Dark Wolf Running

Still, some significant progress had been made, and the Runners were now in charge of securing the pack’s borders. With time, Elise believed that the two sides would learn to accept one another.

Of course, that also meant that no matter how hard she tried to avoid him, the odds were strong that she and Wyatt Pallaton would be seeing more of each other.

And when that happens, you’ll be going right off the deep end.

She did her best to shake off the unsettling thought and took a heavy sip of her wine, forcing her mind back to the celebration happening around her. So far, Elise had managed to avoid what seemed to be a never-ending stream of nuptials taking place in Bloodrunner Alley—a small, picturesque glade located several miles south of Shadow Peak—but there’d been no excuse that could get her out of her own brother’s bliss-filled ceremony. Now that Eric had become a Runner and moved into the Alley with Chelsea, his human life mate, he’d been accepted as one of their own. The other hunters wouldn’t hear of the ceremony being held anywhere but in the center of the secluded glade, surrounded by their cabins and the majestic beauty of the Maryland mountains, as was custom for the Bloodrunners.

Despite its rustic setting, everyone had done an amazing job of transforming the Alley into a flower-filled paradise worthy of any society wedding. There were white-linen-covered tables, a free-flowing bar, mouthwatering food, good music and even a gleaming parquet dance floor. It was the kind of fairy-tale wedding that Elise had once dreamed of someday having for herself, before her world had been painfully torn apart. Her body had mended, thanks to the miraculous healing powers of Jillian Burns, one of her closest friends, but the emotional wounds were still bleeding and raw, like a festering sickness in her soul.

It was all so ironic, considering her bloodline. As a Dark Wolf, the offspring of two powerful pure-blooded Lycan lines, she should have been one of the most dominant females in her pack, and instead she’d been reduced to someone spooked by her own shadow, startled by every sound, completely disconnected from those around her. She could hide behind her sarcastic mouth and attitude all she wanted, but she wasn’t fooling anyone. Now that she’d spent time around the Runners, they’d slowly learned to see past her bravado and had begun treating her with...care, like something unspeakably fragile that they were afraid of bruising with their rough-edged masculinity. Even Cian Hennessey, the irreverent Irishman, was going out of his way not to be his usual arrogant, smart-ass self when around her.

There were times when it all just made her want to scream—and at others, it simply made her want to pack up her car and start driving, heading down the open highway, until she’d left it all behind her.

For the love of God, do you even hear yourself? that tired internal voice grumbled within her mind. Can we get off the pity train already? Because in case you didn’t notice, it’s taking us nowhere.

The wind picked up, blowing through the glade, bringing with it the crisp, heady scents of the spring forest, as well as the damp promise of rain. On the one hand, Elise hoped the approaching spring showers would hold off for just a little longer, enabling Eric and Chelsea to enjoy their reception. On the other, she couldn’t help but think that if it rained, then the night would come to an early end...and she could finally leave.

Dressed in her sleeveless bridesmaid gown, the chill of the air quickly bled into her bones. Shivering, Elise looked out across the crowded glade, and Chelsea caught her eye from the dance floor, where Eric, looking devastatingly handsome in his tux, held his wife in a tight, possessive hold as they swayed to a sultry love song. The brunette gave her a friendly wave, accompanied by a genuinely warm smile. Radiant in an ivory gown that made her look like a princess, Chelsea’s contagious happiness was almost enough to soothe Elise’s brittle nerves. She managed to smile in return, angry at herself for having to force an expression of pleasure onto her face. Damn it, she liked Chelsea and couldn’t have been happier that her brother had fallen in love with such a warmhearted, amazing woman. She was truly thrilled for them, and she honestly wanted their wedding to be perfect. She just...she just didn’t want to have to be a part of it.

Stop whining, you big ol’ baby. Just suck it up and stop acting like a pathetic bitch.

Wishing that know-it-all voice in her head would shut up and leave her the hell alone, Elise took another sip of wine while her gaze wandered over the crowd, until she came to the table where Wyatt sat. Unable to get her fill of him, she secretly watched the dark-haired Runner, same as she’d been doing all through the night. He leaned back in his chair, a cold beer in his right hand, his head tilted back as he laughed at something his Bloodrunning partner, Carla Reyes, was saying. The pretty, petite blonde looked like a golden little angel, but Elise knew Carla could be deadly when she needed to be, and she envied the lone female Runner that power. She’d have given anything to be like Carla, fearless and free to do as she pleased.

Wyatt rumbled something that Elise couldn’t quite hear but which had everyone at his table laughing, the scene like one of those idyllic beer commercials, with close friends enjoying good times together, a harsh contrast to her own situation. It wasn’t lost on her that she was the only person sitting at a table by herself. Guests had come and gone throughout the evening, trying to engage her in conversation, only to eventually move on when it became obvious she didn’t really want their company.

Suddenly, someone at Wyatt’s table roared with laughter, and Elise watched as Carla leaned to the side, one delicate hand pressed to her partner’s firm shoulder as she nearly doubled over with giggles. In that moment, the same helpless rise of jealousy Elise had experienced each and every time he’d danced with a beautiful woman that night burned through her system, making her feel sick inside. Struggling to hide the uncomfortable emotion, she shifted her gaze back to his face, wanting to see the glitter of humor in his dark eyes, to witness the white flash of his teeth as he smiled—and almost died when she found him staring right back at her.

