Doctor Wolf (The Collegium Book 4) (6 page)

Or had she recalled his quiet protectiveness and instinctively sought a refuge?

“One date,” Carson said.

“Pardon?”

“Are you working, tonight?”

“No. Tomorrow night.”

“Dinner and a club. We’ll go dancing.”

She stared at him.

He elucidated. “One public date. It won’t mean much to anyone watching me—although you can’t visit here, again—but to Brandon, after what you told him today, if he pursues you I have the right to challenge him over it.”

Challenges among weres happened, but her grandfather had strict rules of behavior for the wolves in his pack and those, like Carson, who were visiting. According to John, squabbling was for youngsters. If Carson intended to call Brandon on his behavior, then he had to have a clear case for doing so. A date, as he’d said, would provide the proof for Liz’s lie to Brandon earlier.

And her grandfather knew they’d run together last night.

“All right,” she agreed. “Dinner and dancing. If you don’t mind?”

Unexpectedly, Carson grinned. “Do I mind an excuse to cuddle you on a dance floor?” He swooped and bent her back over his arm as if they were tangoing.

She started laughing, unable to stop even as he pulled her upright. She leant against him until her laughter faded. “I have a favorite club.”

“Ah?” Cautious. Such a clever wolf. He wanted to know what she found so hilarious.

“Everyone will expect me to take you to the club. It serves dinner, so we can eat there.”

“What’s the club, its theme?”

“Salsa.” She smiled brilliantly. “Get ready to shake your booty, baby.”

“What if I have two left feet?”

“I’m a doctor. I’ll stitch you on a right foot.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Okay. I’ll pick you up about eight o’clock.”

“Uh no. Don’t do that.” Her laughter vanished in a panicked rush.

So did his. “If you think Brandon’s watching your house, this is more than game playing. I’ll challenge him now. Stalking is wrong.”

“No, no. My house. Eight o’clock. I’ll be waiting.”
And Kylie will be hiding
. “See you then. Wear your dancing shoes.”

Carson found a parking spot within walking distance of Liz’s home and didn’t try for one closer. There probably wouldn’t be. It was a perfect summer’s night and London was heaving with people out and about, intent on enjoying the last of the warm weather.

In Eaton Square, the iconic plane trees of London towered over all else in the private garden. Classical music drifted on the air. Someone was hosting a small concert in the park.

Liz waited on the steps of her house, sitting there as casually as if her multi-million dollar townhouse was student digs. She smiled at him. “I’m listening to the concert. Baroque on a summer’s evening.”

“You look like summer.”

Her smiled widened. “Thank you.”

He had to look away from how beautiful she was. He’d expected she’d wear something short and flirty for clubbing, but instead, she wore a peasant top, white but colorfully embroidered, falling off one shoulder, and a long full skirt that draped sensually along her thighs. The skirt was the deep green of gentian leaves. Gold hoop earrings dangled, emphasizing the graceful line of jaw to throat, with her hair tied up and back in a loose knot.

If she had been a student, a girl waiting for him, eager to dance and love and forget the world, he’d have been tempted to do the same. But she sat on the steps of a house that was a silent, emphatic reminder of just how wealthy she was. It wasn’t just the Elixir Gentian that separated them. Liz belonged to a different world.

She stretched out a hand, and he clasped it and helped her up. She rose effortlessly, standing tall in high heels and shaking out her skirt.

“Can you walk in those shoes? My car’s a bit of a distance. I could come back for you.”

“We can walk to the club from here.” She released his hand to slide her arm through his.

They did, strolling along the sidewalk before Liz tugged him into an alley.

He frowned. “Don’t tell me you walk home this way from the club. You shouldn’t even walk this way to the club.”

“It’s a shortcut, since you’re with me. And I always get a taxi home or a friend drops me off. I’m aware that London is dangerous for women, even for wolf-weres. Some of the pack—” She fell abruptly silent.

Her sudden silence could have been because they’d just emerged from the alley to a busy street, but Carson had excellent instincts for danger. “Some of the pack…?”

“Some of the women are talking about taking a stroll where the surveillance cameras don’t record and luring men into attacking them.”

“What the hell for?”

“Fight practice and teaching would-be assailants a lesson. Women aren’t victims.”

He blew out his breath in an aggravated sigh. “There are better ways to prove that than provoking a fight.”

“Which is what I told them.”

“Did they listen?”

She smiled ruefully. “When I told them I’d tell Grandfather if they didn’t swear not to do anything so idiotic. I understand their frustration. In A&E I treat women who’ve been assaulted, raped, and abused. Children who’ve been battered.”

