Together, we glance toward the front of the gathering, but the last thing I need to hear is more endless commentary on how much this night means. As if there isn’t enough pressure placed on our first shift.
I swear some of the other wolves in the vicinity are eyeing me with unfettered curiosity.
Fuck.
I’m stunned to hear two of them whispering and even exchanging money, waging bets on my shift. There are some who think I won’t shift into a wolf at all, but some other creature entirely. Or perhaps they’re wagering that my wolf will be even more defiant once she’s released, taking bets on what punishment the alpha will inflict upon me first.
Or maybe, just like Mary, our alpha will be ready to push me from the pack I’ve known my entire life…
A sharp pain grinds out in the bones of my wrist as Mrs. Linskey’s grip tightens. She’s gazing around as surely as I am, noticing the same attention we’re suddenly receiving.
“Come on.” I nod toward the sidelines that suddenly look much more appealing. Being the center of attention makes me uncomfortable. It means a fight is likely to occur. And the elderly shouldn’t be in the middle of that. The old woman follows after me as I lead her away from the crowd and down one sloping side of the hill. “Let’s get you out of here.”
It doesn’t escape my notice that my neighbor hasn’t uttered a single word, and the concern about the stroke she could be having comes roaring back right as a warmth I can’t explain spreads through my chest like the slow burning of a fire in winter air. It creeps through me like spreading ink until it covers every surface, thoroughly distracting me.
My wolf perks up.
And I slam into a slab of steel.
Air rushes from my lungs in a whoosh. They burn for more oxygen which I scramble to give them until large hands clamp down on my shoulders, stealing my breath entirely. The scent of fire mixes with something sharper that I can’t define.
All I know is that cologne companies would make a killing if they bottled the fragrance.
My gaze traces the defined lines of a tee-shirt clad chest until I’m staring into the hard russet eyes of the most sinfully scary man I’ve ever seen in my life.
There’s something about dangerous men that gives them an allure I may never understand. His attraction is like a rush of adrenaline. Like playing with fire.
In the midst of Hell.
Shadows play over his face, swirling like smoke. His eyes are the color of dying embers, the reddish brown of his gaze burning holes into me.
I half expect to bleed from the intensity of it.
He focuses on my face, his steadfast gaze tracing over my features, and for the second time today, I wonder if I’m slowly losing my grasp on reality.
“Who the fuck are you?” I pat myself on the back for keeping my voice serious and steady despite the rapid beating of my heart.
My question stands. I’ve never seen this guy in my life. There’s no way I’d ever forget those eerie, otherworldly eyes.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it.” The bastard ignores me completely and speaks to Mrs. Linskey, who finally releases me.
I glance to the elderly woman and then back to the man who looks like a fucking mascot for the Irish mob.
“How do you know her?” I ask the deadly-looking stranger.
He passes a hard look from me to her. “I’m her fucking caretaker. Clearly.”
“Can’t even take care of your fucking self, asshole,” Mrs. Linskey murmurs with a totally out of character eye roll and shake of her head.
What. The. Fuck?
I rub at the ache in my wrist, eyes flitting between the odd pair before me. Racking my brain, I try to remember if Mrs. Linskey has a family. She’s always alone, but it’s possible her family lives with another close pack in the mountains.
On the rare occasion I went into her home, I never paid attention to the picture frames cluttered on every surface, but it’s possible this guy truly is her caretaker… a grandson maybe… who happens to enjoy biker gangs and fist fights on the weekends…
I study him openly. He’s older than me. That much is clear, but it’s easy to tell he’s still in his twenties. There’s a youthfulness to his skin despite the ruggedness of his features
Though his eyes dare me to guess again. Their stormy blaze alludes to a hardness most people don’t experience in one lifetime, let alone twenty-eight or twenty-nine short years.
