Savage Urges (8 page)

Zac scoffed down a few pieces of popcorn. “What’s it like?”

“Hard. Grueling. Rewarding. Long hours.” Although, to be fair, he worked longer hours than most. “This morning, I was up at six a.m.—”

“Seriously? Dude, I don’t even know what six a.m. looks like.”

Makenna smiled as Zac listened avidly to Ryan’s bullet-point description of a typical day for an enforcer. She couldn’t help but notice that Ryan didn’t include any of his feelings on his position or the responsibilities. It didn’t even seem he was being evasive or bottling his emotions. It was as if it didn’t occur to him that people would care to hear about his feelings on matters.

She wondered if it had anything to do with his parents. When she’d researched Zac’s family, looking for potential guardians, she’d learned about Ryan’s parents. His mother was a selfish, chronic complainer and his father was a retired enforcer who had a big fondness for whiskey.

Growing up around such emotionally absent, self-absorbed parents would certainly lead a kid to believe that their feelings simply weren’t relevant. The thought of a small Ryan being overlooked and emotionally isolated made her ache. Her wolf growled, protective of Ryan. Makenna could admit that she, too, felt a little protective of the surly male. She didn’t bother questioning why—her thoughts often made no sense. Besides, she didn’t have time to think on it any further, because the stadium announcer’s voice suddenly blasted through the speakers.

Although Makenna wasn’t necessarily a big fan of football, she found herself enraptured by what was happening. The game was pretty intense. Like most of the crowd, Zac cheered, gasped, cursed, yelled advice, and complained about penalties. Ryan remained as reserved as always. Sometimes he would grunt or shake his head, and his eyes would twinkle whenever a touchdown was scored.

Zac spat a particularly loud curse when the ball went wide, zooming in the air toward the crowd, and—

She winced as it bounced off Ryan’s head, almost making his neck snap back. Damn, that had to have hurt. “Wow, are you okay?”

His scowl harsher than usual, he grunted before throwing the ball down to the field. By the time the game ended and they were leaving the stadium, he had a goose egg on his fucking head.

Riding shotgun, Makenna simply couldn’t resist pointing out, “You know . . . if you hadn’t sat in that seat—”

“Don’t say it.”

“—the ball would never have hit you.”

Ryan flexed his grip on the steering wheel. He’d known this was coming. “It hit me because the player hurled it in my direction, it had nothing at all to do with the number of my seat. If the ball had sailed just a bit in your direction, it could have hit you.”

“No, it couldn’t have. I have my rabbit’s foot on my keychain.”

He did a double take. “What?”

“It wards off bad luck.”

“You really believe that part of a dead animal’s limb protects you?”

“Obviously, jeez. Don’t you know anything?”

“Tell me you’re kidding.” Because he didn’t want her to be beyond help.

“It’s common knowledge.”

“It’s not knowledge, it’s superstition—otherwise known as utter bullshit.”

She huffed. “You can be so irrational sometimes.”

“
I’m
irrational? I don’t have part of a dead animal on my keychain!”

“Maybe if you did, the ball wouldn’t have hit you!”

Struggling with a response, Ryan shook his head. “I can’t do this. I just can’t have this totally illogical conversation.”

A deep laugh burst out of the teenager behind them, who was struggling to sit upright. “You two are funny.”

Ryan exchanged a look with Makenna before frowning at Zac in the rearview mirror. “I’m never funny.” He sincerely doubted that the word had ever before been—and would ever again be—used to describe him.

“You are when you lose it with Makenna.”

Ryan’s frown deepened. “I never lose it.”

The kid held his hands up, smirking. “My mistake.”

But it wasn’t a mistake, Ryan begrudgingly admitted to himself. She had a way of getting under his skin. Yet, he still wanted nothing more than to take her home and fuck her to sleep. That just increased his frustration.

