. Eat it.”

“We don’t—”

He pressed two fingers to her lips before she could roll out her full argument. “Yes, I wish to rush as well, but you need to eat. You did not finish your meal last night. Your clothing is in the dryer, and I need my bag. So we will take ten minutes to gather our things, at least another ten to eat food. Then we may go.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“If you truly disagree with my assessment, say so.” After stroking her lower lip, he removed his hand and Margo sighed.

“No, we should take the time to get our things.” The utter dislike of capitulating in her expression eased the fist of worry in his gut. She didn’t have to care for agreeing with him so long as she took care of herself.

“Excellent. Eat.” He withdrew the plate from the microwave then set it on the counter in front of her. Trusting her to follow the wisdom in the sentiment, he retrieved his case from the room he hadn’t used except to change out of his torn shirt the night before. Taking five minutes to shower, he concentrated on his temper. Control was his ability and gift. Alphas did not have the luxury of temper tantrums or explosive displays unless they were prepared to add to the body count.

On every level, Margo had challenged him. At home, he’d have been forced to accept her challenge to maintain face before his pack. No one spoke to him as she did unless they intended to either depose him or die in the attempt. Shaving took more time than necessary, but he wanted Margo to eat. The hot water also helped clear the cobwebs from his thoughts.

Since Giuseppe informed him of Luciana’s actual marriage—it was valid—he had to consider what hold on her the rogue had. Like Salvatore, she’d been raised in the heart of the Seven Hills pack. Their father had been the Alpha’s Prime Centurion—a powerful wolf. Between the two, they’d led the pack through some of its most turbulent times. When they died—felled to a bombing along with so many others, Seven Hills could have scattered or been picked over by rival packs.

Salvatore refused. He’d kept the packs together and defeated all interlopers including the damned British. After finishing his shave, he washed his face before hanging up the towels and making the bathroom neat. In his room, he studied his clothing choices. He had two more suits with him, a pair of jeans and a couple of t-shirts. Based on his observations, he’d blend in more with the jeans and plain white t-shirts.

He and Luciana had been raised under the same rules, the same structure—their mother was a devout Catholic, their father not so much. Similar descriptions could apply to his pack, some were quite religious and others not. Faith was a personal decision and Salvatore never changed the edict. Luciana hadn’t been as religious as their mother, but she’d often accompanied her to mass.

Marriage.

Taken from her pack or fled from her pack?

He fit the rest of his belongings back into the case, taking care with the suits. Margo had said they had another problem. If Luciana was pregnant…that would definitely be a problem.

Bag in hand, he checked Margo’s room. Both of her duffels were gone though the scent of her lingered. Downstairs he found her empty plate and cup in the kitchen—she’d eaten the food, and finished her espresso. Instead of waiting for him in the kitchen, however, she stood in the small laundry room rolling her clothes into tight bundles before thrusting them into her duffel.

“Thank you.” Appreciation should be spoken, and shown.

Heat flushed her cheeks, but a question glimmered in her eyes. “For?”

“For eating. I worried when you didn’t finish your meal last night.” The small narrow room didn’t allow for much maneuvering, so he contented himself with leaning against the doorframe.

Pulling another pair of jeans from the dryer, Margo raised her eyebrows. The continued red flush to her cheeks combined with the distinct allure of desire underscoring her natural scent told him where her thoughts went. “We were a bit distracted—and I suppose I should apologize for losing my temper.”

“You don’t have to.” Yes, she’d pushed him and he’d responded. That particular issue was settled as far as he was concerned.

“All right,” she said, rolling the jeans then checking the dryer for any stray items. “I won’t.”

The corner of his mouth tugged higher. Her immediate acceptance amused him. Then again, a great deal about Margo fascinated and frustrated him in turns. “I am ready when you are.” Oddly, he should be eager to be on the hunt, yet he was curiously reluctant to begin.

“Good. I have some information you need to know.”

