Training Their Mate(8)

The problem was as much as he wanted Liz, there was no guarantee she’d even find either of them acceptable—especially his sullen brother.

Boy did he have a long hill to climb for a chance to win her heart.





Chapter Three

Liz paid the cabbie and limped to her front door as fast as she could. The climb up the three steps to her worn porch made her knees twinge, and being outside in the rain at night was no fun. The men who’d chased her couldn’t know where she lived, yet she darted a glance to the bushes close to her house, looking for shadows.

Once inside, she sagged against the wall and closed her eyes. She was finally safe. Her only regret at this moment was not getting Trax’s number so she could verify what she saw was real. She bet she’d have nightmares for weeks over those shape-shifting things. She might have hit her head, but she didn’t think she’d lost consciousness. Sure her vision blurred, and she was scared out of her mind believing she was about to die, but there was no explanation for the way those dogs turned into men. Yes, she’d read romance stories about werecats, werewolves, and a host of other shifter types roaming the earth, but they were stories. Not even a hint existed to those things being real. Had she seen little gray men in the alley, she might have tried to convince the world that aliens existed. But werewolves? No way. They were a result of writers’ imaginations or a movie director’s special effects.

Right now, all she wanted to do was take some aspirin, crawl in the shower, and then climb into bed. Maybe when she woke up tomorrow, this nightmare would be over.

Get real. Her mom would still be dead, she’d still have the guilt that she’d actually wanted to kill a man, and her body would still ache. What had she been thinking going after Couch? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

If she had Trax’s address, she’d send him a card or a small gift for saving her life and for taking the time to bring her to the clinic. And then there was Dante. From the way his Hawaiian shirt had been buttoned, the man had probably been in the middle of doing something important when his brother called. How many men would traipse into a stinky alley to find a woman’s pink purse then drive it all the way out to her? No doubt, these were nice men. Now, she had no way to thank them.

Too exhausted to come up with a plan to find out where they lived, she dropped her purse on the dining room table and hobbled to her bedroom. She checked behind her to make sure she’d fastened the deadbolt. Fortunately, old habits were ingrained in her.

She undressed, dumped her wet clothes in the washer, and then headed to the shower. She had plenty of extra bandages to recover her knees, but the doctor suggested she not get her right hand wet for a few days. Right. The only way to accomplish that would be to place her hand in a plastic bag and tie the ends.

Because all the drapes were drawn, she walked to the kitchen naked. No sooner had she picked up the baggie than the doorbell rang.

Crap. It was probably Chelsea. She’d promised her friend they’d talk about going out this weekend, and Liz had forgotten to call. She glanced at her answering machine and noted the blinking light. That was probably her. When Liz hadn’t answered, her friend probably worried and decided to check in person. They only lived two blocks from each other.

“Just a sec.”

As quickly as she could, she made it to her bedroom, threw on a bathrobe, and returned. When she looked through the peephole, she froze. Both Trax and Dante stood there. She plastered her back against the door. What could they possibly want? Had they found out the name of the driver and had come to warn her?

They knocked. “Liz, we know you’re in there. We just need to talk.”

She half hopped and half skipped over to her bag, retrieved the gun, and shoved the weapon in her big pocket. Only then did she open the door. She stood behind it and peeked out. “Yes? Did I forget something?” That was rather curt and ungrateful sounding, but knowing she was almost naked and they were hot, made her mind mush.

“We’re sorry to bother you, but we need to talk to you about what you saw.”

Oh, shit. Trax saw those animals change, too.

“You mean about the funny dogs?” She didn’t know how to ask without sounding like she was a little crazy.

“Yes, about the funny looking dogs that maybe weren’t dogs at all.”

Oh, my God. They were werewolves.

She let the men in. “I’d offer you something to drink, but it’s hard for me to pour anything.” She looked down, saw her breast exposed, and pulled the robe tighter. “Have a seat.” Her small living room contained a cheery yellow sofa and two red upholstered chairs. In between sat a wooden table from Walmart.