Ordinarily, Ryan was impervious to external distractions. But Makenna Wray was a walking, talking, and completely illogical distraction that drew him. Technically, she shouldn’t. She was whimsical and unpredictable, she asked unusual nonsensical questions, believed her rabbit’s foot charm warded away danger, and she seemed to genuinely enjoy provoking him. He was very good at analyzing people, but it was impossible to read someone who didn’t react normally.

In short, she made no sense to him. Ryan was all about logic and reason; he liked things to make sense in his world. Yet, he found himself a little fascinated by her. His wolf, too, found her intriguing; he was constantly hungry for the female with the mouthwatering scent and the wild spark in her eyes.

Quite frankly, it pissed Ryan off. He prided himself on being an extremely disciplined person. He didn’t have problems resisting temptation, he didn’t have cravings, and he didn’t obsess over anything. But Makenna . . . she made him fucking ache.

Finally, Ryan pulled up outside the shelter and parked just behind her Mustang. “Wait here.” Sliding out of the Chevy, he scanned his surroundings as he circled around to the other side of the car. Satisfied that there were no signs of Remy or his pack mates, he opened both passenger doors.

Zac hopped out with a smile. “Thanks for taking me to the game. It was pretty awesome. Except for the part where you hit your head.”

Ryan might have bought the kid’s sympathetic comment if laughter wasn’t gleaming in his eyes. So Ryan just stared at him, daring him to say more.

“And now I’m going to go.” Clamping his lips together to hold in a laugh, Zac jogged to the entrance.

Makenna waited until he was inside before she turned to Ryan. “He enjoyed himself. It was a productive day.” She wanted him to know that pushing past his comfort zone had paid off. “You did good.”

At her genuine compliment, Ryan’s irritation left him. She was hard to stay mad at. Especially when she was standing there looking pretty and approving, and smelling so damn good. That wild scent had kept his cock hard and heavy all day. “I can’t see Zac tomorrow.” He was meeting with Myles’s pack mates. “But I’ll arrange something for the day after.”

Makenna nodded. “Text him with the specifics when you have them.”

She turned away, and Ryan found that he couldn’t let her go yet. “Farrah Grove.”

Slowly twirling to face him, she searched her memory for the name and came up blank. “Should I know her?”

“She left her pack when she was twelve. Some say she vanished, some say she ran away. She fits your description.”

“Oh, I see.” He thought she could be Farrah. Nope. There were a lot of things Makenna didn’t know about her past, but she knew enough to be certain that she wasn’t Farrah Grove—particularly since she was younger than twelve when she left her pack. “You think I’m her?”

Actually, now that she was in front of him . . . no, Ryan didn’t. She didn’t look like a “Farrah.” She looked like . . . well, a “Makenna.” “If you’re not Farrah Grove, who are you?”

“There are these things—you might not have heard of them—they’re called ‘boundaries.’ That means that if there are things I don’t want to share, you need to respect that. And let’s not forget that it ain’t your business, White Fang.”

Before he knew it, his hand had shot out and fisted in her hair. Tugging her close, he said, “You are my business.” That she’d say differently . . . it offended some part of him. The same part of him was urging Ryan to taste and bite her mouth.

Makenna swallowed hard, disturbingly turned on rather than pissed by his dominant, possessive hold. “You should let go.”

“Why? I want you.” Ryan almost winced at the gruff words. He probably shouldn’t have just blurted it out like that, but he’d never been smooth. Still . . . “And you want me.” She looked ready to deny it, so he tightened his grip on her hair. “It’s in your scent, so don’t lie to me.”

“My body wants you. That doesn’t mean that I do.”

He spoke against her mouth. “I said, don’t lie to me.” Punishingly, he bit her lip. Her mouth opened on a shocked gasp, and he drove his tongue inside. Fuck, her taste was as addictive as her scent. Sweet and almost bubbly, like sparkling Champagne. Unable to get enough of her, he ate at her mouth, sipping, licking, nipping, and biting hard enough to leave prints of his teeth on her lower lip. His wolf growled his approval at the mark as Ryan soothingly laved it with his tongue.

