How to Run with a Naked Werewol(26)

Without replying, I just kept moving. My hands were shaking so hard I was afraid I was going to drop my key. And it wasn't exactly intimidating to see a woman quaking so badly it looked as if she was conducting an orchestra instead of waving a weapon in your face.

Hold it together, I told myself. Steady hands.

"Here, let us help you with that," the older one offered solicitously, holding out his oil-stained hands as I struggled to fit my key into the lock. Was it a bad idea to open my door? Would they push me into the room and close the door before I could scream? Maybe I would be better off dodging my way to the office. I shoved the key back into my pocket and backed away

I kept my tone coolly polite. "No, thanks."

"Hey, don't be like that," the older one chided through his yellowed, crooked teeth. "Don't be rude, honey."

"Yeah, you're not being very friendly," the younger one agreed, as if I owed him my time or attention, just because he decided he wanted a conversation.

I hated these guys. I hated these "nice guys" who just waited for some woman to reject their attentions, so they could act the wounded party and avenge their injured pride with slurs and swipes. I'd met far too many of them in my travels, and they never ceased to piss me off.

The younger one-Grabby Hands-tried to yank at my elbow, but I ducked out of the way and put my back to the wall.

"I don't want any trouble. Leave me alone." Shaky, too shaky. Damn it. Why couldn't I get my voice to work right? The very air around me seemed to be closing in on me, the edges of my vision darkening and blurring as the men moved closer.

"Want a beer, sweetheart?" Yellow Teeth asked. "We got plenty."

"No, thanks. Have a nice night," I said as I gripped the handle of the baton and backed away from them.

Grabby Hands frowned. "Hey, where do you think you're going? We're not done talking to you."

"Just leave me alone." The good news was that righteous indignation gave my voice some weight, even as Grabby Hands reached up to drag his hand along my arm.

"Don't touch me," I said, growling now.

Grabby Hands lived up to the name I'd mentally tagged him with, poking at my side, as if he was going to tickle me. I dodged again, hissing at him like an angry cat. Yellow Teeth was no longer amused. He clamped his hand around my wrist, dragging me close enough to smell his rank, smoke-tainted breath. I whipped the baton out of my pocket with a loud zing.

Grabby Hands reacted faster and stumbled back a step. Yellow Teeth didn't seem impressed with my little metal stick . . . until I cracked his wrist with it, aiming right for the sensitive ulnar nerve. He yowled, snatching his hand away. I went after his knees as if he was a particularly icky piñata. Grabby Hands had his arm around me from behind, lifting me and trying to drag the baton out of my hand. Yanking my arm down, I crashed my head back into his face. He yelped, and I felt the warm spurt of blood from his nose oozing down my back.

"Bitch! You broke my nose!" he screamed.

I swung at him again, the baton make a high whipping noise as it crashed down on his thigh. I thought I heard the bone buckle as another hand closed around the wrist holding the baton. The hand jerked away suddenly, and I focused my attention on Grabby Hands, hunched in front of me. He leaned over, oblivious to me now as he tried to reset his nose. I slammed his head into the concrete-block wall, knocking him unconscious.

A hand wrapped around the back of my neck, the fingers digging viciously into my skin, making me yelp. Yellow Teeth shoved me against the wall, my head whacking against the rough wooden plank. The pain had my arms dropping limp and useless at my sides when Yellow Teeth pinned me to the wall with his hips. I barely kept hold of the baton as his belt buckle dug into my stomach. His stained, nasty smile glinted in the low sunlight. "Oh, sweetheart, you just made this more fun for us."

And that's when I heard a low growl behind us.

I knew that growl. I'd heard more than enough of it during my time in the valley. That wasn't some stray dog or a cranky, city-dwelling bear. That was the growl of a pissed-off werewolf. And I'd never been so happy to hear it in my entire life.

Yellow Teeth kept his hand at my throat as he turned. I'd expected to see fur and four paws over my assailant's shoulder. But Caleb was in human form, eyes glowing an eerie gold, lips pulled back from teeth growing longer and sharper.

"Mind your own business," Yellow Teeth grunted as he threw his weight against my squirming body. "Just walk away."

