Gator
“You got an update for me?” Jace’s voice fills my ear. What with the nightly calls, you’d think the two of us were dating.
“Need to pay our boy T.D. another visit. Poppy found a wolf kill. I erased the tracks, but she’s smart. She knows what it is, and she’ll be all over that area from now on. On the one hand, if she concentrates like that, it’ll be easier to shut her down, make sure she doesn’t see shit she shouldn’t. On the other hand, T.D.’s a wild card. Since he’s trying to set up as an Alpha, he won’t be in any kind of mood to listen.”
Jace gives a grunt of laughter. “Fucking make him if I have to.”
“And I’d be happy to help, but it won’t stop Poppy from going evidence-happy collecting the clues he’s dropping left and right. Plus, she’s motivated. She’s on some kind of two-week deadline; either she proves she’s found wolves once and for all, or the plug gets pulled on her funding.”
“Sounds like our problem’s solved then.” Satisfaction fills Jace’s voice. “Don’t need to scare her off or make her think twice—just keep spinning her in circles for a few more days, and she’ll be gone.”
“Still think we should check out T.D.,” I say. That wolf’s got his paws all over this, and he needs to rein it in.
Jace exhales. “Will do. If he wants to set up shop, he needs to find and hold his own territory, not poach on ours. And he’s gotta play by some rules. Can’t be coming out to humans.”
Yeah. Fuck that shit. T.D.’s been a perennial topic of conversation at our clubhouse lately. He’s moved out into the bayou to some place optimistically called Rose Bayou. Sounds like the best of Hallmark, but it’s more dilapidated cabin in the middle of nowhere than spa retreat. He’s also been collecting wolves. Ordinarily this wouldn’t be a problem. If you’re a lone wolf who hasn’t pledged allegiance to an Alpha, you can either continue to run alone and stay out of pack territory, or you can pick a leader and follow him. I made my own choice centuries ago, and I haven’t regretted it.
Not gonna fucking start on the regret train today, either.
I deliberately destroyed some of that evidence Poppy needs.
But I can’t shake the thought of her up and losing her grant, of her getting fired from a job she clearly loves. Sure I’d wanted her gone and out of my bayou. I like my alone time, and I have a pack to protect. It was two-for-fucking-one in my eyes. Then she all but teared up when her backers called. Told me she had two weeks to put up or shut up, and then she made it clear that she wasn’t in this wolf hunt for the money. I can respect that. Poppy believes that what she’s doing counts for something, so she’ll keep right on doing it until she can’t anymore. I feel like shit in comparison. Jacking up her stuff is gonna hurt her, plus it makes me as bad as her ex. He KO’d her job chances, too.
No getting around it—Poppy’s changed me. It’s like she’s some kind of disease, a mutant bacteria creating a fundamental, cell-level shift in me. And it’s not a magazine-worthy make-over, either. I’m the pack’s enforcer and I have a job to do. I can’t afford to be distracted by Poppy. She thinks I’m helping her out, that I’m a nice guy somewhere deep down inside. Yeah. Only thing I’ve got hiding are blue balls and my wolf. She won’t want either.
Not sure there’s any way she wins this one, though. Not like I can waltz the fuck on up to her and tell her that she’s got werewolves rather than regular wolves in her bayou. And she’d have to question why I was telling her anyhow. I’m the dick who’s demanded that she stick by him in the bayou for a week if she wants to keep hunting wolves, but I’m also the guy responsible for her failure. If she finds out, she’ll knee me in the balls, not drop to her knees to show my dick some love. I’m not Grade A dating material. Women tend to take a pass on scarred guys.
So the question is, if I had a shot at something with Poppy, would I take it?
Got a bad feeling the answer’s fuck, yeah.
I saunter around the porch, following the trail of light spilling out the windows of my library. Since I’m perfectly happy sitting in the dark—and I’m outside, not in—pretty sure I’ve found Poppy.
Sure enough, when I look through the glass, she’s bent over the long wooden table that runs down the center of my library and reaching for some book or other. She’s got this intent look on her face as she flips a page in the volume nearest her, as if maybe the secrets of the universe are just a page flip away. The way she’s spread out? Fuck me, but I’d be all over her if she gave me the nod.
Not like she’s wearing something see-through and lacy from Victoria’s Secret. Fucking awesome to pretend, though, that she’s bending over like that because she knows I’m watching and that the move drives me wild. Her little pink T-shirt rides up, exposing a sweet inch of skin between her hem and her pink-and-white plaid pajama bottoms. My head (two guesses as to which one) turns the temperature up on that fantasy by imagining her shoving her pants and panties down so that she can lift her ass in my direction.
She grabs yet another book and drags it toward her, flipping through the pages. A small frown creases the skin between her eyebrows. Wish she were flipping through dirty librarian porn, but more likely she’s got another book of maps.
Poppy’s always working. I study her, trying to put myself in her place. Never spent much time in school myself. Grew up in a time and place where only the clergy got an education, and then when shit changed, I was too busy fighting and making sure no one hurt those who belonged to me. Not like I’ve never cracked a book, but I’m all self-taught while Poppy’s been busy collecting a string of letters after her name. She’s way too fucking smart for the likes of me, but she also feels a little otherworldly. Like she’s so busy living in her head and figuring out life’s mysteries that she hasn’t spent all that much time actually living. She’s always hiding out in a lab or a library or even my bayou, and I’d be willing to bet she’s spent about as much time with living, breathing people as I have. She’s a little reserved, a little cautious about venturing out into the world.
Bet she’d love running in wolf form. Bet she’d make the sweetest, hottest little bitch on legs.
Wonder how she’d feel about having the big bad wolf chasing her ass. Might be an actual option we could explore. Yeah, I need to try that one on her for size. See how she feels about being my prey. Bet she’d fucking love running with me, too, and I’ve got to shed this skin real soon because I can’t breathe when I can’t run.
Nothing like a balls-out run to put everything in perspective.
Since the window’s open to let the air in, vaulting over the sill’s easy enough. Don’t need to bother with a door this way. She doesn’t hear me coming, so I just stand there and look at her for a bit. Have to say that the glasses perched on her cute little nose are working for me. She told me the other day she can’t see what’s right in front of her unless she’s got her glasses on. Standing with my back to the wall, I drag her scent deep into my lungs. Gonna make her part of me one way or another. She flips a page in the enormous book of maps she’s got spread out on my table and frowns. Got all sorts of teacher fantasies playing through my head now that aren’t helping any with the state of my dick.
I need to fuck her, bad.
Shove those pajama bottoms down, tear off her panties, and slide balls-deep inside her. Fuck her hard until her tits and her palms are bouncing on my table and she doesn’t give a good goddamned about those maps she’s glaring at. Probably would finish scaring her off.
Fucking love it when I can get a two-for-one in my line of work.
My dick tightens further, shoving against the front of my jeans. No way she misses what I’ve got for her. I’ll fuck her, make her come, and then make her leave. Best plan ever.
I shove off the wall. “You ever take time for fun, Poppy?”
She turns, throws my own goddamned book at me, and shrieks.
Guess we’ve moved onto the scare portion of tonight’s agenda after all.