He put his arm around her shoulders in a quick hug of sympathy and reassurance. “We can’t turn vigilante.”

“Justice, not mob vengeance.” She nodded, jerkily. “Anyway, I don’t know how we got onto such a depressing topic. The club is across the road.”

He saw an Indian restaurant, a Thai one and a bookstore. There was no sign of a flamboyant salsa club.

He let his arm drop from her shoulders to her waist and they dashed between the traffic to the far side. A faint Latin beat reached his ears. He looked for a basement window, an underground club, but the music came from above. He glanced up, puzzled.

“Rooftop bar. I know it’s tempting fate in London, but they have a roofed area for when it rains.” Liz ventured down yet another alley, to a set of circular stairs. “There’s a commercial elevator for those who prefer it, but I like climbing up.” And climb she did, smoothly and athletically, despite her high heels that struck the metal steps with sharp clicks.

Round and round, dizzyingly, to emerge to a fourth story rooftop filled with tables, a hum of conversation and a live band setting up. Which meant it was recorded music that provided the background ambiance.

“Querida!” A handsome man, not a were, greeted Liz enthusiastically, kissing her on both cheeks, before stepping back to theatrically admire Carson. It was quite a leer, but didn’t disguise the sharp assessment behind it. “And you are?”

“He’s mine.” Liz slipped an arm around Carson’s waist, leaning into him lightly. “Carson Erving, meet Santos Rodriguez, owner, manager and guiding light of Medley. Santos, don’t scare him away.”

“But can he dance?”

Liz looked at Carson.

He hid his own amusement. “A little.”

“Margaritas,” Santos proclaimed. “Everyone can dance after margaritas.”

They had their margaritas, lime and pineapple, and tapas-style Mexican dishes, before Liz looked wistfully at the dance floor filling with people. The live band was in full swing, and fantastic.

“Would you like to dance?” Carson put a hint of reluctance into his voice.

“Yes.” She sprang up, and paused a moment on the dance floor, her hand flat against his chest. She lowered her voice. “It’s okay if you’re not comfortable dancing. Just shuffle.”

He took her hand, spun her out and pulled her in tight against his body in a classic, dominant dance move: a challenge and invitation.

Her mouth dropped open.

He let the rhythm drive up his feet, on through his thighs, into the movement of his hips and the limber shift of his body. “Try and keep up.”

They salsa’d.

Liz moved like sex and laughter. She flirted with him, teased and retreated, and obeyed the slightest hint of direction. It was as if they’d danced together for years—but years of familiarity might have dampened the energy that arced between them. This was new and overwhelming. They generated an electric atmosphere that kept other dancers at a distance. The music was just for them.

It fell from bright demanding beat to a whispering compulsion. Carson pulled her against him and their hips ground together, marking the rhythm.

“Where did you learn to dance like this?” she asked.

“Mom runs a Latin dance studio. Since there were always more girls than boys enrolled, I’d be roped in.”

The music clashed, demanding they separate. He kept his hand, fingers spread wide, at the small of her back, insisting she stay against him.

She shimmied. “Those extra dance classes were worth it.”

He spun her out, setting her free. “At the moment, they were worth every excruciating second.”

The tie between them was intense, woven of attraction, matched steps and the music. Their gazes stayed locked, heating.

“Are you going to ignore me all night?” A man in his late thirties, leopard-were by his scent, broke in.

Liz stopped dancing to throw herself at him. “Evan!”

He wrapped her up tight, Santos appearing like a genie beside him.

Carson reeled in his possessive male instincts even before he caught Santos’s mocking, watchful gaze. A leopard-were could be family for Liz. She was a wolf-were, like her mom and grandfather, but her father and brother were leopard-weres. This Evan could be a cousin.

If he wasn’t, then Carson would punch him. No. Well, maybe. Dancing with Liz had brought his alpha wolf nature very close to the surface. It growled within him,
Mine
.

“Evan, this is Carson. Carson, Evan’s my cousin and Santos’ life partner.”

They shook hands, people dancing around them. Evan’s grip was firm but not aggressive. He had nothing to prove. A hint of amusement curved his mouth. He’d recognized Carson’s possessive instincts.

Not so Liz. She hugged Evan’s arm. “I thought you were overseas.”

“House rule! You talk off the dance floor.” Santos swept them all towards their table. A waitress arrived instantly with fresh drinks.

