Villains don’t save damsels.
Hadn’t Fabian written the memo? Didn’t he preach the word? Then what the hell possessed him to play the part of hero?
What idiot dove, in the dark, in a river with a decent current, to save a bloody stranger?
Apparently, he was just such an idiot, and if he survived this stupidity, he’d give himself a proper reaming.
If he survived.
Splish. Splosh.
Those assholes are shooting at us!
Fabian could have kicked his own ass once the bullets began to fly, peppering the river’s surface with their deadly impact. Yet, given the slight female in his arms would have surely drowned if he’d not acted, he couldn’t completely say he wouldn’t do it again.
Who would have thought a hero lurked beneath his jaded veneer?
A hero he’d deny existed if anyone remarked on it. He did have a reputation as a badass to maintain after all.
“Who’s shooting at us?” the woman squeaked.
Answering a question at a time like this was stupid, so he did the only thing he could think of to shut her up. “Hold your breath.”
Not much warning, but then again, they didn’t have much time. He yanked them both under the water’s surface that served a dual purpose. First, the murky river would act as camouflage, making it harder for the gunmen to spot them and, second, because the thick liquid would slow the impact of the bullets.
Not that he really cared if he got hit. He’d survive. As a werewolf, and a powerful one at that, he possessed an amazing constitution that mocked most injuries. But his amazing ability to heal didn’t stop one crucial thing.
Getting shot sucked. He knew this from experience. He also knew another thing. The woman could get hurt. Humans were fragile that way.
We must protect her.
The altruistic thought didn’t come from him. Pesky inner beast. It seemed his wolf half-harbored irritating concepts of honor and duty. It enjoyed helping others, even if it made Fabian’s villainous reputation so hard to maintain.
Ignoring his Lycan side, which whined at the whole swimming-underwater thing—must find a patch of dirt to roll in—he kicked his feet while keeping his arms wrapped around the woman. The current helped move them away from the scene and out of reach of the gunmen.
While his lung capacity meant he could have swum a while longer underwater, he kept in mind the woman he held was human. She needed to breathe.
He popped their heads above the surface and heard her take in a gasping breath.
“Shh,” he hastened to whisper before she could speak. “We have to remain quiet.”
She nodded and didn’t say a word. However, she might as well have shone a beacon given how noisily she sucked in air.
In the distance, he heard shouting.
“Where the hell did they go?”
“I’m pretty sure I hit them,” boasted the other.
Wishful thinking, Fabian thought with a smirk.
The current took them farther downstream, deeper into his territory, and that meant it was less likely the thugs would continue their pursuit.
The gurgle and rush of the water as it carried their bobbing bodies, held aloft by his scissoring legs, filled the silence between them.
She was a woman, so of course it couldn’t last forever.
“I’m cold,” she said through chattering teeth.
“But alive, so stop complaining. We can’t exit the river yet. We’ve not gone far enough.”
“How would you know?”
“Because I own these lands.” Said not without a little bit of pride. He’d worked hard to get where he was today.
“I want to go to shore.”
“What part of ‘not yet’ did you not understand?”
“You can’t tell me what to do. Let me go.” She squirmed in his arms, not that it did her any good. He was much stronger than her.
“How about we first untie your hands? Or is this a new fashion statement?” What kind of coward tossed a bound woman into water? It was a cruel way to kill with no honor.
Given he held them both afloat, he had to quickly tear the sodden tape in two before she sank. But separating her hands wasn’t enough, apparently. He had an irrational need to see the tape gone. “Hold on to me with one hand while I get it off.”
She braced a hand on his shoulder while holding out the other to him.
As his feet trod water, he peeled the sticky binding from her wrist, swiftly, ignoring her gasped, “Ow! Couldn’t you have been more gentle?”
“Don’t whine. Tape is like a Band-Aid, best yanked off quick. Switch hands now so I can get the other.”
While she might have protested at his methods, that didn’t stop her from offering her other wrist to him.
She clenched her lips tight as he ripped the tape away.
“Done. Was that so hard?”
