Midnight Reckoning

He might have run for it, might not have been able to help it, except that at that moment he saw Lyra through one of the front windows. She paid no attention to the outside, instead looking lost in her own thoughts as she wandered into the room, stooped to pick something up, and then left.



Instantly, Jaden was transfixed. The smell, the fear, all faded away into the background, then vanished. He didn’t stop to question why. All he could think about was Lyra, her wild hair tumbling around her shoulders, her face drawn and tight, as though she had a great deal to worry about.



Maybe he could help relieve some small part of that worry.



Jaden reached into his jacket pocket, gave her necklace a quick squeeze for luck, and with a deep breath, headed up the stone steps.



“You’re perfect for one another. Damn it, Simon, tell her!”



Lyra stopped pacing to glare at her father. It was lost on him, however. He was too busy begging Simon to marry her. She would have been embarrassed, but Simon looked mortified enough for both of them.



“I can hear you just fine, thanks,” Lyra said finally. “And I’m not getting married. Not now, and possibly not ever,” she added pointedly, shooting a warning look at the friend who sat stiffly on the couch, looking as though he would rather be anywhere but here. Simon Dale had been her closest friend since they were children, and she knew that if push came to shove and her father leaned hard enough, he would give in and try whatever facsimile of wooing Simon was capable of.



She tried to stay away from that part of his life, but she’d caught glimpses. What she’d seen didn’t bode well. What some girls called “awkwardly charming” usually just looked awkward to her, and Simon was the poster boy. Cute… but clueless. And damn it, he was wavering already.



Gods, she was tired of overbearing males.



Simon scrubbed a hand through his already tousled crop of chocolate-brown hair and looked at her with big, soulful eyes of gold-flecked green hazel. As friends, they had always been an excellent match: he was calm where she was fiery; he was thoughtful where she was brash. They’d decided long ago, however, that they were unsuited to be anything more.



She had the sudden urge to plug her ears.



“Look, Lyra,” Simon said, “he has a point. It doesn’t have to be some stranger. There are plenty of guys right here who would be happy to protect you, and it’s not like Eric already has a lock on the Proving.”



“Mmm,” was all Lyra said, turning away to pace a different part of the room and hoping, very strongly, that Simon would stop there. Naturally, he didn’t. When Simon had something to say, he usually finished.



“Maybe we should think about it. We’re already friends. It could work.”



“Of course it would work!” her father cried happily. “Problem solved!”



Lyra stopped, tipped her head back, and closed her eyes, wishing for patience she currently didn’t have. “Simon,” she said, trying not to sound as frustrated with him as she felt. “I think I’m going to have to remind you that we don’t actually like each other that way. And as a couple, we would make one another really unhappy. Trust me.”



She looked over at him and saw she’d managed to hurt his feelings despite the fact that she’d spoken nothing but the truth. Lyra blew out an exasperated breath. She didn’t know why he had to be the one who was more sensitive. It was so backward.



“What?” she asked. “You think I’m wrong?”



“No. I just think you could have toyed with my emotions a little longer before shooting me down,” Simon said. “Especially since I was lured here with free pizza and got a free rejection instead.” His dimples winked for a moment, then vanished as his expression once more turned serious. He hesitated for a moment, then glanced at Dorien like he wished the man would leave. Since that didn’t seem likely, he murmured, “It’s not the world’s worst idea, though. I could take Eric—especially with your father’s help beforehand. He could back me fully if I was yours. And friendship isn’t such an awful way to start…”



Lyra looked at him, full of as much affection as exasperation. He looked so adorably disgruntled about the whole thing. She wished, as she often had, that she could have wanted Simon as a lover along with their friendship. Life would have been easier in a lot of ways, and she knew very well that if Simon became the Alpha through their marriage, he would be more than happy to let her run things behind the scenes. But the necessary feeling just wasn’t there.



And besides, though she had a lot of faith in Simon as a fighter, he had a sense of honor. He wouldn’t fight dirty… Eric would. Meaning Simon would lose.



“No,” Lyra said firmly, shaking her head. “No way. I can do this. I want to do this. The Proving’s not exactly Mortal Kombat, right? It’s speed, stealth, agility—”



“Beating and slashing one another to a bloody pulp in the dark,” Simon added quietly. Lyra decided to ignore him.



