Hunted (Riley Cray) (2 page)

Washing down my bite of toast with a gulp of coffee, I stalked through the living room to the door, none too pleased that my breakfast had been interrupted. I reached for the handle just as another knock landed on the wood, the strike firm enough to make the door rattle in its hinges.

“Hold on, there’s no need to get your boxers in a bunch!”

Throwing back the lock and opening the door just enough to peek out, a sudden gust of wind sent a column of freezing air straight up under my robe, making me all too aware that I was naked underneath the pink terry cloth.

Through the crack in the door I could see two men that would have looked rather imposing if it weren’t for the fact that their faces were bright red from the cold and their shoulders were hunched up around their ears. Their stiff stances screamed law enforcement, and a ball of apprehension settled heavily in my gut.

“Ms. Cray?” the first man asked in a rough voice that spoke of a pack-a-day habit. My nose wrinkled at the strong odor of cigarettes wafting in through the door.

“Yes...” I replied, drawing the word out in a questioning lilt as I eyed him with suspicion.

“I’m Special Agent Johnson and this is my partner, Special Agent Holbrook,” he said, inclining his head minutely to the man standing just behind him.

“You got any I.D. to go with those spiffy titles?”

With a frown, Agent Johnson withdrew a leather bifold from his pocket and presented his credentials. Leaning forward into the gap in the door, I peered at the gleaming badge, not really sure what I was looking at.

Hell, Loki would know what to look for as much as I do.

Ascertaining that it at least didn’t appear to have come out of a Cracker Jack box, I nodded at the agent as if I had some inkling of what I was looking at.

“I guess you gentlemen had better come in,” I said stepping back and opening the door.

Pack-a-day was the oldest of the pair, though his age was hard to pin down. A smooth face with only a small cluster of wrinkles around his bright blue eyes would have made me peg him as no older than early forties, but the stark white hair combed back from his face made it a harder guess. He bore the wide and stocky frame of an ex-football player, though it looked as if there was a little softness about his middle beneath his coat.

To say that Agent Holbrook was drop dead gorgeous would be an understatement. He was a dark haired Adonis with wind flushed cheeks.

Forest green eyes studied me with a mixture of curiosity and appraisal. Narrower through the shoulders than his partner, he was tall and lean, the tailored cut of his long coat accentuating his narrow waist. It was the look in his eyes, however, that brought a sudden rush of heat to my middle, awakening the slumbering wolf, causing her to unfurl inside me. It was a rare thing for her to be roused so soon after a run, and I found my interest piqued by the reaction he inspired.

I figured it was a safe assumption that I wasn’t the only one interested when his gaze tracked down to the neckline of my robe with no attempt at subtly. Glancing down, I realized that I was affording the two agents a rather generous view as the front of my bathrobe gaped open.

Seeing as I spend a good portion of my time naked as I shift between woman and wolf, I’m not easy to embarrass, but the unabashedly appreciative look in Agent Holbrook’s eyes brought a flush of pink to my cheeks. Even as I cleared my throat and pinned him with a glare that let him know he had been busted, my blush spread all the way down my chest in response to the smirk that curved the edges of his mouth.

“How can I help you, Agent?” I asked Johnson, tightening the belt on my robe and ignoring the smile that continued to curve his partner’s lips.

“I understand that you are familiar with Mr. Samson Reed?” Johnson asked.

All traces of blossoming arousal fled in the blink of an eye as my hand moved instinctively to cover my stomach. The puckered scars marring the skin of my belly flared white hot with remembered agony while my mouth went suddenly dry.

“You could say that,” I managed to choke out, my mouth filled with the sour taste of bile.

“Mr. Reed escaped from White Sands Supernatural Penitentiary two days ago. We came here to tell you that...” Johnson continued to explain, but his words faded into static as the world grew fuzzy around the edges of my vision, the floor slanting sharply to the right.