A glare was her reply.
He chuckled. “Your gratefulness is overwhelming me.”
“Smart-ass.”
“Will you stop whining if I kiss it better and promise to get you some ice cream?”
“I’d prefer if you freed my feet.”
“I can do that if you float on your back so I can reach them.”
Except she didn’t know how to float very well, apparently, which meant he ended up ducking underwater for a second to tear at the tape holding her ankles together.
As soon as he broke the surface of the water, she started in on him again.
“Let me go. I want to go to shore.”
“Can you swim?” he asked.
“Of course I can. I think.” She said the last bit on a higher note.
“Suit yourself.”
He released her and let her sink like a cement block a few feet underwater before reaching under and yanking her back up.
She spat out water and invectives: “Bloody hell, I can’t swim.”
“Just how many other things do you not remember being able to do?” He couldn’t help a smug grin, his expression pure I told you so.
She glared at him, her evil stare visible even in the feeble starlight. It made him smile only wider.
“You are not funny,” she stated.
“I wasn’t trying to be a comedian, merely practical.”
“Well, you suck,” she wheezed, still trying to catch her breath.
Feisty. He kind of liked it. It wasn’t often he came across people with the balls to talk back to him. Being a man of power meant most people feared him. As he was alpha of the wolves and a small contingent of cats, his position meant people obeyed him—and trembled if he turned his displeased mien their way—and women tended to simper in his presence and do their best to seduce him in the hopes of becoming Mrs. Garoux. They all wanted to become a powerful woman in the shifter underworld and beneficiary of his immense wealth.
He couldn’t have said what prompted him to say, “Yes, I do suck. And lick. I’m also partial to nibbles. I’m a man of many talents, vixen.”
“You can keep those talents to yourself.”
“Such ingratitude for the man who saved you.”
“You’re right. I should show some manners. Thank you.”
“That’s it?” He said the words teasingly, and to his surprise, his prickly, waterlogged lady chuckled.
“How’s thank you very much?”
“You forgot to add a cherry on top.”
How about a kiss?
An odd thought to have, given he didn’t know the woman and she was hardly attractive soaked in river water that proved quite odiferous.
“Cherries are overrated. I prefer ooey, gooey caramel.”
Yes. Caramel, licked from her lips.
Bad wolf.
At least, he wanted to blame his wolf, and yet he was the one who pictured himself caressing her full, if slightly purple, lips.
Perhaps it is time to head for shore.
The temperature of the water truly affected her, much more than him.
If the thugs planned on pursuing, they’d have to enter his lands, and if they did … Surprise, they wouldn’t make it out alive.
And, no, he didn’t exaggerate to maintain his reputation. Some things just weren’t allowed in his world. Shooting at him was one of them.
Feet scissoring, he kicked them toward shore, aiming for the faint lights he glimpsed in the rising mist. Unless the landscape for his property had changed, that glow came from the solar lights bolted to the dock he maintained. Not that he boated. Wolves weren’t sailors, but he did enjoy fishing.
And this time I caught the biggest prize of all.
Using the current and traversing at an angle, he managed to guide them to the dock, then past it, as it didn’t have a ladder and he doubted she’d have the upper body strength needed to hoist herself up.
He dragged her toward the shore until her feet touched the bottom. He found his footing and steadied her as she stumbled clumsily upright.
“About time,” she muttered, yanking herself from his grip. Head held high—her regal attempt making his lips twitch—she slogged away from him through the shallow current.
Fabian followed behind and, being a man, took a moment to admire the way her ass moved in her wet leggings, her hourglass shape clearly delineated by the clinging white blouse. A curvy handful with some cushion at the hips and butt, an indent at the waist, and short, dark, bobbed hair that revealed a tempting—oh let’s bite it—neck.
Bite it?
No. Fabian did not mark women. Any women. Not the ones he slept with. Not the ones he dated. And definitely not a water-soaked woman conveniently suffering from amnesia with thugs looking to kill her.
There would be no biting. Ever. Because everyone knew what a good chomp meant. Lycan tradition had males claiming their mates in a very permanent and scarring fashion.