“What I need is a month of the most intensive training you two can give me. Every technique, every dirty trick, I want to know it and practice it. We go to the course, we train, we work out a way for me to take out the big boys.”



Her father and Simon shared a look, and Dorien opened his mouth to speak. Lyra was quite sure she wasn’t going to like what he had to say. More excuses, probably. She was a she-wolf, she wouldn’t understand, it would upset the other candidates, blah blah blah. She moved to cut him off.



“Don’t tell me—”



The sudden knock at the door startled her. Lyra turned her head sharply toward the sound, as did the men. The three werewolves stood frozen in silence for a long moment. She shot a quick look at the clock. It was a little past eight, and with the moon just recently begun to wane again, visitors were unexpected. It took most pack members a full week to recover from a Full Moon’s Feast, and this last one had been as wild as ever. Wilder, since she’d caused such a stir by stepping forward when the Proving candidates were asked to announce themselves.



Another knock. When no one moved, Lyra rolled her eyes. “Okay, I guess I’ll get that,” she grumbled, stalking from the room. “Maybe someone else wants to marry me and save me from my own crushing stupidity.”



She moved into the foyer, already dreading what she expected to find on the steps. It likely wasn’t another wannabe mate, but since an entire week had passed and she hadn’t yet pulled out of the Proving, it probably was an elder pack member come to dispense some comforting wisdom along the same lines as what her father had been spouting all day. “Find a strong mate to fight for you, put an end to this nonsense… and by the way, do you remember that my daughter married into the Pack of the Black Tree? Well, she has the nicest boy about your age…”



She didn’t even bother to look through the crackle glass sidelights, catching only the vaguest impression of a single human shape standing outside. She had already decided that if her guess was correct, whoever this was would quickly find him- or herself with a door slammed in their face.



Lyra pulled the door open with an angry jerk, ready to verbally carve up her nosy visitor.



When she saw who it was, her mouth dropped open, but whatever words she’d had in her head blew away like dead leaves in the wind.



He was everything she remembered, everything she’d replayed in her head a thousand times. Slim and pale and preternaturally beautiful, with that shaggy black hair that looked as though it would feel like silk against her skin. His eyes, an impossible blue that her memory had insistently dimmed simply because eyes couldn’t truly be a shade so vibrant, were fixed on her.



Words finally appeared in Lyra’s head. Sadly, they didn’t make any sense when put together. The shock of seeing Jaden here, as though he’d wandered out of one of her fevered dreams to find himself smack in the middle of werewolf country, was just a little too much for her.



It was some small consolation that Jaden seemed as startled as she was. He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of the same black military-style jacket he’d been wearing the other night, and stood very, very still, as though moving might provoke her into attacking him.



At the moment, she was in no shape to do that.



Finally, he spoke.



“Hi.” One word, in that soft, sultry voice, and he never let his eyes leave hers. She would almost have thought he was trying to thrall her, except that sort of thing didn’t work on her kind and he knew it. So his wide-eyed, hopeful, slightly terrified stare meant… what, exactly?



“Lyra? Who is it?” Her father’s voice called from the other room, bringing Lyra back to reality with an unpleasant jolt.



“It’s… nothing, be right back,” she called, hoping her father and Simon didn’t hear how strange her voice sounded. Then she took a deep breath, catching a whiff of Jaden’s cologne. Gods, he smelled good. Why did he have to smell good? She needed to get him the hell out of here, now, before something awful happened. She had enough shit to deal with right now without trying to prevent her pack from dismembering a stray cat vamp.



She leaned in close to talk to him but immediately wished she hadn’t. The memory of being pressed against him was still too raw, and it hadn’t stopped haunting her, both in her sleep and in her unguarded waking moments.



She steeled herself. This was too important to lose her head over. And she sure wasn’t going to get ridiculous over a vampire.



“What are you doing here?” she hissed. “Are you nuts? The other wolves will kill you the second they smell you!”



Incredibly, Jaden shrugged. “Yeah, well, I can take care of myself. I brought you something.”



From his pocket, he pulled out a disc hanging from a long chain, one Lyra knew immediately. She exhaled a shaky breath, hardly able to believe her luck. Her father had thus far been too upset to notice she wasn’t wearing it. Now he didn’t ever have to know it had been gone. And all because Jaden had decided to bring it back to her.



All this way back to her.