While Evan answered Liz’s questions and more on some family member, Santos leaned towards Carson and spoke low, under cover of the music. “I’m the one to watch out for if you hurt our Liz. Evan would rip your throat out, but he wouldn’t be able to because I’d hide your body so it was never found.” Somehow, the salsa club owner didn’t sound like he was exaggerating. It also sounded as if he knew his partner’s true nature.

Carson concentrated. Beneath the swirling scents of perfume and food, he caught a hint of the other couple’s mate-bond. Yes, although mundane himself, Santos knew and had accepted Evan’s true nature. He’d also, evidently, adopted Evan’s family as his own. Liz was getting the full, protective, big brother treatment.

Omega wolf-weres did tend to elicit that concern for them, and Carson could respect it. “I won’t hurt Liz. Her grandfather, John, will tell you.”

“The earl?” Santos sat back. “Family approved?” He laughed. “Liz!” His call for attention attracted it from tables around.

She broke off her conversation with Evan. “You bellowed?”

“You know what playing games with a family-approved date leads to?”

“Oh no. Don’t say it.” She stood in a rush and grabbed Carson’s hand.

He let himself be pulled to the floor.

Santos’s voice followed them. “Puppies!”

“Puppies?” Carson murmured as Liz picked up the rhythm and ignored Santos’s laughter.

“Santos knows weres don’t shift to their animal form until puberty. Evan has told him. We’ve all told him. But he also knows Grandfather would love for me to find a mate, have some kids.”

“Puppies.”

She grimaced comically. “He likes the in-joke of knowing I’m a wolf.”

“And Evan must have told him I’m one, too.”

“Probably.”

Santos waved at them, one hand on his partner’s shoulder, before dashing off on some business. He was an active club owner and manager.

Evan stayed at their table, watching them.

Carson had a feeling Santos underestimated his partner’s lethalness. The watchful way Evan observed them had a haunted, cutting edge.

“Evan’s a marshal.” Liz slow danced against him. “He brings in the weres suspected of awful things for judgement by…well, by Steve, these days since he’s the new Suzerain. Santos’s determined frivolity is a good balance for Evan.” She moved easily with Carson, their thighs sliding against one another’s. “Mates should balance.”

Her arms were around his neck, her perfume subtle, enhancing her natural scent rather than masking it—at least, for a were’s acute senses. She filled Carson’s world.

“We should go home,” she said.

Liz swayed against Carson. They were linked by her arms around his neck, and his arms low at her waist, hands barely brushing her butt, teasing; and by their bodies shifting and aligning from chest to thigh. She followed his lead so easily on the dance floor that she couldn’t help imagining how good sex would be. She wasn’t a passive sexual partner, but she wasn’t dominant. A man who could read her body, incite it and wring more pleasure from her worked for her.

Carson owned her body and they were simply dancing.

Her back arched, just a fraction, pushing her hips tighter against his.

He was so flexible, so incredibly powerful in his response to the music—and to her—that she craved more.

“I’m working tomorrow night,” she said. “I shouldn’t have a late night, tonight. Santos has told the world we’re together and that’s what we wanted this date to announce.” It was a lie that could be true.

She and Carson stared at one another.

The slow, sultry song ended and a fast tempo pounded. Neither moved.

“If I kiss you, now, will Santos shout ‘puppies’, again?”

She’d have laughed if sheer arousal hadn’t locked her muscles, melted them. She was fused to Carson. It wasn’t the music but the pulse of his blood that she moved to. Infinitesimal movements that no one would see, but he’d feel.

His hands slid to her butt, tilting her pelvis that fraction forward.

He kissed her.

Mercy
. No, she didn’t want mercy! She wanted more of the torture-heaven. He flicked his tongue against hers, teased her lower lip, and then, the kiss got serious. He filled her senses, shutting out the dance floor, the crowd and music, shutting out everything that wasn’t him. She growled in her throat when he drew back.

“You said there’s an elevator,” he murmured in her ear.

She nearly collapsed at the sensation of his warm breath. “Yes.”

“Lead the way. We’re going home.”

His left hand stayed on her hip, keeping her close in front of him, using her to hide the semi-arousal she’d felt.

She waved good-bye to Evan, and to Santos who watched from the bar.

They were alone in the elevator, but there was a camera. She felt Carson note it as he stood behind her.

He wrapped two arms around her waist, dipped his head, and kissed her shoulder where it curved to meet her throat. He opened his mouth wider to play bite it. She shuddered deep and hard, and he jerked her tight against him.

“You’re dangerous.” He relaxed his hold as the elevator doors opened.