Caleb didn't like that, if his sharper growls were any indication. A strange, warm calm spread from my chest outward to my arms and legs. My fingers relaxed and held their grip on the baton. The pain in my head didn't matter anymore. Yellow Teeth's grip on my throat didn't matter. I was safe.

And while I was ridiculously happy to see him, I knew that seeing him shift would be very bad. The last thing I needed to deal with was explaining to the state police why two guys I'd beaten up in a parking lot seemed to think my traveling companion could morph into a giant wolf. That was the sort of thing that got attention.

"Caleb, don't," I said in a firm, calm tone.

"What the hell's wrong with his face?" Yellow Teeth wheezed, his grip on my neck slackening.

"Caleb, calm down," I told him, but Caleb was beyond listening.

A ripple of golden light spread from his chest. He was about to shift. In broad daylight. In front of humans. I was wrong before. This was the definition of screwed.

"What's wrong with this guy?" Yellow Teeth's fingers slipped off of my neck, and he stared at Caleb.

Caleb advanced, hunching over as his limbs stretched into inhuman shapes.

"Stop," I told him, but Caleb seemed intent on ripping Yellow Teeth's throat out. "Shit."

I grabbed Yellow Teeth's head, as if I was about to give him a big, wet kiss, only to yank hard as I turned and rammed it against the wall behind me with just enough force not to fracture his skull. He yelped and went limp. I dropped his leaden, unconscious body next to his equally knocked-out friend.

Caleb snarled and lunged toward them, body in half-phase. I could see the bones shifting under his skin, cheekbones bulging and exaggerated as they moved into their canine shape. His teeth stretched and sharpened into fangs to match the claws growing from his fingertips. And for some stupid reason I could not explain, I stepped between the insta-wolf and my attacker, hooking my arms under Caleb's and throwing my weight against his chest. I could feel fur brushing against my face and had this bizarre urge to bury my face in it.

But that would be insane, right? Right?                       
       
           



       

Right. Defuse public werewolf transformation now. Evaluate need for heavy doses of antipsychotic meds later.

The fur disappeared and gave way to warm, human(ish) skin. Strong arms swung around my middle with the force of stalled forward momentum. I glanced up to see Caleb's human features twisted into an expression of vicious rage. His eyes darkened from that predatory yellow back to their smooth bitter-coffee color.

I couldn't help but gape up at him, even as he manhandled me. It wasn't just that he was quite the sight to behold. He'd changed back mid-phase. I didn't know that was possible, especially when the werewolf in question was this pissed off. Maggie was one of the most in-control wolves I'd ever met, and it could take her an hour to come back to herself when she was angry.

Caleb's arm curled around my waist, pressing me to his side as he struggled toward Grabby Hands and Yellow Teeth. I wedged my foot in front of his, pushing him back with all of my might, but it was like trying to change the direction of a tank. He just dragged me along for the ride, my feet scrabbling for purchase against the rough concrete.

"Stop," I told him firmly. "Caleb, you come back to me, or Lord help me, I will find a giant newspaper and whack you on the nose!"

Angry, punctuated breaths puffed through his nostrils as his black eyes stared down at me. Letting out one last angry chuff, he pulled me to his chest, nuzzling my neck. I could add snuffling to the list of interesting angry sounds Caleb made as he rubbed his face into my hair. The growls died down to a rumbling purr. I sank against him, my arms suddenly stone-heavy. I dropped the baton to the asphalt with a clang as I wrapped my arms around his neck to stay upright. Caleb's breathing evened out, and his hands relaxed against the small of my back, rubbing wide circles. He reluctantly pulled away, cupping my face between his hands as he came back to himself.

He stared down at me, letting his eyes roam over my face, as if he was checking that all of my parts were still intact. He looked a little dazed, and then his pupils snapped back into focus.

And he did not look happy.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, shaking my arms. "I told you to stay with me. I told you I would keep you safe. And you run off the minute my head is turned? Do you realize what could have just happened to you?"

Right, we were not going to discuss the fact that he'd nearly phased in front of me. Then again, from what I'd seen of pack behavior, he might not have realized he was doing it. The more time werewolves spent alone, away from their pack, the less aware they were of their "wolf time." Cooper Graham had been so out of touch with his phasing cycle that he believed it when Eli made it look as if he'd committed the aforementioned series of hiker maulings.