Dark Wolf Returning. Rhyannon Byrd
figured that part out for herself. No way the human would have sold it to her for that amount if the transaction had been legit. He’d probably just been looking for some quick money to pay for his next fix. And it’s not like they’d dealt with any of the legal paperwork. She’d just needed to ditch the car she’d stolen off the Whiteclaw and find something a little more fuel efficient, since it’d become apparent that tracking down her so-called “other half” was going to take more time than she’d hoped.
So, yeah, the car was most likely hot. But she’d still paid money for it!
“What if I take the keys inside and leave a note to let them know she’s up for grabs?” James offered, speaking up for the first time since they’d come outside.
“Fine,” she muttered, figuring it was better than nothing. “But please get my bag out of the trunk first.”
James nodded as he took the keys she’d dug out of her pocket, the pain in her side burning like holy hell as she moved. But she refused to groan, not wanting to give Eli the satisfaction. Instead, she glared at him as he pulled a set of keys from his own pocket.
“Are you even sober enough to drive?” she asked with a scowl.
He wasn’t looking at her, but she could swear he was rolling his eyes at the question. “We’re not human, Rey. It would take a hell of a lot more than what any of us have had tonight to put us over the limit.” Then, in a lower voice, he muttered, “And you should know I wouldn’t put you at risk like that.”
Five minutes later, she was sitting in the front seat of one truck, one of the guy’s T-shirts balled up and pressed against her side, while Eli drove and Lev and Sam sat in the spacious backseat. Kyle and James had piled into the other truck, along with everyone’s gear. Since Eli refused to stay in the town they’d just been attacked in, in case this Varga guy decided to send more men after them, they had to drive for nearly an hour before they found a cheap roadside motel that had enough rooms for them all. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been paying close enough attention when they were checking in, the blood loss making her a little dizzy, because it wasn’t until the keys were handed out that she realized they were one key short.
Which meant they had five rooms, instead of six.
Son of a freaking bitch!
“Eli,” she started to growl, before stumbling and nearly face planting against the cracked concrete walkway that led to the rooms. Damn it! Her lack of decent sleep the last two weeks, combined with the stress of finally facing Eli again, not to mention the blood loss, was getting to her. She was thankful the other Runners weren’t there to see her like this. They never would have let her live it down.
Kyle had grabbed her before she collapsed, his hold careful, as if he was afraid of hurting her. Did she really seem that fragile? “I think one of us should carry her,” he said, glancing at the others over the top of her head. “She’s looking a little pale.”
“I’ve got her,” Eli grunted, his heavy arm wrapping around her shoulders as he pulled her out of Kyle’s hands and jerked her against his side.
“I don’t know, boss man. You sure you don’t need any help?” Kyle asked from behind them, sounding both concerned and like he was trying not to laugh his ass off. She wasn’t sure what he found so freaking funny, but if it turned out to have anything to do with her, she was going to kick him. Hard.
“Kyle?” Eli muttered, as he opened the door to one of the rooms and all but shoved her inside.
“Yeah?” Kyle asked from the sidewalk.
“Piss off.” Eli slammed the door in the merc’s smirking face, then turned around and shoved a hand through his hair, his narrow gaze immediately connecting with hers. Carla had sat down on the foot of one of the beds, her left side now completely covered in blood. She’d felt a wave of relief when she’d seen that there were two beds in the room—but the look on Eli’s face as he pinned her under his dark glare completely shredded it. He still looked like he wanted to throttle her, but there was something even darker than anger in his unusual eyes, and it had her pulse kicking up. She wasn’t afraid of him, but that hungry, visceral look made her nervous as hell.
Needing a distraction, she said, “I could have paid for my own room, you know.”
His response was dry. “My mistake. I wasn’t aware you’d be flush with cash after escaping from a kidnapping.”
She lifted her chin. “I didn’t run empty-handed. I stole a wad of cash off the Whiteclaw. There’s still enough left to pay for my rooms and my meals on our way back.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ve got it covered,” he murmured, slipping two packs she hadn’t even noticed he was carrying off his shoulder. She was glad to see that one of the bags was hers. The blood on her skin was starting to get sticky, and she was trying to work up the energy to head to the shower so she could clean it off, when he set his bag down on the desk, opened it up, and pulled out a first-aid kit. He came over to the bed she was sitting on and started taking things out of the kit—antiseptic wipes and some ointment—setting them on the comforter.
Carla knew she should object when he grabbed the chair in front of the desk and dragged it over, sat down, then took a pair of scissors from the kit and started cutting her ruined shirt off. But she just couldn’t find the energy. If he wanted to help her, fine. It didn’t mean anything, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to lead to anything.
“Your men, they seem pretty loyal to you,” she said to break the uncomfortable silence. As well as to get her attention focused on something other than how freaking hot he looked. Eli had always worn the post-fight look well, and it looked even better on him now, with his shaggy hair and fierce expression. There were more little lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes than the last time she’d seen him, but they only added to his rugged appeal. It was one of those unfair imbalances in the universe, how things that made a woman look aged usually only a made a man look more attractive. And Eli wore that “lived in” look well.
She didn’t think he was going to bother giving her any kind of response, but he surprised her when he tossed her ruined shirt aside and said, “They’re a good bunch of guys. We’ve been through a lot together.”
She didn’t have time to be embarrassed about sitting there in nothing but her jeans and bra, because he opened one of the wipes and started cleaning the oozing wound. Her breath hissed through her teeth at the sharp sting of pain, but she forced it to the back of her mind and asked, “How did you all meet?”
He tossed the wipe into the nearby trashcan, and shot her a wry glance. “How about I tell you that story when you don’t look like you’re about to pass out?”
“I’m fine. I’ve had worse than this and survived.” Both physically...and emotionally.
He frowned, as if he’d heard her thoughts. Or maybe he just didn’t like the idea of her getting hurt. He never had liked her being a Runner, thinking it was too dangerous. But she’d never had any intention of leaving her job to make him happy. The way she’d seen it, if he’d truly cared about her, he would have learned to accept her and see her for who she really was: a woman and a warrior.
But, then, he’d never really cared about her, had he?
Trailing his rough fingertips just under the graze, he said, “You’ll heal with rest, but the bra needs to come off or it’s going to keep rubbing against the wound during the night.”
Carla looked him right in the eye and gave him her best as if look. “Not—Happening.”
“I wasn’t asking, Rey.”
Gritting teeth, she muttered, “You always were a bossy, manipulative jerk.”
He snorted as he shoved the chair back and knelt in front of her, his big body so close she could feel his delicious heat like a physical touch against her chilled skin. “And yet you used to love spending time with me,” he offered huskily, his mouthwatering scent settling on her tongue