It was archaic. Barbaric. It also meant a man had to limit himself to one woman the rest of his life. Talk about major commitment.
Fabian wasn’t sure he’d ever make the plunge, and before anyone tried to tell him he’d not have a choice, that once the mating urge struck it would prove relentless, he said, “Ha!” Strength of will would be his armor against the ultimate collar around his neck. Determination and an ability to resist temptation would—
Ooh. Nice. Mine. Want.
His train of thought derailed as the woman strode a few yards away from the shore and then turned to face him, hands on her hips.
The white blouse clung to her upper torso, outlining her very full breasts. Even though she wore a bra, as the cool night air touched the wet fabric covering the tips they puckered and poked.
A man of his experience shouldn’t have to clamp his jaw lest he slobber.
Look away. Look away! He knew how to fight her siren temptation, and he would have, fought it, that was, if she’d not caught him with her gaze just as a sliver of moon lit the shoreline. Bright blue eyes snared his, their expression quizzical and appraising.
How did he appear, striding from the water—Neptune rising from the sea or, in this case, a river? He thrust out his chest and wondered if she noted his musculature through his soaked garment. While just a hair over forty, he didn’t look it. He was in prime shape, and it wasn’t vanity that said he was good-looking. His mirror told him every day.
If she did notice his fine physique, she didn’t openly admire it. On the contrary, she wrinkled her nose. “You’ve got a weed caught in your hair.”
As he tugged the offending greenery from his soaked crown, he scowled. “You really need to work on your thanks to the man who saved you.”
“I already said thank you.”
“And?”
“And what? What else would you like me to say or do?”
Good question. What did he want her to do?
Do me.
No, he wasn’t going to coerce her into having sex for his doing the—ack!—right thing.
But speaking of the right thing, time to rein her back in before she went too crazy.
“So any idea where the closest phone is? I should probably call the police and—”
Involve the fuzz? “Whoa there, vixen. I don’t know if you want to call the cops.”
She paused midsentence and blinked wet lashes at him. “Why not? Someone, two someones actually, just tried to kill me. They would have killed you, too, if their aim was any good.”
“But they didn’t, and for the moment, they’re probably assuming you’re dead.”
She peeked down at herself, which had the effect of drawing his gaze.
We really should peel her out of those wet clothes and warm her up.
Before he could suggest it, she spoke. “But I’m not dead.”
“No, you’re not, but if you go to the cops, they’ll make some kind of public announcement, which means those guys will know they failed and they might try again.”
“Or the cops will catch them.”
Fabian snorted. “Catch who? Can you describe them? Do you know their names? The make or model of their car? Their motive? Anything?”
The more he fired questions at her, the more she stiffened and her lips tightened. “I know nothing. Not even my own damned name.” She kicked at the loose pebbles on the shore.
For a moment, chagrin touched him at the way he’d verbally hammered her. However, in this situation—violence, death, and cops—he truly knew best. And best was her taking his advice whether she liked it or not.
A flash of predator eyes from the shadowy coverage of the woods let Fabian know they weren’t alone. He held up a hand meant to convey, Stay where you are. No use letting this stranger see more than necessary. Not everyone could handle the appearance of wolves, even tamed ones.
Yet she is handling the wildest wolf of all with ease so far. And, no, it wasn’t arrogance that made him think that. Fabian was the biggest, baddest Lycan around.
As alpha and boss of these lands, he could command her to obey, but the manners his mother had instilled won the day. “Why don’t we continue this discussion at my house, where there are dry towels, a shot of brandy, and a fireplace to chase the chill from our skin?”
“You live close to here?”
“Yes, about a half mile or so from the river. There is a path we can use.”
When it seemed as if she would hesitate, he strode past her, head held high and imperiously, an appearance ruined by the squelch of water in his sodden Italian leather loafers.
Instead of arguing further—a miracle—she followed, followed the big bad wolf to his secret lair.
Awoo! Ahem, he meant, Excellent!, with an evil twiddle of his fingers of course.