“You bit me,” said Makenna in pure wonder, her heartbeat racing.

“I did.” As he stared down at that mark, masculine satisfaction thrummed through his veins, filled every part of him, and settled into every cell and bone. And that was when he knew the truth. There was no denying it, because nothing else made sense. Nothing.

Ryan didn’t question his thoughts, actions, or urges. But it didn’t take self-reflection to conclude that this female was his true mate.

“Mate” . . . the word felt right to both him and his wolf. Like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

It would explain all the primal feelings that had been taunting Ryan since he first caught her scent: the urge to possess and own, the
right
to protect and defend, and the obsessive hunger that just kept building and building. It didn’t matter that Ryan couldn’t feel the tug of the mating bond. The facts spoke for themselves.

“Makenna . . .” But he didn’t have the words to explain his thoughts. Hell, he never did. Instinct told him that blurting out his belief with his usual lack of tact wouldn’t work out well. He needed to think about this. He needed to come to her with the right words, make a case she couldn’t argue against . . . because she
would
argue against it. Instinct told him that too.

He took a moment to breathe her in, to take that scent deep into his lungs. Then, with one last lick over the mark, Ryan released her and stepped back. It was hard. Damn fucking hard. Now that he knew—and he
did
know, he was sure to his bones—that she was his mate, walking away from her . . . it felt wrong.

“Be safe for me, Makenna.” Because he’d lose his fucking mind if anything happened to her. Her forehead crinkled—most likely in confusion at his choice of words—and he smoothed it out with his finger. “Remember: if there’s a problem, call me.”

As Ryan slid into the driver’s seat, he took one last look at Makenna. It was a mistake. Because the sight of even that small distance between them pissed him the fuck off. His wolf paced angrily, wanting to return to Makenna. Wanting to take, and bite, and own.

They’d claim her, he assured his wolf. There was no chance Ryan would give up this one good thing he could have. She was his mate, she was born for him, and she’d never get away from him.

When the Chevy disappeared into the distance, Makenna took a steadying breath. The guy certainly knew how to mess with a girl’s equilibrium. He kissed the way he did everything else—dominantly, confidently, and with enviable skill.

And then he’d bitten her.

Part of her had bristled at the possessive act, but she’d been so damn shocked that she’d done nothing more than state the obvious and stare at him in dismay. Well, Madisyn
had
warned her that he looked at her like he wanted to take a bite. Makenna just hadn’t thought he’d actually do it.

That little interlude had confirmed what she’d already suspected; he was a pushy motherfucker who she’d be completely unable to handle. So why did she want him? Because all that strength, confidence, and animal energy was like a damn aphrodisiac for Makenna. So now she was wet and aching for more . . . and the fucker had driven away. She might have been offended, might have suspected that he was put off by her being a loner, if it hadn’t been for his parting words.

“Be safe for me.”

Why? And why had he seemed reluctant to leave her?

Shaking off the matter, she headed into the shelter. Madisyn and Colton were chatting near the reception desk. Madisyn slowly came toward her. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” sighed Makenna. “I’m just tired.”

“Oh.” Madisyn patted her shoulder. “Guess it was that kiss that drained you, huh. Don’t growl at me, Wray.”

“Fuck off, feline.”

Colton laughed as Madisyn began singing, “Ryan kissed Makenna, Ryan kissed Makenna, Ryan kissed—
ow, let go of my hair, heifer!
”

CHAPTER SEVEN

S
ome people got utter joy from teasing others. Trick was one of them.

His attempts to irk Ryan very rarely worked. When they did, it wasn’t so much that the things he said bothered Ryan; it was that Ryan lost his patience with the whole thing. Still, the majority of the time, Ryan simply drowned him out. Or stared at Trick until he stopped. It depended on his mood. Today, though, his efforts to rile Ryan were paying off.

