Dark Wolf Rising (Bloodrunners) (12 page)

“Yeah? And what would that be?”

“
You,
boyo.”

With a tired sigh, Eric scrubbed his hands down his face, wishing the Runner would leave him the hell alone. “You can cut down on all the drama, Hennessey. Chelsea Smart is
not
my mate.”

The Irishman lifted his brows. “You sure about that?”

Wyatt snorted. “I think he’d be able to tell if she was.”

“Would he?”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “From what I’ve been told. Didn’t your mama ever teach you about scent recognition?”

“That’s how it works for the rest of us, yeah. But who knows with a dark wolf? Those feckers are weird. I mean, just look at the one we have right here.”

Eric responded by flipping the Runner off, which had all of them laughing.

“Ah, Drake,” Cian murmured, balancing his chair on its back legs again as he tipped his beer at him and grinned. “This is gonna be so much fun to watch.”

Chapter Eight

A
fter a long, scalding shower to soothe her sore muscles, Chelsea had snuggled up on the queen-size bed in the guestroom and crashed. She didn’t know how long she’d slept, but it was dark outside when she finally pulled herself out of bed.

As she made her way back to the bathroom to brush her teeth, she was still a little stunned by how beautiful Eric’s home was. When he’d told her about the Alley, she’d imagined wilderness living, but the cabin was fully modernized, with gleaming hardwood floors and a rugged décor that looked like something out of a Pottery Barn catalogue. And the techno gadgets she’d seen when she passed by his office were all upscale and current. She still wasn’t quite sure what he and his friends did for a living, but whatever it was, they sure as hell weren’t hurting for money.

With her brush in hand, working out the tangles in her hair, Chelsea made her way from the bathroom, down the hallway, and found three women sitting on the sofas in the living room. They all moved to their feet as she entered the room, making it clear they’d been waiting for her. A petite redhead with big green eyes introduced herself as Torrance, explaining that she lived there in the Alley with her husband, Mason, who was a friend of Eric’s. The beautiful blonde was named Jillian, and Chelsea thought the name sounded familiar. With a warm smile, Jillian told her that she was married to Jeremy and they lived in the cabin nearest to Eric’s. The last woman was a stunning brunette who was married to a guy named Brody, and the couple also had a cabin there in the Alley.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Chelsea said, feeling a little stunned. They were so beautiful they made her feel like a frumpy schoolmarm.

Torrance perched on the arm of the nearest sofa. “Eric tells us you’re a professor.”

“That’s right,” she replied, thinking,
Oh, God. I really am a schoolmarm!
“I teach Women’s Studies at the university in Smythe.”

“Wow,” the one who’d introduced herself as Michaela remarked with a friendly smile. “That sounds so interesting.”

“It is. Though I have a feeling it’s not nearly as interesting as things around here,” she murmured, getting the uncomfortable feeling that these women had been sent to the cabin for a reason—and not just to make friendly chitchat.

“Yeah,” Jillian drawled, tucking a strand of blond hair behind her ear. “This place is something else. In fact—” she gave Chelsea a sheepish grin “—that’s actually what we’re here to talk about.”

“Oh?” Chelsea felt a sickly smile settle on her lips, wondering what in God’s name they were about to tell her. Was this one of those freaky love communes? A religious cult? Some kind of underground militant movement ready to take over the world?

“Let’s get some coffee on first,” Torrance said, no doubt sensing Chelsea’s panic. “I think we’re going to need it.”

Michaela gave a smoky laugh. “It might take something stronger, Torry.”

“A bottle of wine, then?” Torrance asked, heading for the kitchen area that was all decked out in terracotta stone and stainless-steel appliances.

“I think we left a nice red here the other day,” Jillian said. “Just grab that and I’ll get the glasses.”

When they were all settled back in the living room, wine in hand, Torrance, who was sitting with Michaela on the opposite sofa, started the conversation. “First of all, how are you doing?”

Chelsea took a deep breath, trying not to be nervous, and said, “Pretty well, considering the circumstances. Eric’s not exactly the easiest person to get along with, but I owe him for saving my life last night.”

Jillian, who was sitting beside her, gently patted her knee. “Be patient with him, Chelsea. He’s had a hard time of it lately. So if he comes off a bit rough at times, don’t hold it against him.”

She wanted to ask for details, but held back, since it felt wrong to be doing it behind his back. But once she found out what the big secret was, she knew there was a possibility that her opinion might change. If something weird was going on here, she was going to want to know everything that she could.

