“What can I get you?” he asked, not bothering to look up from his notepad. If the guy were any less engaged in his job, he’d be a zombie.
She glanced at Knox. “Pepperoni good for you?”
When Knox nodded, she turned back to the waiter and ordered two medium pepperoni pies and breadsticks to hold them over until the pizza got there.
“And unsweetened iced tea for me—no lemon,” she added. Asking for anything but sweet tea was practically a crime back in Tennessee, but in Dallas no one batted an eye.
“Make that two,” Knox said.
The kid walked away without a word, making Rachel wonder if there was any chance of getting what they’d asked for. In the server’s sudden absence, silence descended over the table. But it wasn’t the uncomfortable kind. At least not as uncomfortable as it could have been, she guessed.
It was well after eight o’clock, so the dinner rush was mostly over and there were only half a dozen customers in the restaurant. With an open kitchen so diners could watch pizzas being made in the brick ovens and framed photos of Italy on the walls, the place was seriously quaint. The red-and-white-checked tablecloths only added to the charm. But it was the aroma filling the dining room that was the real treat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was, but now she couldn’t wait for the food to get here.
“Are we going to talk about what happened earlier?” Knox asked quietly.
Rachel tensed. She wasn’t sure where Knox was going with this but was afraid she might have an idea. Of all the stuff that had happened during the ambush and in the chase that had followed, the only thing that had freaked her out was the one part she couldn’t remember.
She couldn’t explain it, but she couldn’t recall anything from the moment she’d run out of the stairwell into the parking garage to when she’d found herself standing in the middle of the highway access road with her hands on Knox’s chest. She vaguely remembered being angry, but then it was a complete blank—like an alcoholic blackout without the entertainment value of the booze. And it was scaring the hell out of her. She didn’t know much about PTSD, but losing time had to be bad.
“What do you want to talk about?” She met his gaze, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt. “We were ambushed. We chased the bad guys. They got away. What’s to talk about?”
Before Knox could say anything, their nameless server reappeared carrying a serving tray with a pitcher of tea, two glasses with ice, breadsticks, marinara dipping sauce, and a little bowl of sweetener packs. Dang, the kid had actually paid attention. He still didn’t acknowledge their existence as he placed the stuff on the table and left, but maybe that was asking too much.
As Knox poured tea into the glasses, Rachel pounced on the still-warm breadsticks. Partly because she was hungry, but mostly to put off answering any questions for as long as possible. The breadsticks were crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside, and perfectly seasoned. Good thing she was a werewolf and could eat anything she wanted or this particular avoidance technique would have required one hell of an exercise program.
“There are a few things I’ve been wanting to ask you, but I’ll start with the easy stuff first,” Knox said, obviously missing the part where she was stuffing her face to avoid talking. “Like how you knew about the ambush. I’ve spent years in combat and didn’t have any idea it was coming until the shooting started. I mean, I felt this weird tingle on the back of my neck, but I didn’t know why.”
“That was your inner wolf telling you something was up,” Rachel said.
She paused to take another bite of garlic-flavored breadstick, following it with a big sip of tea. Then she delayed a little longer by adding a few packets of sweetener to the drink.
“I picked up their scents the moment we entered that hallway,” she added. “It wasn’t until I smelled the gun oil on their weapons that I realized we were walking into an ambush.”
She couldn’t bring herself to admit she’d nearly gotten them killed by confusing the scent coming off the assassin’s weapons with the pheromones Knox put off on a nearly constant basis. That was a secret she’d keep to herself for a while. Like forever. She didn’t plan to ever let him know he smelled like her favorite scent. She felt her face heat just thinking about it.
Knox stared at her incredulously. “Damn, it would have been nice to have a talent like that back when I was still in the SEALs.” He reached for a breadstick and dipped it in the sauce. “So, what about after the ambush? I tried to get your attention when you were running down that SUV, but you turned and snarled at me. And the way your eyes were glowing, it was like you’d completely lost it. What was that about? And is that something else I have to worry about happening to me?”
Rachel almost groaned. So that was what happened during her blackout. She’d lost her mind and gone feral.Great.
“You already know from experience that we lose it now and then,” she said. “The newer you are to the whole werewolf thing, the more likely you are to lose control. But no, I don’t think you need to worry about having an episode like I did. I think what you saw might be a problem unique to me.”
He snorted. “I don’t know about that. I lost control when I smelled your blood and realized you got shot.”
Rachel took another bite of breadstick, without the dipping sauce this time. She didn’t know what to think about what he’d just admitted. That he’d lost control when he smelled her blood probably meant something significant, but she didn’t want to ponder that now. She was too worried about her own problems.
“But you remember losing control. I don’t,” she explained. “I’ve talked to enough of my pack mates to know that’s not normal. I think maybe I kind of black out a little.”
He regarded her thoughtfully, but before he could say anything, their server was back with the pepperoni pizzas they’d ordered. They were large instead of medium, but she wasn’t going to complain. She was starving.
After the kid left, Knox topped off their teas, then grabbed a slice of pizza. Rachel did the same, adding parmesan cheese to hers before handing the shaker to Knox.
“Are you honestly saying you don’t remember chasing the SUV through the parking garage and halfway to the interstate while blood was leaking out of you?” he asked.
She took a big bite of pizza. The crust wasn’t too thick or too thin, but somewhere perfectly in between, while the marinara sauce was spicy yet sweet, the mozzarella cheese was gooey and delicious, and the ratio of pepperoni per slice was perfect. She was even more glad now the kid had messed up and brought them large pies.
“I know it’s bizarre, but it’s the truth,” she said. “I remember the ambush and running through the hall while tracking their scents. The next thing I can recall was standing in the middle of the road with my hands on your chest. I don’t remember getting shot or running after the SUV or anything in between.”
“Has this happened to you before?” he asked, picking up another slice of pizza.
