Dark Wolf Running

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.

“Stop what?” he asked, angling his head slightly to the side as he tried to recapture her gaze.

“All of this,” she said, fully aware that she sounded like an idiot. “Trying to dazzle me with your manliness and charm.”

“Oh, yeah? Is it working?” He kept his expression carefully blank, though she could see the glitter of humor in his dark gaze.

She rolled her eyes. “Like I’d tell you if it was.”

His head went back as a low, rich chuckle rumbled up from his chest, and her toes curled in her heeled sandals at the pure carnality of the sound. How did he do it, make a laugh sound like some kind of insidious new form of seduction?

Though she tried so hard to fight it, everything that he did made her feel drunk on lust, the hunger heavy in her body, like a weighty thing inside of her. The flash of his smile. The smoldering intensity in his dark eyes and the way they did that sexy crinkle thing at the corners when he grinned. She’d heard he was considered the tamest of the Runners, at times even stoic. The most easygoing of a volatile bunch. But being close to him, talking to him, Elise couldn’t help but wonder if the people who held that opinion of Wyatt Pallaton knew him at all. Were they blind? Because from where she was standing, there wasn’t a safe, easygoing thing about the man.

Desperate to regain control of herself and the situation, Elise asked a question that had been playing in the back of her mind for the past hour, slowly driving her crazy. “I saw you and Michaela on the dance floor earlier. Doesn’t it bother Brody when you dance with his wife?”

His hands shifted, one resting against the small of her back, while the other stroked its way up her spine until it reached the edge of her bodice, his thumb brushing against her bare skin in a slow, sensual caress. Her gaze shot immediately back to his, and she watched the groove form between his dark brows as he asked, “Why should it bother him?”

Suddenly, she wished she’d just kept her big mouth shut. Thanks to her friendship with Max Doucet, Michaela’s younger brother, she knew that Brody and the fiery Cajun were madly in love with one another, as did anyone who had ever met the quiet Runner and his gorgeous human life mate. Still, she couldn’t help the jealousy she felt when she witnessed the closeness that Wyatt and Michaela shared. “I just thought that the two of you...that you were...”

He leaned forward, putting his silky words into the sensitive shell of her ear. “Despite what a few gossips seem to think, El, Mic and I are just friends. And that’s all we’ve ever been. She’s in love with her husband, and I... Let’s just say that I don’t think of her that way.”

There was something there, in his words...in the tone of his voice...but she couldn’t afford to look at it too closely. Not if she wanted to keep it together. Instead, she said, “Why haven’t you danced with Reyes?”

She didn’t know what to make of him when he lifted his head, staring down at her with a bemused expression, as if the thought of asking his beautiful partner to dance had never even occurred to him. “Carla? Hell, she’d probably stomp on my toes just to be ornery.”

“But you two seem so...close. I thought...”

His dark brows lifted. “That we were also intimate?” he asked, looking as if he were trying hard not to laugh.

Before she could respond, his lips twitched with another wry smile. “We’re close, yeah. But not like that. I love Carla like a sister, but she’s my partner. Dancing with her would be like...like dancing with one of the guys.”

“Well, there has to be some woman here who you’re involved with,” she practically snapped, becoming desperate. She needed a cold slap of reality in the face, some kind of sign that declared him hands-off, because if she wasn’t careful, she was going to get herself in deeper water than she could handle. “Don’t you have a girlfriend? Someone you’re dating?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, honey, but no. No woman...and no girlfriend. I’m as free as a man can be.”

Hell. That so wasn’t what she needed to hear.

It didn’t matter how badly she wanted to accept the fleeting moments of sexual pleasure he was offering her with that wicked smile and smoldering stare—she simply couldn’t do it—and for the second time that night, Elise wondered why she couldn’t have met him when she was younger. Of course, knowing the kind of girl she’d been back then, she probably would have turned up her nose at him, believing herself too good to have a fling with a Bloodrunner. Stuck-up and snide, she’d had a mountainous chip on her shoulder, always acting as if she thought she was better than everyone around her. Disgusting, but embarrassingly true. She’d been so different then, thinking the world revolved around her and her problems, when she couldn’t have been further from the truth.

It’d taken countless months of therapy after her attack to come to the understanding that she’d formed her spiteful attitude and narcissistic self-obsession as a defense mechanism for dealing with her misogynistic father. And she’d done a damn good job of building those defenses. So much so that it’d taken a night of living hell to break her down, taking her to pieces, until there was nothing left of her to offer a man like Wyatt. The feminine part of her that longed for an emotional connection with a man, as well as a physical one, no longer worked the way that it should—and though she struggled each day to be strong, Elise knew there was nothing that could ever repair the damage. No therapeutic Band-Aid that could heal her soul.

