Shift Happens(9)
“You wish.” Butterflies danced the mamba in my stomach. Oh God, he totally nailed it.
His face darkened and he lowered his body. His peppermint breath brushed my face. “You should be.”
A shiver ran through my body at the promise in his words.
Chapter Four
Looking good enough to dry hump, Wick leaned against the hallway wall with his arms crossed when I emerged from the bedroom. After providing me with the unofficial uniform of Weres and Shifters everywhere—sweatpants and a t-shirt—he’d been a gentleman and opted to wait outside while I changed. Ridiculously large on me, the clothes smelled of Wick. He masked me in his deliciously rich scent, marking me as his to prevent his pack from attacking.
My cheeks grew warm. I’d submitted to him in wolf form. Did Wick protect me out of obligation as the alpha, to keep me in one piece for Lucien or because he had other designs on me? Ones that involved limbering up and a whole lot of nakedness.
Get a hold of yourself, woman!
While I thought of Wick’s potential motivations, I’d enjoyed the privacy to dress. There’d been nowhere to go anyway, save the ensuite bathroom. A pleasant surprise. By the time Wick left me to change, I needed to go. Badly. Damsels in distress never had inconvenient bodily functions, such as a full bladder, in any of the novels I read. This convinced me either I was not a damsel in distress or those books were full of shit.
Probably both.
Then I realized Wick had never asked me about my employer. Did he know I worked for the SRD? Did he assume? As an SRD agent exacting justice on behalf of the government, I should never be held against my will. But some supe groups were so anti-authority, they’d as soon kill me as release me. Did Wick fall into that category? If Wick wouldn’t ask, I wouldn’t tell.
Now standing outside the bedroom, I continued to ignore Wick to look around. The hallway revealed four doors, solid oak, stained dark, hiding whatever lay beyond. Carpeted stairs led down to another level, probably equipped with an interrogation room. The air smelled crisp and clean with a faint scent of pine cleaner.
Wick cleared his throat and nodded at the stairs. “Shifters first.” His warm voice caused my body to start walking before I processed what he said. Fucking alphas.
He’s probably checking out my ass. Part of me wanted to put more swagger in my step, a little fuck-you-for-looking, but the other part didn’t want him to think I tried to impress him. A stiff and stilted march resulted. Was he laughing at me? When I looked over my shoulder, Wick’s serene expression gave nothing away. His chocolate brown gaze appropriately fixed on my head. He raised his eyebrows.
Shaking my head, I went back to my march. The landing at the base of the stairs opened to a large living area filled with natural light. The large bay windows clamped shut, probably for my benefit, left the air stale. The serene taupe colour scheme of the room, accented with crisp white trim and dark espresso furnishings, belied the wild nature of the resident. Wick’s house, without a doubt, his scent imbedded everywhere, in everything.
Three members of his pack sprawled in lounge chairs and on a large L-shaped couch. And they were his, each with their own unique scent mingled with Wick’s. At our entrance, their bodies tensed and straightened. I wrinkled my nose. A norm might detect the faint smell of shampoo or soap, but nothing more. Werewolves never wore scented perfume or aftershave. It assaulted their senses more than it did mine. To a Shifter’s nose, or a Werewolf's, the room smelled full of wolves—wet dog and rosemary.
“Why isn’t she dead?” asked a woman with a menacing look curled up in a large armchair.
I gave the woman a flat stare and looked her over. She sported short black hair spiked up. The black painted nails and sour expression gave the impression she hadn’t progressed past her years of teenage angst. She looked around twenty-five, though hard to tell with Werewolves. Her scent gave her away as the shewolf I had mauled to get to the gate.
“Why aren’t you?” I asked.
She growled and repositioned herself in the chair, getting ready to spring.
“Ladies,” Wick’s voice warned.
We both grunted and then, realizing we had the same reaction, glared at each other. The other two wolves in the room remained seated. Their relaxed posture could fool a norm, but they tracked every small movement of mine.
A short black man with piercing amber irises assessed me with open hostility. I could smell his hatred from where I stood. He was solid, built like a tank.
The other Werewolf, a lanky male with flaming red hair and ice blue eyes, had a face faintly speckled with freckles. He didn’t give off any anger, but he rose from his seat and placed himself between me and Wick.