“I was just making the very obvious point that Makenna’s hot,” said Trick, who was riding shotgun. “No need to snarl.”

And how had Trick made his point? By complimenting her body—her eyes, her mouth, her breasts, her ass, and her legs.

Dante locked gazes with Ryan through the rearview mirror, looking curious. “What’s wrong with you? You’re gruffer than usual.”

Ryan didn’t respond. All he wanted was to get this meeting with Myles’s pack mates over with. He’d had a shitty night’s sleep, having spent hours simply lying there, deciding what he’d say to Makenna. He wanted to see her. Touch her. Inhale her scent.

He hadn’t yet told his pack mates about his belief that she was his mate. It seemed wrong to do it before he’d had the conversation with her.

“I don’t suppose you know if Makenna’s dating anyone, do you?” Trick asked.

Ryan growled at the interest in his voice—it came from both him and his wolf.

Trick grinned. “If I’m not mistaken, there was some possessiveness in that growl.”

“You’re different with her, Ryan. I mean, you talk to her,” Jaime marveled. “And I don’t mean in monosyllables. You actually converse with her.”

“And she talks to you,” added Taryn. “Dominic said she can interpret your grunts.”

“I hope she’s single,” said Trick. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with a female who—”

Another growl rumbled out of Ryan. “Don’t say it.”

Trick’s grin widened. “Ho, ho, ho, Ryan’s finally showing some real interest in a female.”

Leaning forward, Trey smacked Trick over the back of the head. “Ignore him, Ryan.”

Sounded like a good idea to him.

Before long, they were at the border of Myles’s territory. The wolves on guard waved them through, showed them where to park the Chevy, and then escorted them into a large pack house. In the dining area, a mated pair rose to their feet—identifying themselves as the Alphas. Travis Bradwin was a big man. Tall, broad, and muscular. His mate, Elise, was just as tall. If they were nervous about having six strange wolves on their territory, they didn’t show it.

According to Rhett, Travis had been an Alpha since he was twenty-one. He’d mated a year later and had four pups. He mostly kept to himself, not interested in politics or making alliances; he was much like Trey, in that respect. Trey hadn’t bothered to form alliances until just before he mated Taryn, when he’d been a target of an ambitious asshole.

Travis inclined his head at Trey. “Coleman.”

“Bradwin,” said Trey.

It was a simple greeting, but their tone was polite and respectful.

Travis introduced his mate, Betas, and two enforcers before introducing the two wolves they had come to see—Rosa and Fenton. Trey introduced each of the Phoenix wolves, and then everyone took a seat. Except for Ryan, who stood with his back against the wall, watchful.

“Myles tells me you need to speak with two of my wolves,” said Travis. “Your high-handedness isn’t appreciated. You should have contacted
me
and requested a meeting.”

Trey didn’t appear to take offense. “I figured you’d contact me if there was a problem. But you didn’t. Why? Why not refuse us entrance?”

“Because the subject is Remy Deacon. I have pups of my own, so if the rumors about him are true, I’ve no problem being of assistance to anyone who wishes to end his life.”

Good, because it was very likely that was exactly what would happen.

Elise bit her lip. “Are they true?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” replied Taryn. Because Trey had a way of inspiring fear in people, she’d insisted on coming along, strangely thinking that her presence would be reassuring. The presence of another female, sure. Not Taryn, considering she had a reputation for being just as unbalanced as her mate.

Trey looked at Rosa and Fenton. “As you know, we have some questions about Remy.”

Rosa licked her lips. “May I ask why you’re interested?”

“I can’t go into the specifics. But I can tell you that he may soon be in a situation where he has access to a lot of shifter children.”

Fenton visibly recoiled and Travis uttered a low expletive.

Rosa swallowed. “What is it you want to know?”

