flooring him as Mason realized she had every intention of ditching him. Not that he blamed her. If their situations were reversed, he’d have thought he sounded crazy, too.
“And just where do you think I’m going to go with you?” she demanded, the words thick with sarcasm, and he hated the fear he could scent on her—frustrated that he didn’t know how to ease it, how to make her understand. You didn’t just walk up to a human woman and say, Hey, I can tell by your scent that you’re my life mate, which means we belong to each other for the rest of our lives, and never any other. Oh, and by the way, I’m half werewolf, have a rogue bastard most likely watching me because I’m hunting him down to kill him, and I really, really need to mate with you. Hard. And often. As in damn near all the time. At least not without getting your face slapped or your balls kicked. From the look in her eyes, he figured both were strong possibilities at this point.
Trying to sound as nonthreatening as possible, Mason kept his voice low as he said, “Anywhere but here. Jeremy’s right about this being dangerous. We can’t risk keeping you out in the open with him watching us.”
She looked at him as if he’d just told her he was Elvis reincarnated by aliens. “Then here’s a news flash. Why not try walking away and leaving me alone, before you end up in some serious trouble?”
“Not in this lifetime, sweetheart,” he rasped under his breath.
She shook her head in frustration. “Have you recently escaped from a mental institution by chance?”
“Classic,” Jeremy snorted under his breath. “As wrong as this is, I can’t wait to tell your old man that line. He’ll crack a rib from laughing.”
“Look, this is just getting too freaky for me. For the last time, you need to let go. Now.”
Mason let his hand smooth down her arm, shaken by the softness of her skin, clasping as gently as possible around her wrist. He could feel her pulse racing beneath the pads of his fingers and knew she was scared. He figured she’d have run screaming long before now, if not for the throng of customers filling the café, surrounding them. She’d found a measure of comfort in the crowd, but that feeling was rapidly fading. “I know this sounds weird as hell, but I need you to give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking. If you insist on staying here, then at least sit down with me and I’ll explain.”
“I can’t do that.” Her green eyes were clear and bright as she tried to pull away from him, the movement jostling the book she’d tucked up under her arm. Mason watched as a small piece of paper fell from between the book’s pages, fluttering softly to the floor, and instinct had him covering it with his boot, while he struggled with what to say. There were so many things he wanted to explain, things he needed to make her understand, but all he could come out with was a low, urgent, “Don’t run.”
“Get your hands off me. Right now,” she grunted, her voice raised, and the customers closest to them went quiet, all eyes turning toward them. A cold knot of fury…and something that felt strangely like pain twisted Mason’s stomach, but he forced his grip to ease, releasing her arm.
She backed away slowly, until she felt the door at her back. Hating the emotions that burned like acid in his gut, Mason watched her turn around and quickly push out into the brisk autumn weather.
She started running the second her feet hit the sidewalk… and never looked back.
Chapter 2
Clutching her book to her chest to keep it dry, Torrance Kimberly Watson all but stumbled into the softly lit, subtly incensed interior of Michaela’s Muse. Her heart pumped a chaotic beat, while her mind carried on a fierce debate with her grumbling libido—and despite her common sense, it looked as if her sex-deprived inner wild woman was winning.
“Like that should come as a shock,” she quietly snickered, groaning at her body’s continued reaction to the man she’d left behind in the restaurant. He was certainly a fine specimen of maleness, even if he had been off his rocker. “And not even those last few minutes of rain managed to cool you down, you slut,” she jokingly muttered under her breath, slipping out of her damp jacket and tossing it over her arm.
It was a depressing thought, but there was no denying that she’d been a long time without a boyfriend. Heck, she’d been a long time without a simple date. She was in her mid-twenties, meant to be living life to its fullest…and instead she’d practically become a nun. Not that a few short-lived relationships counted for much in the way of past experience, but then she knew she had high expectations when it came to that sort of thing. Expectations she doubted any man could ever meet.
No, Torrance understood the male species for what they were—and, more important, for what they weren’t. After dating one too many jerks who were as faithless as they were self-centered and shallow, she’d decided that being alone was better than being used—than settling for something she didn’t want—and she still stood by her decision. But, God, it wasn’t easy when dealing with the kind of temptation she’d had to endure today.
The guy at lunch had been like something out of her dreams. The really, really naughty ones, she thought with a small, crooked smile.
“Hey, Torry,” Michaela called out from the front of the store without looking up, absorbed in her current project.
“Oh, uh…hey, Mic,” she called back, suddenly realizing she’d been standing in the doorway, lost in her own little world. With a quick look around the store, Torrance saw that Mic had been busy digging into their latest delivery of new merchandise. A box containing paranormal titles and Tarot decks sat on the floor beside an ornate wooden bookshelf, while another that probably contained scented candles had been placed beside an antique display case.
Torrance had met Michaela Doucet five years ago, at a Tarot demonstration the Cajun was holding at a local bookstore, and they’d become instant, inseparable friends. Two years later, when Mic had opened the specialty shop, Torrance had been right by her side, and together they had made Michaela’s Muse an area favorite, with business growing every year.
She loved her job, and felt at home in the warm, soothing atmosphere, surrounded by friends who had become like family to her.
“Torry!” Michaela suddenly gasped in that slow Southern drawl of hers, making Torrance jump. She looked over to see Mic’s big, dark blue eyes blinking with surprise as she glanced up from the new Tarot decks she was organizing, getting her first good look at Torrance’s ruined shirt. “What happened? You look like you just came from an orgy with one of the undead!”
“Hah!” Torrance laughed out loud, causing Mic to give her a more critical look. “I told them you were going to say something like that when you saw my shirt,” she mumbled, feeling strange, as if her body were hot and cold all at once, her skin suddenly too tight for all the chaos going on inside of it. Man, that gorgeous freak-case at the café had really messed with her mind.
“And it wasn’t a what,” she added with a resigned sigh, suddenly giving a wry grin as she tossed her book and jacket on the beautiful bar that served as the store’s checkout counter, then stepped around its corner, moving to her customary place behind the gleaming antique. Knowing her tenacious best friend would pry the lunchtime fiasco out of her one way or another, the sanest course of action was to give in gracefully and save what little of her sanity she still had left. “It was a who.”
Michaela’s delicately sloped brows arched high on the smooth perfection of her brow as she moved around the display table draped with sapphire velvet.