Oh, my God...

Panicked, Elise quickly tore her gaze away, staring anywhere and everywhere, so long as it wasn’t at Wyatt. When she spotted Jillian heading her way, she nearly gasped with relief. The pack’s golden-haired Spirit Walker, also known as a healer or witch, took the seat on her left, and the entire time they chatted, Elise could have sworn she could feel Wyatt’s gaze lingering on her, watching...waiting for her to look back in his direction. But as Jillian’s grinning, gorgeous husband finally pulled her away to the dance floor and Elise slanted another quick look toward the table where Wyatt had been sitting, he was gone.

Okay, lady. It’s time to blow this joint before you make a fool of yourself.

Draining the last of her wine, Elise set down the glass, pushed back from the table and moved to her feet, already working up the lame excuse she’d give to Eric and Chelsea for bailing early. Bending down to get her purse from the neighboring chair, she’d just straightened and was starting to turn when someone walked up behind her. Caught off guard, she stiffened in alarm and dropped her purse onto the table.

“Dance with me, El.”

Jesus, Joseph and Mary.

The low, husky words had been whispered just behind her ear, Wyatt’s warm breath brushing against the sensitive skin bared by the upswept style of her hair, and she closed her eyes, nearly reeling as a stunning jolt of shock and lust and terror swept through her veins like a wildfire. He stood so close that she could feel his heat at her back, though he wasn’t quite touching her, a whisper of air still separating their bodies.

Wondering what the hell she should do, Elise drew in a deep, shuddering breath and opened her eyes just as he placed a warm, slightly rough hand on her arm, took a step back and then turned her around so that she faced him. She was tall for a woman, and in her heels she found herself staring eye level with the bronzed skin of his strong, corded throat. It was madness, but she couldn’t deny that she wanted to lean forward and press her mouth against that dark, silken skin. Wanted to feel his pulse against the tingling surface of her lips...the blistering intensity of his heat against her face.

Shivering even harder, Elise wet her lips, unable to get any words out over the choking lump of anxiety lodged against her larynx. Knowing she had to brazen this out, she slowly lifted her gaze over the square cut of his chin, then higher, over that wide, sensual mouth and strong nose, until she finally reached those dark, heavily lashed eyes. Reaching deep, she tried to find the smart-ass “I couldn’t care less that you’re big and bad and beautiful” attitude that she used when dealing with the other Runners—but it wasn’t there. Something about Wyatt Pallaton stripped her of her hard-earned defenses, until she couldn’t even fake her way through a sarcastic confrontation.

All she could do was stand there, trapped...spellbound...transfixed, until it felt as if she were somehow falling into that deliciously dark, heavy-lidded stare. It reminded her of gazing at the midnight sky, while the glittering points of the stars dazzled her eyes. His eyes glittered in just the same way, that mesmerizing gaze fixed on her with startling, breathtaking intensity, as if she were the only thing in the entire world at that moment that had his attention. Somehow, instead of the usual panicked alarm she felt when close to a man, there was only a strange, simmering warmth, like something bubbling up from the cold, decimated depths of her soul, breaking its way through the barren layers of ice, struggling to reach the surface.

She trembled, but not from the chill of the mountain breeze. No, she was melting, burning alive, and all he’d done was say four little words to her, stroking her senses with that deep, velvet-rough voice that was so damn sexy it should have been illegal.

He stepped closer, and amazingly, she didn’t flinch the way she usually did when a man invaded her personal space. But she did react. How could she not, when he was surrounding her, overwhelming her with his fierce, predatory energy, blasting it against her like some kind of freaking superpower?

“Wh-what did you say?” she stammered, stalling, wondering what in God’s name she was going to do. Run? Scream? Throw herself at him...and end up making a complete fool of herself when she couldn’t follow through, panicking at the mere idea of a kiss?

Poor Elise. You are so in trouble.

“Dance with me,” he said again, while a slow, sensual smile lifted the corner of his mouth, and the wind blew the thick, midnight strands of his hair over his brow. Such simple little words, and yet, their effect was so utterly devastating.

No way. Never. Not in a million years. The fervent responses rushed through her mind with dizzying speed, but when she opened her mouth to tell him no, she found herself nodding instead. The music and laughter surrounding them faded to a distant blur of sound, and Elise blinked, stunned that she’d just agreed to let this man take her into his arms and slow-dance with her. Had she lost her ever-loving mind? What the hell was wrong with her?

“I was hoping you’d stop being so stubborn,” Wyatt responded in a low, husky drawl, and she watched as the flames from one of the nearby fire pits cast a golden glow over the rugged angles of his face, glinting against the coal-black silk of his hair. “Took me all night to work up the nerve to ask you,” he added wryly, the corners of his dark eyes crinkling as he grinned. “Imagine how crushed I’d have been if you’d turned me down.”