They walked out into the night. Streetlights and the golden light spilling out from restaurants and bars lit the road. It was a relief to reach the darkness of the alley, the shortcut to her home. She went into Carson’s arms with the inevitability of iron filings to a magnet. She slammed into him—her haste, his. Theirs.

They kissed till they were out of breath.

“This damn alley,” he panted. “I want to press you up against a wall. Those dance moves, but harder.” His nostrils flared, scenting her flooding arousal. “They got to you, too,” he added, darkly satisfied. “Come on.”

He hurried her out of the alley, on towards her house.

The concert in the square was over, the garden dark. She glanced up at her house and its front windows were equally dark, but it reminded her. Kylie had promised to keep those rooms dark. She’d be in the back rooms, her room or the kitchen.

But if Liz brought Carson into the house, he was a were. He’d know someone else was there, even without seeing her.

He’d know and he might mention it to her grandfather. Heck, even to Evan and Santos!

Her pace slowed. And Kylie’s scent was embedded. Liz couldn’t claim that she was a friend staying the night. Kylie was a resident, one no one in the family knew of.

I didn’t think this through.
In hiding Kylie’s presence from Brandon, Liz had made it possible Carson would discover her.
I promised Ooma and Kylie I wouldn’t tell anyone
. Secrets shared weren’t secrets any more.

Damn
.

“Damn.”

She stopped, and so did Carson. They halted with the railings of the garden behind her, her gaze to the house.

“You’ve changed your mind,” he said neutrally.

Her gaze abandoned the house to study his face in the shadows of a plane tree that brought mystery and hid secrets despite the moonlight, streetlights and the security services employed by the square’s wealthy residents.

“I don’t want to change my mind,” she said honestly. She touched his face, traced the line of his mouth and felt her heartbeat kick up. Such a harsh line, tautened by passion. “But I have to.”

“Us getting involved for real would complicate things.”

“You’ve no idea,” she said fervently.

He tilted his head.

Double damn.
She recognized the characteristic gesture that said he’d heard something intriguing in her response.

“Liz.” A long pause. “Are you in trouble? Something you don’t want to tell your family for fear they’ll overreact? Santos threatened me if I hurt you, and I’m guessing that’s standard practice,” he added in explanation of the question. “I can promise not to overreact.”

“But not to refrain from doing whatever you think is right?” She smiled as she shook her head. “No, an alpha would never limit himself by promising that. I’m okay, Carson. I swear. Thanks for your help, tonight. Brandon shouldn’t be a problem. There were a few weres at the club. Word will get around. You’re released from Liz-protection-duty. You can focus on your plants.”

“And if I want to focus on you?” His hands were lightly at her waist, which meant he felt her tremble.

“Not a good idea. Not now.”

He let her go.

She liked him, and respected that he didn’t use his strength—physical and emotional—to pressure her. Nor did he complain at how suddenly she’d cooled.

If only he knew how she fought her instincts. But they’d end up here, again, if they kept seeing each other. She couldn’t risk it.

He suspected she was hiding something; hadn’t yet realized it was a someone.

“Albert?” Carson called, distracted from her. “Are you looking for me? Has something happened at the greenhouse?”

Albert, you nuisance!
Liz glared at the ramshackle, stick-thin man ambling down the front steps of her house, its door not quite closed behind him. Not quite closed?

She ran across the road, meeting Albert at the bottom of the stairs. “You were inside! Did you—”

Kylie pulled the door wide. “He just walked in. So I hit him with the rolling pin.”

“Did you meet Kylie?” Liz finished unnecessarily. “The rolling pin? It’s marble. Albert, let’s see.”

“Nah, nah.” He fended her off. “She didn’t actually hit me. I’m a mage, remember? Bounced off.”

“Ssshh.” Liz cast a hunted look at Kylie, hiding just out of sight of the road in the shadowed doorway. “She doesn’t know about magic.”

“She does now,” Albert said unrepentantly.

“You—”

“So, you’re not looking for me.”

Liz yelped. She’d forgotten Carson.

He loomed up behind her, and it was a loom. “Does John know you have a mage infamous for his wards visiting your house?”

“No, and you can’t tell Grandfather! Oh drat and blast. You’d better come inside—all of you!” With a harassed look around, she pushed Albert back up the stairs and knew Carson followed her.

Kylie closed the door behind them. Then bolted it.

Carson noticed. He raised an eyebrow at Liz.

She ignored him in favor of heading for the kitchen.

