She slipped from the bed, tugging on his boxers and then one of her tank tops as she walked to the balcony. Outside, the moon was a sliver in the night sky. Not that it had ever been truly dark. There were too many lights here for that, too many lights for the stars to shine and for the wolf to feel at ease.
Fresh air. That’s what she needed.
But standing on the concrete balcony, peering down at the crowds below, didn’t do much to smooth her nerves.
Who lives like this? Surrounded by concrete and noise, traffic and chaos. A barrage of scents and sound. Complete sensory overload. The perfect setting for an attack. The air was thick and humid, but that didn’t stop a shudder from running along her spine.
How could he feel at home here? It was no wonder his wolf was so wary. This place, this life… There was nothing natural about it.
She sat in one of the wicker chairs, drew her knees up, and closed her eyes to concentrate. As hellish as her time with Cyrus had been, he’d taught her many things. One of them was to sift through the garbage, to hone her senses until she found what was important—and what it meant. Here, now, sitting high above the streets with potential threat, it took time for her wolf to do its job.
Beyond drunken foolishness and mayhem, there was nothing to fear from the people celebrating whatever the fuck Fiesta was. There was no ripple in the air that warned of the Others. No scent of Cyrus.
A scent she knew all too well.
Her mind drifted to places it shouldn’t, pulling up things best locked deep inside. His touch. The slice of a blade, deep enough to bleed but too light for lasting damage. His smile. Pure menace. A promise of what he was capable of. His smile was a warning. One that turned her blood cold even now. And his eyes? Colorless, soulless. He was evil.
As much as she longed to shy away from her memories, she couldn’t. Remembering him, the tiny clues she’d learned over the years, would be important when she faced him. She would face him. She would defeat him.
Or die trying.
The shrill ring of the phone set the hair on the back of her neck straight up and her heart thundering. The sky was lightening, streaking pink and gold. How long had she sat here, her mind adrift?
The phone rang again, but she was rooted in place—attempting to lock all thoughts of the Others and Cyrus away before Hollis found her.
“Yes?” His voice, thick with sleep. “Food? Twenty minutes.”
Just the sound of his voice had her insides clenching with pure hunger.
“Wait…” Noise. He was up, moving around. “Call you back.” More noise. The slam of a door against a wall. “Ellen?”
She crossed the balcony, catching sight of her mate in all his naked glory. He was incredible. Muscle and sinew, moving with a predatory grace that demanded respect.
“Fuck.” He growled, spinning, searching, the bathroom. “Ellen?” Green eyes narrowed, body tense—he was hunting. Agitated. For what? One hand ran over his face and through his hair. For a split second, he sagged heavily against the bathroom counter. The rhythm of his pulse was increasing. He pushed off the counter and stalked back into the bedroom, his gaze sweeping the room—frantic. “Fuck,” he whispered, striding from the room.
He was looking for her. Frantic over her. An odd tightness rolled up her stomach and into her chest. The weight of it grew warmer, sweeter, with each passing second.
She’d just stepped into the bedroom when he returned. His wild gaze landed on her. Hands fisted. Breathing labored. She saw so much before he pressed his eyes shut and closed the distance between them. “Where were you?” he asked, gripping her shoulders so tightly she winced. “Dammit.” He glanced at his hands, on her shoulders, and frowned.
He cared. Not just his wolf. Hollis. The man.
“You left.” His words were raw.
And just like that it was impossible to breathe. Or stop herself from touching him. The scrape of his stubble on her palms was oddly comforting. “I didn’t.” She stared up at him, willing him to hear her.
He turned in to her touch and buried his nose against her palm.
The warm tug in her chest was too much for her, too real, too dangerous. “Mal?” She cleared her throat. “He called?”
He nodded, stepping back. “Hungry?” His gaze fell from hers.
“Ravenous,” she answered, hurrying into the bathroom—in need of space. She frowned at her reflection. What did you make us do? But her wolf was too excited to worry over the reality of their new situation. In the mirror, she caught sight of him—standing, stretching, all rippling muscles… She kicked the door shut and turned on the water.
Ten minutes later, they were staring at each other in the elevator. He seemed to be on the verge of saying something but holding back. And he wouldn’t stop looking at her, a look she couldn’t decipher. Was he happy? Irritated? Confused? Or craving her body the way she was craving his?
She was. Desperately. His quick shower had left his hair wet, the scent of it reminding her of all the delectable things he’d done to her body. The nub between her legs pulsed, hot and demanding.
Could he smell her arousal? His expression was so closed and rigid, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Maybe that was for the best.