If Luciana was pregnant, he didn’t want to know. Could he execute the father of her child? Did not the simple fact they were to be parents make Rayne a part of his family if not part of his blood? He should beat him senseless, yes, and he would cheerfully throttle the wolf. But kill him?

He’d seen his mother after their father died, and they’d shared a true mating founded on mutual respect and affection. She’d endured, but she seemed somehow diminished in the same breath.

A light hand feathering over his arm rooted him to the spot and he focused on Margo. Concern softened the tension around her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You did not wish to discuss the new information here?” He’d dropped his voice on purpose. Understanding the Hunters were arranged around the area not only to watch him but also to protect their pack did not mean he didn’t recognize the need for discretion.

“No.” She barely mouthed the word, but her hand steadied on his arm. He captured her fingers then pressed a kiss to them.

“Then let us go to this Tennessee,
bella.
We can finish both discussions.” He was far too old to believe putting off learning the exact nature of the information would in any way change his response to it, yet he didn’t want to face the real possibility of Luciana’s pregnancy and what it would mean for Rayne, Salvatore and his pack.

He’d much rather focus on Margo.

Chapter Seven

An hour in the car and neither said a word. They were well out of the main town of Willow Bend and on the highway heading south. She’d expected Salvatore to take advantage of the close quarters to bring up her reaction to him the night before. The memory sent heat rushing to her face. She’d never been a blusher, and she certainly had no issues with her sexuality—but God, her whole body had vibrated with need for his touch.

Humiliating didn’t begin to describe her reaction after he informed her if she wanted to be in his bed, she’d have to ask. The conflict left her completely off her game, so rather than continue to play she’d withdrawn. Mason had wanted to speak to her anyway, so she took advantage of Salvatore’s distraction and bolted.

“
Bella
, why are you upset?” The Italian Alpha’s smooth voice rolled over her, promising warmth and comfort. Two things she definitely didn’t need to rely on another wolf for—not even one as sensual and sexy as the man sitting next to her.

“I’m not upset,” she lied and didn’t give a damn if he could scent it. “We should probably talk about the information I gathered.”

“In a moment. I want to discuss the rules between you and me first.” Of course, he did. Dammit, was it too much to hope he’d forgotten in the time between his ultimatum in the bathroom and their current conversation?

Thankfully, when he’d given her that order he’d been holding her scruff. The wolf in her wanted to roll over for him, to present her belly as prettily as she pleased. The urgent need to not provoke his wolf into an all-out confrontation warred with Margo’s independence. Hearing him dictate terms hot on the heels of Mason’s stony conditions did not for a happy Margo make.

Running her fingers through her hair, she bought herself a few more seconds. “Fine,” she shrugged. “Talk. You’re the one who wanted to set terms.”

“I said we needed to set them. The emphasis on the we,
bella
. You have labels and terms for many interactions, but our wolves, they need the rules established or you and I may very well tear each other apart.” He brushed a knuckle down her cheek, pausing at her jawline before continuing a trail to her throat. She jerked her head away before he reached the vulnerable place on her body. No matter how much she could see herself fucking him—wanted to fuck him—having him at her throat was a bad idea.

“Look, you’re only here for a few days.” Bracing her elbow on the door, she propped her head against her fist. The action let her dig her fingers into her palm. Pain could help dilute stronger emotions—like lust and the insidious disappointment curling through her at the idea of his leaving.
Suck it up.
Not sure whether she meant the words for herself or him, she kept her gaze fixed on the road. At least watching where they were driving could reduce the likelihood of her glare inciting his wolf. “We can agree to work together and find the rogue, then you can go home. It doesn’t require a lot of conversation.”

Especially with other issues at hand. Issues Mason reminded her of during their meeting the night before—like Luciana’s fate if she violated their laws while in the United States or the request to keep Salvatore from causing too much friction. His wolves already had enough on their plates, the sooner she removed him from Willow Bend, the better. Oh—and anything going to hell in a hand basket while Salvatore was present was her fault.

No pressure.