“I made chocolate brownies with hazelnuts and cherries.” Kylie darted ahead and hovered by the racks of chocolate heaven cooling on the central counter that divided the cooking from the eating area. The kitchen was a wonderful space, timeless with its white-painted cupboards, oak countertops and large oak table. Apple-green walls added color. “Chocolate makes me feel better and I was shaking. I nearly hit Albert.” Her eyes tracked left and up.

The marble rolling pin was halfway embedded in the high wall near the ceiling.

“Albert! Get it down.” The rolling pin couldn’t possibly stay there without some magical assistance.

He gave her a furtive grin. The rolling pin floated down to the countertop, the wall resealed and Kylie stared at Albert as if he were a god. He smirked.

“You shouldn’t walk into a house uninvited,” Liz snapped at him.

“I reckoned as you’d want me to check your wards.”

Which she did. “How are they?”

“Broken.”

She sunk onto a chair.

Kylie stared at her, then walked across and sat close. “That’s bad?”

Abruptly, Albert lost his humor and his funny mannerisms. “Yes, love, it’s bad. That’s why I stayed. With Liz and Carson here, they can guard things while I investigate how the ward got broken.” He looked at Liz. “It wasn’t just the broken ward. Someone’s marked the house. Expect visitors.”

It was as if saying the words, summoned them.

The front door crashed opened with the shattering sound of splintering wood.

“Pantry. Hide,” Liz snapped to Kylie.

The woman grabbed a knife from the knife block and ran into the pantry.

Carson was already out of the kitchen and meeting the intruders in the front living room and hallway.

“Roof.” Albert opened his eyes and ran upstairs.

The backdoor crashed open, straight into the kitchen.

Liz picked up the rolling pin and threw it. As a doctor, she knew the kind of trauma something that heavy could cause, but to hesitate was to risk Kylie’s life and that of everyone in the house. So she aimed for the first intruder’s bald head, and struck a glancing blow.

The massive man in the doorway went down, but that left his companion, who was nearly equally as large.

Liz checked his hands. No gun!
Thank you, God
.

One meaty fist twitched and a knife appeared in it, sliding from a wrist sheath. The man grinned. It was an ugly smile, meant to terrify, and promising evil things.

Liz sniffed. They weren’t weres, and she couldn’t smell magic, either. They were mundanes, men who counted on shock and force to overpower two women—or had they been told Kylie was home alone? She and Carson had returned much earlier than she usually did from Santos’s club.

If Kylie had been alone…

There was a panic room on the floor above. The pantry had a false side wall. The shelves swung open to reveal a narrow space with a ladder fitted. Kylie would have climbed up it by now, entering the small panic room that one of Ooma’s secretive contacts had installed behind the guest bathroom. Liz and Kylie had practiced the drill sufficiently for Kylie to be in there, with the two entrances secured.

But panic rooms were a temporary respite. Liz had to get these intruders out of her home.

She glanced at the knife block, but instantly discarded the notion. The large man stepping over his colleague had a significantly longer reach than her.

But she was trained to fight—and her brother, Steve, had fought dirty, determined to teach her to survive—and a mundane man wouldn’t be expecting her strength and speed.

She grabbed the wire rack the chocolate brownies were on. The small cakes flew in all directions as she leapt up onto the counter and down, blocking the slash of the knife with the rack. It worked better than she’d hoped. The knife got stuck in the lines of wires. Meantime, she ducked under the huge fist heading for her jaw and punched her attacker in his crown jewels.

He folded with an anguished squeal, and as he folded, she brought her knee up, connecting under his jaw, and knocking him out completely.

“Ow. Ow, ow, ow.” Her knee hurt. She ignored it and limp-ran for the front room and the thuds and grunts that suggested Carson was facing superior numbers. Real fights, vicious ones like this attack, were over fast, so Carson had to have a number of opponents to defeat.

She poked her head around the living room doorway to assess the situation and saw four bodies on the floor; one attempting to sit up, only to fall back with a groan.

The fifth and final assailant faced Carson with whirling blades and the wary readiness of a highly trained martial arts practitioner. There was blood on the man’s face.

From upstairs came a
pop-pop
like firecrackers.

Silenced gunshots.

Carson picked up a coffee table and hurled it at the last standing intruder. The coffee table was a shockingly heavy single piece of carved walnut. The intruder’s eyes widened an instant even as his body moved on instinct, swiftly and safely out of the way—but that instant’s shock cost him everything. Carson followed the table’s flight and body-slammed the intruder. As the man went down, Carson punched him once.

Liz heard the crack of a jaw breaking and saw the man’s sudden, sprawled unconsciousness.