Were there risks with her plan? Of course. Weren’t there always when it was something that mattered?
Her life as a Bloodrunner—a hunter of rogue wolves who had taken a liking for human flesh—was nothing but one continual risk after another. And now, thanks to Silvercrest enemies who were planning to attack the pack, which was already weakened after catastrophes it had suffered at the hands of Eli’s own father, an inevitable war was on its way. A bloody battle on a scale she knew might very well wipe out every person she’d ever loved and cared about. Her band of brothers, in the truest sense of the word.
They needed Eli and his fellow mercenaries on their side. Needed the mercs’ strength and expertise to help train the members of the pack who were willing to fight. But once he’d served his purpose, she was making this happen. Ripping him from her heart and her thoughts for the final time. For forever...
Even if it killed her.
Two days later...
Eli Drake blinked his bleary eyes, unable to believe what he was seeing.
Shit. Had he drank so much he was hallucinating? If so, his pickled mind couldn’t have come up with a more stunning, confounding vision. The hole-in-the-wall, small town Texas bar where he and his crew had landed for the night was a decent enough place to settle for a few hours while they tossed back some liquid therapy—and after the last assignment they’d taken, they’d definitely needed it. Hell, they could have drowned themselves in whiskey and beer for days on end, and it wouldn’t have been enough to wipe out the horror of what they’d seen in that little South American village.
So, yeah, the woman who’d just walked into the bar had to be a by-product of his inebriation.
Only...as far as he could recall, he’d only had two whiskeys. For a man his size, even if he had been human, that wouldn’t have been enough to make him start seeing...imagining... Damn it. He couldn’t even get the words out within the privacy of his own mind.
Maybe it’s a stress vision? I probably just need a break from my shitty day job.
Yeah, that was a better explanation than the alcohol, and extreme stress had been the riding theme of his life these past few weeks. Months. Years.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Eli focused on forcing the vision away. He didn’t need crap like that screwing with his head. Sure, he was going to have to face her soon enough, considering he and his men were finally headed back to the mountains where he’d grown up, to his hometown of Shadow Peak, where the Silvercrest Lycans lived. But he wasn’t ready for it now. Not tonight.
Facing Carla Reyes again after three years of banishment was something that would take battle armor and a heavy duty, steel-lined cup to protect his balls.
Fate, however, apparently didn’t give a damn.
When the Lycan to his left softly swore under his breath, his deep voice rough with appreciation, Eli choked back a biting curse. Christ, he wasn’t imagining things if others could see her, too. She was really there. In the flesh. Carla-Fucking-Reyes.
His next indrawn breath confirmed it, his dick hardening with ridiculous ease beneath the fly of his jeans. The soft, sleepy, feminine moan that followed made him look down, and he was momentarily surprised to find a woman straddling his lap, her face planted against his chest. He’d completely forgotten she was there, but then, it’d been a while since she’d spoken. He couldn’t recall her name, but she wasn’t in any shape to remind him. She was out cold, a line of drool slipping from the corner of her pink lips.
Hmm... Classy chick.
With a jerk of his chin, he signaled Kyle Maddox, his second-in-command and the guy who’d spotted Carla, to deal with the comatose blonde. But it wasn’t the woman on his lap that had Kyle’s attention, his nostrils flaring as he pulled in the Runner’s scent. Eli knew the moment his friend pegged her as a half-blood Lycan, his dark brows slowly rising on his forehead.
Eli gestured again to the blonde in his lap. “Take her.”
Kyle snorted as he moved to his feet and lifted the woman into his arms. “And do what with her?”
Keeping his gaze locked on Carla, Eli said, “Just make sure she gets somewhere safe for the night. I don’t want one of these assholes in here taking advantage of her.”
“She’s definitely a local girl, so I’ll talk to the servers. Maybe one of them can take her home with them.”
“Good,” he muttered, impatient for Kyle to get the hell away from him before Carla reached the table. “Just do it.”
Carla had spotted him in the crowd and was headed his way, her gaze sliding toward the nearby group of Lycans standing at the bar—Sam, James, and Lev—who were watching her with unmistakable interest. Even Kyle, who had moved over to join them with the blonde in his arms, had his full attention focused on Carla. She looked exhausted, but gorgeous. At five-six, she was just tall enough that she didn’t look like a child when standing beside a man of Eli’s height, but was still...petite. Lithely muscled and battle-scarred, but somehow still incredibly feminine. Big brown eyes flecked with green and framed by thick lashes. Slim, delicate nose. Waves of thick, silky hair the colors of sunshine and honey and gold, the soft bangs falling across her brow. She was, quite simply, stunning. The most perfect, alluring, sensual female he’d ever known.
And, Jesus, that mouth of hers had always been his undoing. Full, sexy, sweet. Velvety and pink, like the petals of a flower. He wanted to devour her. Kiss her until he drew blood, which wasn’t surprising. From the moment she’d hit adulthood, this little half-breed had always drawn the hunger of both the man and the beast inside him. A hunger that was as visceral and dark as it was insatiable. How he’d fought it for so many years, when he’d been living with the pack, he didn’t know. He should have been given a damn medal for not falling on her like a rabid, sex-starved animal the instant she came of age—but he’d somehow kept himself under tight control, his fears for her safety the only thing that had a chance in hell of keeping him in line.
He’d been a goddamn saint when it came to Reyes...until that last week before his banishment.
As if they were some kind of penance for his sins, the memories of her from that week still woke him in the dead of night in a sweat, filled with an aching need that was primal, savage, and raw. So powerful he could taste it in the back of his throat. Here he was, three years later, and he still dreamt about her every night he didn’t drink himself into a stupor.
Studying her expression, Eli wondered if she was about to make him pay for the carnal things that had happened that week. Is that why she’d tracked him down? To tell him she’d rather see him dead before letting him return to the pack? Because that was definitely hatred he could see burning in her beautiful, narrowed eyes.
Shoving his emotional reaction to her presence to the back of his mind, he focused instead on simply watching her...waiting. Eating up the sight of her in the tight jeans and T-shirt and battered hiking boots.
At a quick glance, you would never guess she was a hunter of deadly werewolves. Certainly, the clueless humans in the bar, who had no idea they had shape-shifters in their midst, would have never guessed she was both battle and weapons trained. The Silvercrest Lycans would be surprised to know that much of that training had come from Eli himself, since it’d been in secret. Every aspect of their complicated “friendship” had been private and secret and forbidden.
God, he’d been so drawn to her. Though he was older than her, she hadn’t been a typical giddy twenty-two-year-old when their relationship had developed. She’d been sweet, but reserved. Eager for friends, and yet, wary to trust. But she’d trusted him. Past tense.
Eli had never told a soul about them, and he could only assume that Carla had done the same. Though not for the same reasons.
He moved to his feet when she reached the table, fighting the