Setting her wineglass on the low coffee table, Torrance leaned forward, resting her crossed arms on her knees, and carefully said, “Chelsea, it’s important that you know we’re all here for you, and we all want to see your sister make it out of this safely. But to do that, there’s something we need to talk about.”

“All right,” she whispered, wetting her lips, painfully aware of her pulse coming faster...and faster, roaring like the engine of a train that just kept gaining in speed, shooting down the tracks with no concern for either her safety
or
her sanity.

Please, God, don’t let it be anything weird. Or scary. Or creepy...

Torrance took a deep breath, then quietly said, “I know this is going to seem like a strange question, but what do you know about Lycans?”

She blinked, not certain she understood. “You mean like in the
Underworld
movies? The werewolves?”

A soft smile touched the corner of the redhead’s mouth. “Yes. That’s one interpretation.”

Chelsea wet her lips again, surprised to find that they felt a little numb. No matter how nice these women were, she had a really bad feeling about where this was going. “I know that they’re not real.”

“Actually, they are.”

Another slow blink, her chest aching as her heart began to pound to a hard, jarring rhythm. “Excuse me?”

“Eric and the others,” Torrance told her. “They’re Lycans, Chelsea.”

She quickly shifted her gaze to Michaela and Jillian, hoping to see a grinning face so that she’d know this was just some kind of stupid joke—but they were both watching her with expressions of worry and determination. If she asked, they would both tell her that the words Torrance had just uttered were totally and completely true.

Ohmyfreakinggod...

Panic had her throat feeling tight, as if strong hands were wrapped around it, squeezing her air off. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she gasped, panting, unable to control the violent tremor that was shooting through her arms and legs. “This...this isn’t a joke, is it?”

She would have loved to think these women were just delusional, but then wouldn’t Eric have warned her? And she couldn’t quite get the feeling out of her head that she’d seen something at the club when Eric had been fighting the guy with the blond hair. An inhuman flash of fangs? And then there was the way Eric’s gray eyes sometimes seemed to glow with an unnatural light. She’d been telling herself that she must have just imagined those things—but that no longer seemed the case.

“I’m sorry, Chelsea,” Jillian murmured, gently rubbing her back, as if she were a child who needed comfort. “I know it seems scary, but it’s going to be all right. From everything that Eric has told us about you, we know that you’re strong enough to handle this. There aren’t many who know the secret, so we’re placing a tremendous amount of trust in you by revealing the truth. Just take a deep breath and try to calm down, okay?”

She could feel herself nodding, and while her thoughts continued to churn in a dizzying swirl of confusion, she listened as the women explained about the Silvercrest Lycan pack that lived up on the top of the mountain, in the town called Shadow Peak. Then they explained about the Lycans they believed were involved at the club, and finally about the five men and one woman who lived there in the Alley. About how they were half human, half Lycan hunters whose job it was to protect the secret of their race from the human world, as well as to hunt down any wolves who turned rogue and became a threat to their human neighbors. They even told her why the Runners lived separately from the pack, explaining about the social divide that had always existed between those who were “pure-bloods” and the half-breed Runners.

“And Eric,” she said, her voice tight with strain, “he’s one of the full-blooded Lycans? A pure-blood?”

“That’s right,” Jillian told her, refilling Chelsea’s glass.

She took a deep swallow of the wine, needing it to warm her insides, while trying to wrap her head around everything they’d said. “But he’s friends with the Runners? He stays here in the Alley?”

Jillian nodded. “Unlike a lot of the Lycans in Shadow Peak, Eric’s never bought into all their elitist nonsense. He really is a good guy, Chelse. If he wasn’t, I promise I’d tell you.” A grin touched the corner of Jillian’s lips. “After all, we women need to stick together, right?”

She downed the rest of her wine, set the glass back on the table and exhaled in an audible rush. “Okay,” she breathed out, bracing her elbows on her knees and dropping her face into her hands, “just let me think for a minute.”

“Take all the time you need,” Torrance told her. “We’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready to talk.”

Chelsea listened as they walked away, still struggling to stay calm, and hoping she could find a rational way to accept and deal with this new strange, mind-boggling reality she’d been presented with. More than anything, she knew she couldn’t afford to get hysterical, though the idea was certainly tempting. But if this was the world that Perry had gotten her stupid little ass mixed up in, then she was going to need Eric and his friends’ help. She couldn’t handle something like this on her own. It was too unfamiliar—too unknown. She was out of her depth, and she knew it. So she had to slip over the customary freak-out period she normally would have allowed herself, and face reality like a big girl.

