Secret of the Wolf(18)

Time to think about something else. He put his attention on the neighborhood he was driving through. As he passed house after house he wondered how many prets lived there. Were humans outnumbered here? Were they soon to be?

Was that the purpose behind the rift communications? To send more prets through the rift? Their primal need for survival would compel them to take over human hosts, and the human souls already housed in the bodies would be suppressed.

Dante just hoped he wasn't ever randomly-or otherwise-chosen to become a host. He didn't want to lose who he was. It would be better to become a pret by the bite of another one, though that did limit him to being either a vampire or a shapeshifter of some sort. They were the only ones who could create others of their own kind. Other than in the time-honored way of making babies, everyone else had to wait for another rift in order to grow their population.

Hmm. Maybe that was it. Maybe the person behind these communications was neither vampire nor shapeshifter. Maybe Natchook was acting on behalf of someone else.

Dante followed Tori into a driveway and pulled his truck to a stop behind the car she parked beneath a carport. As he shoved the gearshift into park and cut the engine, he studied her home. It was a typical brick ranch house from what he could tell. The light from the portico shone onto the front yard, which he could see was desert landscaped with prickly pear and a saguaro standing like lonely sentinels to one side.

He got out of the truck, tucking in his shirt as he went and hoping like hell he hadn't made a mistake by coming here. As Tori unlocked the front door and invited him in, he gave himself a little pep talk. No sex, MacMillan. Just pie and coffee.

And maybe a look at that rift device.

But no sex. Sex would complicate an already complicated situation, and he had a feeling that once he got her underneath him he'd never want to let her go. That wouldn't be a bad thing, except he wasn't a love 'em and leave 'em kind of guy. If he took Tori to bed, it would mean he had feelings for her. Feelings he wasn't ready to accept.

"The kitchen's through here," she said.

He followed her down a short hallway and into a larger-than-expected kitchen. "This is nice," he murmured. Stainless-steel appliances and marbled green counter tops complemented the dark stained cabinets. "Are you a closet gourmet chef?"

A smile lit her face. "Not gourmet by any stretch of the imagination, but I do like to cook." She placed her small evening bag on the counter near a set of ceramic canisters decorated with bright red, orange, and yellow chilies. As a matter of fact, the entire kitchen was bright with smatterings of chili pepper decorations, even down to a couple of magnets on the fridge. He grinned at seeing a Snoopy magnet, too. It didn't surprise him to see that slight hint of playfulness. "I like to eat more than I like to cook," she went on. "So cooking's rather a necessity."

Dante laughed. The admission was unexpected, yet not. Most women he knew were always on one diet or another, but he supposed that Tori, with her increased werewolf metabolism, didn't have to worry as much about gaining weight.

She bent and took off her sandals, giving him a great view of her shapely ass. As she straightened, holding the straps of the sandals between her fingers, she said, "I don't think Rand is home, but let me check. I'd like you to meet him."

"Sure." Appreciating her grace and beauty, Dante watched her walk down another hallway and stop in front of a closed door.

She knocked with one knuckle. "Rand?" There was no response. With a slight frown she put her hand on the knob, her expression deepening as she twisted it. He saw her lips press together and then she turned and came back into the kitchen. "His door's locked, but he's not in there."

"How can you tell? Maybe he's asleep."

"His scent is too muted. If he were here, I'd be able to smell him more." She glanced back toward his room. "He didn't want to go out earlier. I guess he changed his mind." She sounded a little peeved.

Dante wasn't sure he'd ever get used to the olfactory abilities many prets had. Especially those of shapeshifters. To be able to smell not just scents but also emotions … He gave a slight shake of his head. He could understand why some prets looked upon humans as being inferior. He didn't agree, but he understood it.

Tori opened the refrigerator and pulled out two pies. "Which kind would you like?"

Dante walked over to stand beside her and looked down at the desserts. The Dutch apple had that crumbly topping with what looked to be a drizzle of caramel over the top, and the peach pie had a crust that was flaky and golden.