A large hand clutching my elbow in a strong grip brought me swimming back up to conscious thought, and I found Agent Holbrook standing close. Heat radiated from him along with the woody scent of his cologne, and beneath that, something almost sweet like caramel, or dark molasses. Electricity crackled in the air between us, sending jolts of sensation up my arm where his fingers touched me.

“...had better sit down, Ms. Cray,” he was saying in a voice that flowed smooth and rich like sun warmed honey, the hint of a southern accent lending another layer of richness to his voice.

Unable to find my voice through the twisted knot of fear lodged in the back of my throat, I nodded and let him steer me into the living room where he deposited me on the couch. Loki let out an irritated meow at being disturbed before sliding off the back of the sofa and slinking off into the safety of my bedroom.

My brain buzzed with a dozen nonsensical thoughts while I struggled to hold back the deluge of panic that was cresting like a tidal wave just on the edge of my consciousness.

Damn he smells good. Why does he smell so good? I wonder if he tastes as good as he smells
, I thought as I fought against the urge to bury my nose in the crook of his neck and drown in the smell of him. I was distantly aware of him moving away to a respectable distance though my elbow still buzzed with energy where he had touched me.

“Fetch her a glass of water,” I heard Johnson say, but the words made little sense to me as I stared unseeing at the fireplace, the warmth of the fire unable to pierce the cold that had descended on me, seeping into my bones.

Samson Reed. Escaped from prison.

My brain replayed the words over and over again in my mind, each repetition making my heart thump faster.

It was a name I’d hoped I would never hear again, and hearing it now was the worst kind of invasion. Even though I bore the physical scars of what had happened eight years ago, I’d managed to lock away the emotional ones, refusing to examine them. Just thinking his name sent ice cold fear flooding through my veins and made my stomach twist with nausea.

“Ah, is there a reason why there’s a dead rabbit in your sink, ma’am?” Holbrook called from the kitchen, his warm molasses voice momentarily distracting me from my fear.

Still dazed, white crackles dancing at the edges of my vision, I murmured, “Furry bastard kept eating my cabbages.”

“I see,” he drawled, making it obvious that he didn’t.

A few moments later he reappeared at my side with a glass of water. I was glad that my fingers only trembled a little as I took a small sip before setting it in my lap, immediately forgotten.

“Ms. Cray?” Johnson asked, and from the impatient tone of his voice, not for the first time. “Ms. Cray, do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

“Hmm? Yes...I understand,” I said, my voice sounding distant and hollow to my ears, as if someone else were speaking. “Samson Reed broke out of a high security supernatural facility, and is no doubt on his way here to kill me,” I finished, turning my gaze up towards both agents, something in the depths of my eyes making them flinch.

CHAPTER TWO

“WE DON’T KNOW that for sure, but we would recommend that you...” Johnson began, his tone pitched low to reassure me. It wasn’t working.

Waving a hand at him I cut him off mid-sentence. “I’m sorry, would you gentlemen excuse me for a moment?” Rising from the couch before either of them answered, I pressed the glass of water into Holbrook’s hand and made a beeline for the bathroom, where I fell to my knees and vomited the meager contents of my stomach into the toilet.

After heaving for several minutes, I slumped against the edge of the toilet, groping blindly for the handle to flush away the evidence of my fear. Gradually I became aware of a presence behind me, the weight of his gaze a palpable weight on my back. Rather than asking if I was okay, which I obviously wasn’t, or if I was done puking, which I wasn’t quite sure I was, Holbrook reached around me to pluck a washcloth from the tub and run it under the faucet in the sink.

Wordlessly he extended the damp cloth to me, waiting until I accepted it before stepping back to the doorway, giving me room to try and pull myself together. Wiping my mouth, I folded the cool cloth in half and then pressed it to the back of my neck, my skin clammy and feeling a couple sizes too small like a constrictive sweater.

“Thanks,” I murmured, raising my gaze to his face, glad to find it devoid of pity.

