Page 15 of The Enforcers: NOAH

Chapter 6

It was nearly midnight when Noah got back to the Nashville pack’s compound, and his leg was hurting like hell.

It was possible he’d miscalculated how long it would take to heal. He felt another chill of fear thinking about how close he’d come to being crippled, and another desperate wave of gratitude towards Mina Reston.

She didn’t know it, but he was going to help her keep her son. He might even be able to help her find her Alaskan wolves, if they existed.

He’d been thinking about her all the way home. He told himself it was just to take his mind off the pain in his leg, but the memory of her husky voice and throaty laugh kept the voices in his head at bay. He wanted to fix everything that was wrong in her life, and see her smiling all the time like she did when she was holding her little boy.

He wanted to press himself against those gorgeous curves and tangle his fingers in that unruly hair and lose himself in her sweet softness.

It was a good dream, even if it was impossible.

He came up to the mansion by the back way, shifting at the edge of the woods that lined the huge backyard, and grabbed up a robe from the pool area before he entered the house. Nudity wasn’t a big deal among shifters, and in the outdoor areas pretty much anything went, but house rules said no wandering through the mansion with your dick wagging.

Of course, the first people he saw were a couple of Tyrone’s minions. They all sported deep, half-healed claw marks on their faces, so clearly the festivities last night had carried on after he left. He was sorry he’d missed it.

He also wondered who’d gone for the faces. They all usually tried not to, in recreational fights. With visible cuts that deep, these guys couldn’t go out drinking in their usual places for a couple of days. Humans would see them and wonder how their wounds were healing so quickly. So the minions were stuck in the compound, getting on each other’s nerves.

Noah gave them a cheery greeting, trying really hard not to show his limp. The first sign of weakness, and they’d pounce on him. One of the minions gave him a hard shoulder bump as they passed, but otherwise they left him alone.

Down the hall, Donnie came out of a small study. “Hey,” he said to Noah. “I thought I heard your voice. You okay?”

“Sure,” Noah said. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Donnie gave him a “don’t bullshit me” look. “Uh huh. Maybe because last night you were way more wasted than I knew a wolf could even get, and then you left that adolescent wet-dream Trans you love so much on the side of the road with the keys in it and the door open? And nobody’s seen you since?”

Oh, hell. The Trans Am. He hoped it was okay. “Yeah,” Noah said. “I needed a good long run to clear my head, you know?”

Donnie’s face said he wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t ask Noah any more questions. “Whatever, dude. I brought the car back. Had to fight a couple more of Tyrone’s guys to keep them from trashing it, though.”

A rush of gratitude went through Noah. He loved his car, and the idea of Tyrone’s minions destroying it made his stomach twist.

“Those guys?” He jerked his thumb back down the hall. “Nice work.” He hesitated. “Thanks,” he said. “I owe you.”

Donnie grinned. “Haven’t had that much fun in a while,” he said. “Besides, the car’s a sweet ride. Took it for a spin up in the mountains today—figured I’d make myself scarce while some people, ah, chilled out a little.” He fished the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Noah, followed by Noah’s phone. “You’ll have to fill it up with gas.”

Noah usually didn’t like people driving his car, but Donnie deserved his joyride and more for saving the car. A tank of gas was a small price to pay. “No problem, man. Thanks again for backing me up.”

Donnie gave him a thumbs-up and strolled off. Noah had only gotten a few steps down the hallway when he heard a voice behind him.

“Mr. Reilly?”

Fuck.

It was Nashville’s resident werewolf shrink, Randall Creston.

He wasn’t really a shrink—he was an expert in shifter psychology, but his focus wasn’t usually on helping people. He’d been Nash Jenkins’ consultant, and Noah had the feeling his expertise was more on domination and intimidation.

But he was the one the Council had chosen to keep tabs on Noah. To make sure his nightmares weren’t getting out of hand, and he wasn’t having any blackouts or freakouts.

In other words, not a danger to himself or shifters as a whole. For Noah, Creston was less of a counselor and more of a parole officer.

“You missed your appointment today, Mr. Reilly,” he said in that prissy-ass voice that always brought out the annoying ten-year-old in Noah.

“Yeah,” Noah said. “Sorry. I got totally shitfaced last night and went for a run in the woods. Found a house made of straw, so I huffed and puffed and blew it down, and ate the three little pigs. Took a while. Can we reschedule?”

Creston looked at him with his flat, unemotional gaze. “Come into the study.”