Wyatt stared down at her with a curious look on his striking face, then quietly asked, “Are you going to keep quizzing me about the women in my life, or are we finally going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” she whispered, painfully aware that her panic and fear were bleeding through, loud and clear. With his heightened senses, he could probably scent her unease with every breath he took, and she fought not to cringe.

He didn’t offer any inane platitudes to ease her nerves. He just smiled down at her with that slow, sensual twisting of his lips, the shape of his mouth firm, masculine and yet impossibly beautiful. There was a nick on his chin, where he’d obviously cut himself shaving, and Elise found herself wanting to lift onto her toes and press a tender kiss against the small wound. A strange compulsion, considering she hadn’t kissed anyone in years—hadn’t wanted to kiss anyone in years—but then this entire night was turning out to be one stunning dose of bizarre.

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, suddenly terrified that he wanted to talk about the way she’d been watching him throughout the night, stealing as many desperate glances as she could. Embarrassed, she looked away. She could feel the heat burning in her face, the dark, curious weight of his gaze as he stared down at her only making it worse. “Talk about what?” she asked again, unable to disguise the quiver in her words.

“About what’s happening between...” His voice trailed off as he took in her panicked expression. “You know, on second thought, I think we’ll save that particular conversation for another day,” he offered in a low rumble, and even though she could sense the tension in his body, she knew he’d decided not to push the issue. “But there’s something I need to tell you, El. I mean to get to know you. I don’t expect it to be easy, but you should know that it’s something I’ve set my mind to.”

From one breath to another, she could feel the color drain from her face, and she looked back to him, blinking against the slow rise of anger building up inside her. Hoping it wasn’t true, but knowing that it was, she said, “You’ve asked about me, haven’t you? That’s why you’re being so damn nice and so bloody careful, isn’t it?”

His lashes lowered, shielding his gaze, and she cut him off before he could even bother denying it. “Don’t lie to me,” she quietly seethed, thankful he’d kept them at the far edge of the dance floor, away from the other couples. “And don’t coddle me! I’m so sick and tired of everyone walking on eggshells around me, afraid I might go off the deep end. Just answer the question, Pallaton. You know about what happened to me, don’t you?”

His expression was nothing short of grim. “You mean with your father?”

“No, I’m not talking about the crap that happened last year. I’m talking about before!”

For a moment, he simply watched her, the look in his eyes growing darker, deeper, and then he gave a small, nearly imperceptible nod. “Yeah, I know.”

Despite the counseling she’d gone through, shame poured through her, sickening and painfully familiar, and she struggled to breathe her way through it.

“Elise, I meant what I said,” he told her, his grip firming, as if he thought she was going to pull away. It was terrifying, watching the resolve harden his features, his expression cut with stark lines of determination. “All I want right now is a chance for us to get to know each other. I’m not pushing you to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“You’re wasting your time,” she argued, flattening her palms against the solid muscles of his shirt-covered chest as she pushed against his hold. “It’s not going to happen. I...I can’t.”

“Can’t?” he quietly rasped. “Or won’t even try?”

Her anger rose with her panic, and she fought to control her voice as she hissed, “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you don’t know me. You don’t know my life. You don’t know anything but gossip. Don’t you dare judge me!”

His voice became a soft, gentle growl. “I don’t want to judge you. I just want the chance to be friends with you. To deal with this thing we have going.”

She blinked, wondering what on earth he was talking about. “Thing? What thing?”

They’d long since stopped dancing, though he still held her in his arms. Obviously choosing his words with care, he said, “We might not be happy about it, but there’s something between us. I know you don’t give most men the time of day, but I want that to change. I want you to take a chance and get to know me.”

“So that I’ll what? Suddenly decide to sleep with you?” she sneered, breaking away from him.

His mouth went hard, the shuttered look in his eyes narrow and sharp. “So that you can learn to trust me. Be friends with me. If that’s all you want, then I’ll find a way to accept it.”

She lifted her chin, her arms wrapped tight around her middle, too angry to care if she was causing a scene. “You’re crazy!”

He didn’t reach for her again. He just stood there, looking devastatingly handsome in his tux, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal his thick wrists and the corded length of his powerful forearms as he shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his slacks. The snowy-white of his shirt was startlingly bright against the dark russet tone of his skin, attesting to his Native American heritage, and she couldn’t help but think that it should have been a sin creating a man who looked that good. But even more frightening than the gorgeous exterior was the man inside.

“I mean it, Wyatt. You’re wasting your time.”

“I know you’re afraid,” he told her, keeping his voice low, “but there’s something you should know about me, El. I can be a patient man when I need to be.”

“A patient man?” She laughed, but the brittle sound was born too much from terror and pain than actual humor. “There’s no such thing!”

He leaned forward, just close enough that his lips grazed her cheekbone as he spoke. “Have heart,” he murmured as the last notes of the song quietly faded away. He pressed a tender kiss to her temple, moving slowly past her right side, the solid muscles of his chest brushing against her bare arm. “Believe it or not, El, I just might surprise you.”