Reluctantly Lycan (Dakota Wolves Book 1)(14)

"Mara hugged me. I know better. She's like a daughter to Elle and I."

"Don't touch her and make sure everyone else knows. I won't be  responsible for my actions when I'm the wolf." Kaden walked unsteadily  out of the hall and toward his home, on the brink of collapse.





10


Southern hospitality. This trip was already enjoyable. Taylor always  liked new places. Pictures to take, things to learn, people to watch.  Not in a stalker way. Unless he was paid well.

He rented a brilliant red sports car. The leather seats were crisp and  new as he slid into the front seat. Then he punched in the address from  Kaden Dakota's vehicle registration. His estimate for arriving at the  store was off. Early season tourist traffic heading through the strip  put him behind.

Eventually, after cursing his way through the stop and go throng of  cars, he arrived at Dakota's Trade Post. The rustic looking store sat  about half a mile off the main tourist area. Taylor drove past the shop,  didn't see the Jeep, and turned around. Instead of passing by, this  time he pulled into the lot and parked behind the building.

Silently, he scolded himself for splurging on the expensive ride that  stood out like a sore thumb. No wonder he was a shady private  investigator instead of something more respectable like a detective or  agent. The photographer snapped a few photos of the building before  walking to the front door and pushing on it. A tiny bell jingled and he  rolled his eyes upwards with a frown.

"Hello," the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen said. Once a new hottie  caught his eye, the last was generally quickly forgotten. "Welcome to  Dakota's. Let me know if I can help you find anything." She smiled with  perfectly pouty lips. Her tanned skin glistened with a natural glow. He  thought it was natural hue anyway. Taylor had never seen a spray tan or  bronzer make anyone that color.

"Thank you. Interesting store. Not as commercial as the other shops." He  gave her his best smile, reserved for only the prettiest girls.

She twirled the tip of her single black braid with her finger as she  studied him. "All the tourists say that. If they find their way here.  People come from far away for our handmade crafts, mostly the weapons."

Taylor picked up a large knife that Rambo himself would have appreciated. "You make these?" He grinned at the woman.

"Not quite." She laughed and the cutest little snort escaped on her  inhale. Her hands immediately flew up to cover her mouth and nose.

He laughed lightly. "Never hide that which is astonishingly adorable. So  who does make them? I'd be interested in doing an interview." The  camera around his neck was lifted to indicate he was a reporter.

"Most of it was made by the previous owner before he died. His son does  some, but not as much. I make most of the dreamcatchers." She lifted one  off a hook behind her and offered it to him. "See?"                       
       
           



       

Taylor moved closer, leaning on the counter and looking into her amber  eyes as he accepted the item she'd made. "Lovely," he said in a low  tone, not yet examining the craftsmanship, but still gazing at her.

She blushed, only a hint of rose reaching her high cheeks. "I work here  full time now. Before school let out for the year, I was only here after  morning classes."

Underage, Taylor thought, having to force himself not to swear in  frustration. He finally ran his fingertips over the feathers and beads.  "High school?" he asked casually.

"Graduated with honors a couple of weeks ago."

"Impressive." He glanced at her shirt, checking for a name badge. "What's your name?"

"Brynnara."

"I'm Taylor. Do you mind if I call you Brynn?"

She smiled. "Most of my friends do since it's a stupid name."

Taylor tugged his wallet out of his back pocket and handed her a fifty  dollar bill. "I like it. It's different. So, Brynn, think you can get me  an exclusive with the owner?"

Her smile faded a little. "He's kind of …  not sociable."

"Your boss is an asshole. I get that. My editor sure is." He let out a grunt of a sigh to go along with the lie.

"No, I'd never say that about Kaden. Never. Like I said, he's just not a  people person." She began making change for his purchase of the  dreamcatcher.

"Keep it. You deserve it." He winked.

"Are you sure? It doesn't cost nearly that much. I'm not even that good at making them."

"I'm sure yours are the best." He glanced around the shop. "You eighteen yet, Brynn?"

"My birthday is coming up this summer. Dreading it, though."

Taylor lifted his right eyebrow. "I thought girls looked forward to  their eighteenth birthday. I still get excited for my normal ones. Who  doesn't love cake?"

Brynn hesitated. "It's a family thing. Stressful traditions."

"Like what? I could take you out to dinner instead," He offered in a soft, nonthreatening tone.

She leaned forward on the counter, only inches from him and spoke in a  whisper, "It's like something I can't miss, but we could go out to  dinner before." She grinned and gave a brief giggle. Cute, but not  sounding like too much of an airhead.

"Hmm. I'll take that deal." He smiled. "I was wondering something else.  I've heard a few rumors …  about werewolves in these parts. Should I be  worried?"

Without hesitation she shook her head back and forth. "That's silly. You might see a black bear if you look hard enough."

"Good to know. Can I get your number before I go, Brynn?"

She picked up one of the store business cards, wrote her name on the back, and handed it to Taylor. Brynnara Hanson.

"You'll have to call the store. My brothers get pissed if I try to date guys they don't approve of."

"I'll remember that. May I?" He reached out his hand like he wanted to  shake hers. When she offered, he flipped it over and wrote his cell  number on her palm. "Keep our plans a secret for now, so the brothers  don't get angry."

Taylor left Brynnara with her heart aflutter. He was good at what he did  and he could honestly care less if she was eighteen or not.

~*~

Marala heard a loud slam in the living room as the front door swung open  and hit the wall. Kaden was leaning against the frame with his eyes  closed. Slowly, he opened them and forced himself upright.

"You're exhausted." She crossed the room and reached up to touch his cheek gently. His eyes shut briefly once more.

"I have unlimited endurance."

"Yes, you've proven that several times. I want you to eat and then get  some sleep." She started to take his hand, but thought better of it. He  followed her into the kitchen without the encouragement.

"I don't want you to feel obligated to prepare meals." He didn't take a seat.

Marala retrieved the plate she'd finished for him only a few minutes  before he'd crashed through the front door. "It's a couple of  sandwiches. Hardly, a feast. Besides, I'm used to it. Working as a  waitress and being a mother gave me plenty of practice."

Kaden scarfed down the first sandwich in no more than four bites. "I haven't eaten since I left your house."

"That was two days ago."

He shrugged, crunching on a handful of chips then starting on the second sandwich. "Finding the boy was more important."

She opened a two liter bottle of soda and poured him a large glass full. "Any luck?"                       
       
           



       

"Old Finn saw something. We think. He's a drunk, but what else do we have to go on?"

"Kaden, you'll find him." She placed her hand on top of his and gave a small pat.

"Yeah." He didn't sound convinced.

"Come on." This time she did hold his hand and pull him toward the  bedroom. "I want you to sleep. I'll make you a better meal for when you  wake up."

Apparently, too tired to argue, he let her lead him. "Just for a few hours." He fell back onto the bed with all his clothing on.

"That food really did you in." She turned to leave him alone.

"Marala?"

She paused, resting her hand on the doorway with her back to him. "Yes?"

"Lie with me. Nothing more. I need to hold you."

Her eyes clenched tightly and her fingernails dug into the wooden frame.  She should say no. Had to say no. But the way he spoke so softly. This  was not the wolf speaking. This was a man troubled, regretful, and  struggling with the duty he'd been born into. She lowered her hand and  turned around. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow. Sleep had found  him.

"Someday, I'll forgive you," she said faintly, walking toward the bed.  Crawling into it, she pulled a blanket over them both and rested her  head against his chest. His arm held her firmly even as he lightly  snored, in short little growls.