“No problem,” he replied, crossing one foot over the other as he rested a shoulder against the doorframe, his hands in the pockets of his slacks. Somewhere along the way he had removed his overcoat, revealing a dark gray suit and crisp shirt with a faint blue on blue stripe. He looked utterly comfortable except for the ruddiness that lingered in the naked tips of his ears and the end of his nose.

“Better?” he asked after several long minutes of silence.

“Not really,” I said, removing the cloth from the back of my neck and tossing it into the empty bathtub, wishing that I could just climb into it and hide away from the world.

Extending a hand towards me he said, “Better not keep Johnson waiting. He’s not known for his patience.”

Slipping my hand into his, my fingers looking pale and petite against his lightly bronzed skin, the jolt of electricity passed between us again, this time stronger as his bare skin rubbed against mine. Energy prickled along my skin, making me draw a sharp breath at the foreign sensation. Judging by the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes he had felt it too, but chose not to comment on whatever feelings were racing through his body.

Steeling myself against the sudden and unexpected flood of warmth that settled between my thighs, I let him pull me up to my feet in a smooth and effortless motion, bringing me wonderfully close to his solid chest. Up close he seemed taller, dwarfing my five foot six to make me feel small and delicate. I swayed on my feet as the woody scent of his cologne washed over me, making me think of a dark forest damp from a recent storm. The lingering scent of warm molasses that I assumed was his natural scent made me lick my lips. His grip on me tightened, holding me firm against the long line of his body, once against stirring the wolf within.

“Smell so good,” I muttered under my breath, the words slipping between my lips before I was able to stop them.

“Hmm?” he asked, his voice sounding as distracted as mine, the hand splayed at the small of back flexing just above the curve of my ass.

My gaze fell on his mouth as he licked his lips, his breath hot and smelling of coffee as he exhaled a long and softly trembling breath. My wolf wanted to lick those lips, nip at them, bruise them and mark them as ours. The human half of me didn’t exactly balk at the idea either. Lifting my gaze up to his eyes I found them heavy-lidded and dilated until the deep forest green was little more than a narrow ring around his pupils.

Just as I was about to tell him to close the bathroom door and take me against the vanity he cleared his throat, managing to regain a professional air with what must have been herculean self-control.

“We should get back out there,” he said, his voice thick and heavy. Releasing me he took a step back, the heat of him quickly receding, leaving me cold and alone.

“Yeah,” I managed in a breathless whisper, unable to meet his eyes. “Let me just...um...get dressed.” Without waiting for an answer I darted past him and across the hall into my bedroom.

Shutting the door behind me I let my head fall back against the aged wood with a loud thump, a shuddering sigh flowing between my lips.

What the hell was that?

My body was alight with confused sensations; the heat pulsing between my thighs inspired by Special Agent Holbrook at war with the crippling fear roused by the thought of Samson Reed on the loose.

I’d been twenty-one when I met Samson and instantly fell head over heels for him, just like all the other girls, and a good portion of the guys. A sophomore at Colorado State University studying graphic design, I had been naively sure that nothing in the world could hurt me, especially the gorgeous and charming junior, who for reasons I couldn’t fathom had decided that he wanted to date me, the plain Jane art nerd.

I’d had no idea that he was a raving lunatic, and that I would end up being the only one of nine victims to escape his clutches alive, if not unscathed.

Absently my hands drifted to my middle again, lingering over the raised ridges of scar tissue that bisected my belly. It was rare to contract the lycanthropy virus through a scratch or bite, most werewolves were born not turned, but I just happened to be part of the lucky one percent of were victims to be turned by an attack.

No doubt he’d thought I would bleed out like his other victims, but even as he tore into my body with savage glee, the virus had already started to spread, changing me forever. Through the miraculous healing abilities of lycanthropy, I was afforded the rare opportunity of knowing what it looks like when your insides are on the outside. It was not a memory I cared to relive.