Taryn leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the table. “I want to know what kind of Alpha Remy is; I want to know about his personality. What five words would you use to describe him? I don’t mean things like ‘dominant’ or ‘domineering’—we’ve figured that much out for ourselves.”

Rosa thought about it for a moment. “Charismatic. Neat. Well mannered. Determined. Short-tempered. But I’ve never seen him blow a fuse. They’re more like hot flashes of anger.”

“He’s a good Alpha,” said Fenton. “More ambitious and greedy than most, but not negligent. He’s protective of his wolves, and he keeps the pack organized and strong.”

Trey spoke then. “From what Myles said, you think his mother sexually abused him. Is that right?”

Rosa seemed to struggle for words. “Their relationship . . . it’s not healthy. She doesn’t like other females around him.”

Taryn’s mouth curved slightly, and Ryan imagined she was thinking about Greta. “Maybe she just can’t cut the apron strings.”

Rosa shook her head. “You’d have to see them together to understand. She touches him all the time—lingering touches, not the way a mother touches her son. It made my skin crawl. Deanne’s possessive of him the way a shifter would be possessive of their mate. She constantly accuses him of sleeping with females of the pack. To my knowledge, he hasn’t slept with any of them. I know some females who would have been happy to crawl into his bed—not everyone believes the rumors.”

“What about Remy?” asked Taryn. “How does he react to Deanne’s behavior?”

“I wouldn’t say he’s receptive to her touch, but he never pushes her away. He doesn’t like her possessiveness and they argue something fierce about it. But then she cries and says he doesn’t love her or he wouldn’t yell at her like that. Then he stops and comforts her, saying of course he loves her.” Rosa rubbed her upper arms. “Like I said, you’d have to see them together to really understand. But I’m telling you, no mother should touch her son like that.”

Trey draped an arm over the back of Taryn’s chair. “I understand Remy spends a lot of time with the children.”

Fenton nodded. “Mostly the boys. He keeps them close to him.”

“You sure that he’s not protecting them from Deanne?” Taryn shrugged. “I mean, if she abused him, he could worry she’ll abuse them.”

Rosa twiddled her fingers. “It crossed my mind, but . . .”

“What?” Trey pressed.

“Again, it’s something you’d have to see.” Rosa’s gaze turned inward. “The way he touches them is innocent, almost reverent. Just little strokes on their head, light pats on their back, and fingering their hair. But I once saw a child flinch away from his touch, and Remy backhanded him so hard he fell to the ground. The boy didn’t flinch the next time.”

Ryan bit back a growl. It was like Remy was grooming them, getting them used to his touch.

Dante linked hands with a pale Jaime. “How many boys went missing?”

“Three,” replied Fenton. “Two were orphans.”

“How old were they?”

“I think two of them were seven and the other was eight, but I’m not certain.”

“Do you think Remy killed them?”

“That, I don’t know. It’s hard to imagine him doing such a thing. He’s very protective of all the pups, even if it’s for the wrong reason.”

“Maybe they fought the abuse or threatened to tell someone,” suggested Jaime. “Remy wouldn’t have liked that.”

Ryan grunted his agreement. Remy would get rid of them not just to protect his reputation but to show the other children what would happen if they put up any sort of struggle.

“Myles mentioned that one of the males within the pack accused Remy of abusing his son,” said Trey.

Fenton nodded. “I wasn’t there, but Rosa was.”

“That was an awful morning. Vance was a dominant wolf, but he wasn’t the confrontational type. He was a very laid-back male, hardly ever lost his temper. But that morning, he tracked Remy down and looked ready to kill him. Vance said that his nine-year-old son, Clay, claimed that Remy touched him inappropriately when they went on one of their nature walks. He called him sick and perverted and a bunch of other names. Then he just flew at Remy, shifting into a wolf midair. He fought well, but Remy won. Vance’s mate didn’t survive his death, and Clay was nowhere to be seen. Some think Remy killed him, but most think he just ran off.”

Ryan had a question. “How many actually suspect he’s a pedophile?”