God, she hated Alphas. Her wolf stretched within her. Mason wasn’t so bad and neither was Salvatore. Ignoring the animal, she stole a glance to her right from the corner of her eye. The Alpha in question hadn’t actually responded to her statement. He studied her with narrowed eyes, and a consternated frown.

When he continued to say nothing, she relented and blinked first. The power play wasn’t worth the headache. “What?”

“You confuse me,
bella
. I do not think stuffing your wolf down as you do, shoving all of those emotions into a dark pit and sealing the entrance is the answer.”

Keeping her breathing shallow didn’t do much for diminishing the rich masculine tang of his scent. She’d luxuriated enough in it, enough for Mason to take notice when she’d visited him and though she hadn’t left her wolf form, he still picked out Salvatore’s scent lingering on her fur.

Odd, since she hadn’t even been in wolf form with Salvatore before returning that morning. Shoving aside the questions those thoughts earned. She blew out a breath. “I can try to explain it to you, but likely I’ll be pissed and you’ll be frustrated again. How I cope isn’t really your business.” Cope? Why the hell would she use a word like cope?

“
Bella
, if you were in the presence of a wolf in pain, would you truly say it is not your business? Or would you try to help them?”

Help, but assistance didn’t always mean confronting them. Sometimes it simply meant letting them make their own mistakes and mitigating the fallout. “Too vague a question. More than a dozen Lone Wolves live in the territory I usually patrol. They have lives, jobs, and even hobbies and friends. Not too close, but enough for socialization. I spend half my year traveling between their locations, the other half putting out fires for them. Yes, I help wolves that need help.”

“Well, when I look at you. I see a wolf starved for touch and companionship—”

Even telling herself not to snap didn’t help. “Don’t go there. Touch and companionship
aren’t
the same thing.”

He chuckled. God, it was a good thing she was driving. The urge to slug his smug face boiled in her gut. “You are picking apart my words,
bella
, before you even understand the full meaning of what I am saying. I understand, it is defensive. You are a wolf who is very defensive because you are not allowed to be offensive.” Pity softened his tone and amped her ire.

She didn’t want his pity. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means English is not my first language and you have…far too many qualifiers upon which you rely.” Though he still chuckled, irritation drained humor from the sound. “
Bella
, would you do me the courtesy of good intentions?”

Swallowing the first knee jerk response, she drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t have bad intentions if that’s what you mean.”

“I did not assume you did, I meant—how do you say?—do not judge every word I say as criticism or as an attack.”

“Take what you say with a grain of salt?”

“Odd, but certainly if that is what it means. We do not have Lone Wolves at home as you do here. We are all a part of pack, even our most isolated members.” He hummed a breath, then said. “Franco Taserino, he is an old wolf, contemporary of my father. He is a part of Seven Hills, he is my wolf, but he does not live on pack lands and he does not come to stay with pack often, once every decade or so, he comes to visit my mother and to visit his family. He does not wish to play games of dominance or—how do you say—um—politics. The political aspect of a pack cannot be denied, we are too human to not have politics. Still, Franco does not play. He does not have interest. He is a
strong
wolf. If he wished to contest my status, he would be a difficult opponent. He does not care to do this, he does not care that I am Alpha, only that I let him have his life as it is. This does not make him any less my wolf. Do you understand?”

Margo chewed the inside of her cheek, half in thought as she sorted through his story. “I think so, maybe a little. He’s a very dominant wolf, probably has Alpha potential, and he is a part of your pack, but he doesn’t follow you?”

His shrug didn’t clear her confusion. “He is my wolf. I am his Alpha. What he needs from me is space, so I give him space. Sometimes he needs to be close, so I let him be close. In turn, I need him to follow laws and to ask me for what he needs. He gives me this.”

That
made more sense. “So he’s kind of a Lone Wolf, but from within the pack instead of outside of it. You’re—you’re still tied to him and him to you.”

“Exactly so. I can feel him.” He tapped his chest, and she licked her lips at the solid thud of his fist against his breastbone very aware of exactly how solid and strong he was. “You are not tied to another in this fashion, no?”