Tori laughed. "Maybe a slice of both?"

"Works for me." Dante met her gaze. "Can I help?"

She shook her head. "Nope. Just have a seat." She motioned toward the adjacent dining area. "I'll bring it over."

"At least let me start the coffee," he said.

Pleasure softened her face. "Of course. Coffee's in the cabinet above the coffeemaker."

Dante quickly got the dark brew going and leaned one hip against the counter, watching Tori cut large slices of pie and dish them onto two plates.

"I'm assuming you didn't want small pieces," she said without looking at him. He could hear suppressed humor in her voice.

"You assumed right," he responded. "Where are the forks?"

"Drawer to your left. By the sink."

He put his hand on the knob of a drawer only to stop when she said, "Not that one. Next one."

With two forks in hand, he turned back to the coffeemaker. "Mugs?"

"Cabinet by the fridge."

As he turned toward the refrigerator, she did, too, and they both stopped, eyes melded. Her hair was beginning to come out of her elaborate upswept style, and he wondered how much of that was because he hadn't been able to keep from touching her. He didn't have the pleasure of tangling his hands in her thick mass of chestnut brown hair, and that was probably a good thing. The feel of it cascading over the back of his hands would have started fantasies about how other parts of his anatomy would feel with her tresses dragging over them. His belly, thighs. His cock.

It had a mind of its own and perked up, taking notice of the directions Dante's thoughts had gone. With a soft oath, he sidestepped Tori and yanked open the cupboard door, staring blindly at a neat row of coffee mugs until Tori said, "Just grab any."

She took a gallon of ice cream out of the freezer and carried it back over to the counter. "How many scoops?"

"Two's fine," he managed to say through a throat gone tight.

Tori finished with the ice cream and replaced it in the freezer, then picked up both plates. "I take mine black," she said with a jerk of her chin toward the coffeemaker.

Dante usually took a couple of sugars in his, but tonight he thought he could use the extra jolt the bitterness of the brew would give him. He poured coffe K po hae into both mugs and carried them over to the dining room table, hoping Tori wouldn't notice, or at the very least wouldn't comment on, his renewed erection.

She sat in the chair at one end of the table, and he took the chair to her right. He forked a piece of apple pie into his mouth. As the taste of fruit, cinnamon, nutmeg, and caramel hit his taste buds, he gave a little hum and closed his eyes. "This is really good," he said and took another bite.

"Thanks. It's nice to see my cooking appreciated for once. Before Rand came, I often ate alone, and appreciating my own cooking isn't quite the same thing." Her tone was dryly self-deprecating.

He looked at her with a slight grin. "My sister always goes on about what a grill-master I am. Between you and me, I think she does it so she can get out of doin' the cooking."

"She's all right now?"

Dante nodded. "She still gets tired easily, but her energy levels are leaps and bounds over what they were when she was going through chemo."

Tori stared at him. "You haven't said a whole lot about her. She had cancer, right?"

"Breast cancer." He cupped his hands around his mug and stared down into the dark coffee. "She got her diagnosis two days before her loser of a husband told her he was filin' for a divorce."

"Oh, my God. Like she needed that kind of additional stress on top of everything else."

"Exactly." He took a long chug of coffee. "My now ex-brother-in-law understood me clearly when I made that same point to him."

"I imagine he did." She leaned one elbow on the table. "I take it you made it with your fists?"

Dante started into the peach pie but paused at her comment. "Now, what makes you say that?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe because I know you, and I know you wouldn't let your sister get hurt and upset like that without doing something about it. Since you can't fight her cancer for her, I have a clear picture of your brother-in-law-"

"Former brother-in-law," he made sure to correct.

"I have a clear picture of your former brother-in-law," she repeated with a grin, "on the ground with a bloody nose and a black eye."

"Close enough." The bastard had had both eyes blackened to go along with the broken nose and split lip. Dante finished his dessert and pushed the plate away, replete. "Damn, woman. You could put a man in a coma with food like that."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should." He stood, coffee mug in hand. "Get you a refill?"