Brooks sniffed again. Beside him, Max did the same. A moment later, they both looked at him and shook their heads.
“I don’t smell anything like that,” Brooks said. “Is it a trace scent or more concentrated?”
Remy breathed deeply through his nose and almost got weak-kneed. What was more, he actually started getting a boner. What the hell?
“Yeah,” he managed. “You could say it’s concentrated.” He glanced at Brooks and Max. “You guys are screwing with me, right? You seriously can’t smell that?”
“Smell what?” Zane asked as he appeared beside them carrying four plastic cups of beer.
Remy ignored him and the beer, which was saying a lot. He really liked beer. But the idea of taking a big gulp right then didn’t interest him at all. He didn’t have a clue what the hell he was smelling, but he damn well knew he needed to find out what it was. He’d go nuts if he didn’t.
“I’m going for a walk,” he said.
Zane and the other guys followed as he tracked the scent out onto the street. At this time of night, it was closed to vehicles and packed with people. He was big and muscular, so most of the crowd avoided him, which was good, since his mind was too preoccupied to worry about running anyone over.
“Hey!” Zane called out. “You want your beer?”
“No, you keep it,” he said, too focused on the scent to care.
“Sweet,” Zane said as he and the other guys followed. “More for me.”
The scent led Remy on a much longer chase than he thought possible. As strong as it had been in the club, he was sure he’d find the source right outside the doors, but he’d already gone five blocks and the scent was still getting more intense. That was pretty frigging hard to believe.
The trail led him into a bar and grill, where the scent was powerful enough to make him think the person had spent some time there, then to a live music club. The scent wasn’t quite as concentrated there, so she probably hadn’t stayed there very long. He could understand why. The music had been loud, and not very good.
It wasn’t until he was back out on the street with Max, Brooks, and Zane still in tow that he realized he was following a woman.
He tried to tell himself it was insane. He’d smelled thousands of women since becoming a werewolf. Hell, maybe tens of thousands. None of them had ever possessed a spicy, flowery scent this delectable. Not even close.
Remy walked faster. What kind of woman could generate a scent so powerful it gave him a hard-on the moment he caught a whiff? The curiosity was killing him.
He was vaguely aware of his pack mates talking to each other, but he didn’t pay too much attention to what they were saying. Something about betting on the hair color of the woman he was tracking down. He briefly wondered how they knew it was a woman, since they couldn’t seem to smell her scent, but then decided that was a stupid-ass question. He was Remy Frigging Boudreaux. If he was putting this much effort into tracking down a scent, anyone who knew him would realize there had to be a woman on the other end of the line. He would have never gone through this much trouble otherwise.
Remy wasn’t sure how long he followed the scent, but the next thing he knew, he was walking into a nightclub with a steady dance beat throbbing out of every hole, crack, and pore of the building. In bloodhound mode, he headed straight to the second floor, moving like an arrow shot through the crowded, noisy room until he was standing in the middle of the dance floor full of gyrating bodies.
Right there, dancing with her back to him in a group of four other women, was the source of the scent that had dragged him halfway across the French Quarter. This close, her fragrance was damn near overwhelming. If he wasn’t such a gentleman, he probably would have leaned forward and licked the small portion of her neck that was exposed every time her long, black hair swung aside. If she smelled this good, he could only imagine how she tasted.
The thought was enough to nearly bring him to his knees.
He was trying to figure out the best way to initiate a conversation—tapping her on the shoulder and saying he’d been tracking her scent for blocks might come off as a bit stalkerish—when the woman turned to face him.
Maybe she’d sensed him behind her, or perhaps it was because her friends had stopped dancing to stare over her shoulder at him. Either way, when she spun around, Remy swore his heart stopped beating for a second.
It was dark on the dance floor and the flashing strobes were bright enough to practically blind him, but it didn’t matter. The light-brown-skinned beauty would have stood out in any light. Hell, she would have stood out in complete darkness too.
He was still taking in the smoking-hot curves, perfect skin, and exotic amber eyes when a realization struck him so hard he almost stumbled backward.
He knew her. Not in the biblical sense, though that was obviously one hell of a shame. He’d known her back in high school when she’d been a skinny, awkward teenager who never seemed to look anywhere but at the ground.
She was a lot different now—understatement there—and easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Now she possessed a confidence that made it hard to look at anything but her. Even with all the changes, he would have known her anywhere. He hadn’t talked to her since high school graduation, but they’d been friends and probably would have been more if he hadn’t been such a chickenshit back then.
“Triana?”
Remy didn’t expect her to recognize him. While she’d grown from a girl into a woman, he’d grown from a boy into a werewolf. He looked a lot different than he had in high school.
Triana’s eyes widened. “Remy, is that seriously you? I can’t believe you’re here!”
Grinning, she threw her arms around him. His went around her automatically, holding her close. He was shocked at how good she felt against him—good as in let’s go find a room somewhere or a dark corner or, hell, the backseat of the nearest car.