She blinked, and his grin turned boyishly crooked, dazzling her with its beauty, making some forgotten part of her want to smile in response, though she fought against it. Elise knew he was teasing her, trying to put her at ease, and in another lifetime, words would have slipped from her lips like silk, either cutting or flirtatious in response, depending on her mood. But the woman with the ready comeback was gone.

Perhaps not an entirely bad thing, she reflected with an inward wince, seeing as how that woman had often been obsessively self-centered...and not very nice.

“Come on,” he murmured, gently taking her elbow and steering her toward the dance floor. He was being careful with her, tender in his touch and manner, and it made her want to snap at him, while at the same time she couldn’t help but be embarrassingly grateful.

Oh, yeah. You are so-o-o losing your mind.

Not surprising, she supposed, considering the fact he was so freaking hot her brain cells were melting by the second. She couldn’t even draw in a deep enough breath, the humidity rising around them like a sultry mist as the distant rumble of storms drew closer. Despite the chill of the breeze, the air lay heavy and damp against her skin, thick with lust and anticipation and the mouthwatering scent of Wyatt Pallaton. A provocative combination of musk and salt and the wild outdoors, he smelled unbelievably delicious, and she wanted to lean closer, drawing more of that heady scent into her lungs, while at the same time she wanted to do everything she could to escape it. Trapped between the opposing urges, she somehow managed to reach the dance floor without stumbling, aware of the curious glances being sent their way from the other guests, but unable to truly focus on anything beyond the feel of his hand on her arm, his long, strong fingers hot against her skin, while that decadent scent screwed with her head.

The second her feet touched the polished surface of the parquet floor, panic slammed into her with the stunning force of a bullet. “Wait!” she blurted, suddenly drawing back. He stopped and turned so that he stood facing her, but she didn’t dare look him in the eye, careful to keep her wild gaze focused on the snowy-white front of his shirt. He’d removed his jacket and tie earlier in the night and undone the shirt’s top button, revealing just a hint of his smooth, burnished chest. “I’m sorry,” she said thickly, staring at that bare glimpse of skin, “but I don’t think I can do this.”

“Just a dance, Elise. That’s all I’m asking for.” Then he was taking her into his arms, and she had to bite her lip to keep from moaning at the sudden chaotic rush of emotion. It was such a consuming, overwhelming sensation, being held by a man again, and her breath caught with a sharp, audible gasp as he pulled her against the hardness and heat of his muscular body, her head spinning as her senses went into some kind of cataclysmic meltdown.

Trying to remember how to breathe, she placed her hands on his broad shoulders, the soft cotton of his shirt warm beneath her palms, and took a quick glance up at his face to find him watching her, his expression fierce...intense...and yet, somehow impossibly gentle. “I’m dizzy,” she whispered, her pulse racing, frenzied and out of control.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he told her, his beautiful mouth shaping the words, making them sound like something seductive and wicked as he spun her in a sudden turn that pulled a soft, startled burst of shaky laughter from her lips. “See, it’s not so hard to have a little fun, is it?”

She blinked, dazed, too much going on inside her body and mind to focus on any one thing. “I didn’t...I don’t dance,” she explained in a strangled whisper, when what she meant was that she didn’t let men get this close to her. Ever.

“I know,” he replied, and the slightly rough cadence of his words made her shiver with awareness, at the same time something thick and hot began to slip through her veins. She had the strangest suspicion that he was responding more to her unspoken thought than the one she’d voiced aloud, and an uneasy feeling swept through her as she wondered just how much he knew about her. About her past and the things that had happened to her.

He pulled her a shade closer, until his strong thighs were brushing against hers, her breasts pressed to the firm surface of his chest, and Elise could have sworn she could feel the powerful beating of his heart. Her breasts felt heavy, swollen, the rise of desire like a hothouse flower unfurling inside her body, and there was a part of her—a strange, primal, frightening part—that wanted to stretch her arms and back in a sinuous arch and melt against him, languid and soft and hungry. That wanted to hold her face up to a warm spring shower and feel it misting against her skin, wetting their clothes, until steam rose from the heat of their flesh. That wanted to rip that crisp white shirt from his lean, hard-muscled physique and press her open mouth to the pounding, urgent beat of his heart. Push her fingers through the thick strands of his silky hair and pull his mouth to hers, unleashing the primitive, predatory hunger she knew lurked inside him.

God, she just wanted. Wanted so badly she could have screamed.

“But you’re enjoying yourself,” he murmured, jarring her back to reality with the deep, rich, slightly gritty tone of his voice as they swayed to the music. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t tell me no?”

Surprising herself, she snuffled another soft laugh under her breath. “You’re very sure of yourself, Pallaton.”

“Call me Wyatt.”

She shifted her gaze, staring over his left shoulder, feeling as if his dark, onyx-colored eyes could see straight into her. “I thought everyone called you Pallaton or Pall?”

“They do.” From the edge of her vision, Elise watched the corner of his mouth lift in a devastatingly sexy, purely male smile. “But I want you to call me Wyatt.”

“I’m going to call you desperate if you don’t stop,” she warned him, hoping like hell that her face wasn’t actually as red as it felt.