“Not many,” replied Fenton. “We talked about it. We thought of grouping together and confronting him. But most of us were submissive wolves—we didn’t have a chance against Remy, even as a group, especially since he has his Beta and enforcers to protect him.”

That much was true. They would have simply gotten themselves killed, which wouldn’t have helped anyone.

“And after seeing what happened to Vance, we were all afraid,” added Rosa. “By killing him, Remy showed the pack exactly what would happen to anyone who voiced their suspicions. And that’s all they are—suspicions.”

“But that Clay kid accused Remy of abusing him,” Trick reminded them.

“Yes,” allowed Fenton, “but as Remy pointed out, Clay was a troubled pup who was always lying and stealing.”

The perfect target, in a way, since it was unlikely that his accusations would be believed.

“Yet, you didn’t stay there.” Dante tilted his head. “I’m surprised he let you leave.”

“That’s the thing about Remy,” said Fenton. “He
is
a good Alpha. He treats his wolves well. That’s why it’s so hard to believe he could be guilty of those things. But we have kids; we weren’t prepared to take the chance.”

Neither was Ryan, which was why he had to ensure that the shelter was never handed over to Remy. And if it turned out that the rumors
were
true, Remy would have to die.

Makenna was serving a customer when the door of the gas station opened and a specimen of untamed masculinity stalked inside. Her wolf sat up, fascinated as always by Ryan’s immense confidence and forceful presence. As his dark, brooding eyes met hers, raw hunger flared through Makenna’s body. It was a need that viciously clawed and bit at her day and night. She’d dreamed of him the previous night, his teeth dominantly locked around her shoulder as he fiercely hammered into her.

Dragging her gaze away from him, she smiled at her human customer and handed him his change. It was almost amusing the way he regarded Ryan nervously, as if expecting to be leaped on. Ryan didn’t spare him a glance; he was staring right at Makenna—focused on her with the intensity of a jungle predator. And the memory of his kiss shoved its way to the forefront of her mind. All day, she’d tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about how he’d overwhelmed her senses and taken her mouth like it was his right. Tried and failed.

Once he was finally alone with Makenna, Ryan said, “We spoke with Myles’s pack mates.” He’d half expected his words to be guttural. A ferocious hunger was building inside him, tightening his body and causing an animalistic growl to build in his chest. He frowned as he saw that the mark on her lip had faded. “They had a lot to say.”

After he told her all he’d heard, Makenna blew out a long breath. “A small part of me actually feels bad for Remy, but none of what happened to him could ever excuse what he’s doing. He can’t get his hands on the shelter—”

“He won’t,” Ryan promised, voice filled with resolve. “I won’t allow that.”

It was impossible not to believe him. “Well, thanks for keeping me updated.”

As she released a tired sigh, Ryan noticed the dark circles under her eyes. A growl trickled out of him. “You haven’t been sleeping.”

Stress tended to keep her awake. Unable to resist poking at Ryan, she merely said, “So?”

“So I don’t like it.”

“Is that a fact?” She chuckled.

“You like to see me agitated.”

“I’d rather see you smile. I’m working on that.”

Warmth filled Ryan. He couldn’t recall anyone ever caring whether or not he smiled. Makenna Wray, or whatever her name was, had to be his mate. He placed his hands on the counter. “Bonnie Phillips.”

“Another missing person?” Makenna rolled her eyes. “Why can’t you let this go?”

Ryan’s eyes dropped to her lower lip—a lip he couldn’t stop thinking about marking again. “I want to know your name.”

“I’m Makenna Wray, a loner who’s a gas station clerk and does volunteer work at a shelter. That’s who I am.”

“It’s who you are now. But who were you before that?”

“Your cell’s ringing.”

It was, but he ignored it. “Are you afraid that if I find out who you’re hiding from, I’ll contact them?” Midsentence, his voice faded into an offended growl. He would never betray her.