She might cry herself to sleep tonight out of sheer emotional exhaustion, but damn it, she wouldn’t fall apart before then.

Hoping her legs would keep her steady, Chelsea moved to her feet. She ran her fingers through her drying hair, smoothed them over her shirt, then reached for her wineglass and carried it into the kitchen, where she could hear the three women quietly talking.

“Is there any way to kill them?” she asked, joining the women at a small, but beautifully polished breakfast table.

Torrance frowned. “Are you planning on trying to off one of them? Because we’ll definitely take exception to that.”

She shook her head, her fingers nervously twisting the stem of her glass as she said, “I just want to know what I’m dealing with. Do silver bullets work?”

The recessed lighting in the high ceiling made Michaela’s dark hair look midnight-blue as she reached over and patted her hand. “This isn’t a movie, Chelsea. Bullets can slow them down, no matter what they’re made from, but they don’t kill them.”

“What does?”

Torrance still looked cautious. “Why do you want to know?”

Michaela slid an understanding look at her worried friend. “It’s okay, Torry. She’s not looking to murder anyone. She’s just scared.”

“You don’t need to be,” Jillian told her, going to the fridge and grabbing them each a bottle of water. “Not of Eric and the Runners. They’re golden. They’d die before letting anything happen to a woman or child. But to answer your question,” she said, sliding back into her seat and twisting the cap off her water, “a Lycan
can
be killed if they get cut up too badly and bleed out. But the only way to really make sure they won’t heal from their wounds is to snap their spinal columns or remove their head from their shoulders.”

“But deaths from bleeding out don’t happen often,” Torrance added. “Jillian is a miracle worker.”

“What do you mean?” Chelsea asked, opening her water and taking a drink, the cold liquid feeling like heaven in her dry throat.

Pushing her hair behind her ear again, Jillian slid her a wry look from the corner of her eye. “I’m the pack’s Spirit Walker.”

It must have been clear from her expression that she didn’t understand, because Michaela said, “She’s like their holy woman, Chelsea. Their healer.”

Realization slammed her between the eyes like a two-by-four. “You’re...one of them?” she wheezed, coughing, thankful she hadn’t just taken another sip of water, since she’d have spewed it all over the table.

“My parents are both Lycan, so yes, I’m one of them,” Jillian said in a friendly, but matter-of-fact tone, as if she’d just admitted that her parents were members of Costco, instead of a shape-shifting wolf pack. “But as a Spirit Walker, I can’t take the shape of a wolf.”

“Oh.” Chelsea pulled her lower lip through her teeth, but couldn’t think of anything else to say. She never would have guessed that the beautiful blonde’s parents were werewolves. But then she never would have guessed that Eric was one, either. Oh, she’d known he was alpha and rugged and more than a little primal—but only in an athletic, purely masculine, sex-god kind of way. The idea that he might grow fangs and claws and howl at the moon had never even crossed her mind.

“I know it’s a lot to take in right away,” Torrance murmured, “but you’ll get used to it.”

She gave a short, dry laugh and shook her head. “Oh, I doubt I’ll be here long enough to get used to it.”

Jillian’s brows lifted with surprise. “Really? Eric’s going to let you leave here unprotected?”

“Eric doesn’t have any say in it,” she replied a little more sharply than she’d intended, but the idea that she needed his permission set her on edge. “Once I’ve got Perry, we’re going home.”

Torrance’s voice was soft. “And what if Perry doesn’t want to go home? It sounds like she’s pretty crazy about this guy she went after.”

Chelsea felt a little sick inside. “I don’t know,” she admitted, not wanting to even consider that gut-churning scenario. “If that happens, I’ll just have to do whatever it takes to make her see reason.”

“You know those men from that club could be watching your condo,” Jillian pointed out. “It won’t be safe for you there.”

“Then we’ll find somewhere else to stay. But we both have lives to get back to. We can’t stay here forever.”

Jillian looked as though she was going to argue, but a quick glance from Torrance stopped her. Instead, they talked more about the Runners while Michaela reheated the lasagna they’d brought over for her dinner. While she ate at the small table, the women told her stories about the men they’d fallen in love with, and it became clear that even though the Runners were fiercely protective and possessive, they weren’t overbearing about it. Instead, they were true partners, giving back as much as they took, and if even half of what the women said was true, it was obvious that they were incredible husbands. They were also madly, desperately in love with their wives.