S. Yule - Lycan Vengeance

He left the room and quietly closed the door. She lay still and listened while he moved around the house for a few moments, and then heard the unmistakable opening and closing of the front door. It had worked.

She’d wait ten minutes, then haul ass. That should give him enough time to get deep enough into the woods where he wouldn’t be able to catch her, even with his speed, once she was in the truck and heading out.

She got up, quickly stripped, grabbed the clothes she’d placed on top of the duffel earlier, and hastily dressed before shoving the sweats and shirt back inside. She pulled Knox’s T-shirt—the one she’d worn—

from the bag and spread it over a pillow she’d tucked under the blanket so her scent would remain strong in the room if he looked in on her. Hopefully, the dark and the scent would buy her more time, but she wasn’t counting on it. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was after her as soon as she started down the drive, which meant she had to move fast and precisely, without making a mistake.

She lifted the duffel over her shoulder, tiptoed out into the hall and to the front door. She stepped out onto the porch, looked around, and cocked her head to the side to listen. When she heard nothing but silence, she sprinted to the truck, threw the duffel in, and jumped up into the driver’s seat. She softly pulled the door closed so it only made a quiet click, reached under the seat, and felt for the small tear in the fabric, praying the hiding place had been good enough. She worked her finger under the tear and pulled out the spare key. A big grin crossed her face. Ha! Got one over on you.

She put the key in the ignition and popped the truck into gear, letting it roll forward—thanking Knox all the way for turning the pickup around and facing it toward the road. Fortunately, luck was on her side, and the driveway was on a small downgrade, which allowed her to roll further than she’d hoped before starting it up.

The engine was quiet, and she hoped if Knox heard it—and he would—he’d think it a vehicle passing in the distance on the main road.

She fought the urge to slam her foot down on the gas, and let the truck glide slowly to the main road. If she goosed it, he’d immediately know something was up. Once she turned onto the road, she stopped fighting the urge and put her foot to the floor. Her heart raced and her breathing came in shallow pants as she watched the mirrors, fully expecting to see Knox chasing her, but after twenty miles, she knew she’d gotten away.

After an hour of searching along the trail Rose had used when she’d fled into the woods after the rogue attacked her, Knox still hadn’t found her ring. She had been so upset over losing it, and he was sure he’d be able to find it. In fact, he knew he could find it, which made him wonder if maybe it hadn’t been lost during the actual attack. The logical thing would have been to search under the bed and dresser and around the bedroom first, but her tears had rattled him. He hoped it was there because he didn’t want to tell her he’d failed in getting it back for her.

He decided to head back to the house, not wanting to be away from Rose any longer. He’d heard a car pass in the distance a few moments ago, which was a rare but not unlikely occurrence. While it hadn’t sounded close, he still wanted to make sure all was well. His need to keep his mate safe was one he couldn’t ignore, nor one he wanted to refuse. He started back, and a feeling of unease started nagging him. As he got closer to the house, the feeling intensified, and when he saw Rose’s truck was gone, he was terrified that she had been taken from him. Suddenly, he knew why the sound of the engine he’d heard earlier had sounded vaguely familiar.

He ran inside to the bedroom and was relieved to see she was still sleeping. The relief was short-lived, however, when he found not Rose under the blankets, but a pillow rearranged to make it look as if she were still there. His shirt—the one she’d worn—was draped over the pillow and told it all. She’d tried to deceive him not only with the pillow trick, but by using the shirt—the one covered in her scent—as an illusion to make him believe she was still there. She’d left him.

She was smart, he’d give her that, but he was going to wring her neck when he found her. The area—

northern Michigan—was known to be rampant with rogues. Didn’t she understand how much danger she was in?

“Son of a bitch.” He wondered if he looked in the mirror if a big S would be scorched on his forehead for

“sucker.” She’d suckered him good, and he’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.

She thought she’d gotten away, but he still had a few tricks up his sleeve, one in particular that would lead him right to her. When he did find her—and he would—he’d lock her up if he had to, but she was going to quit taking risks with her life. He couldn’t bear it if something happened to her.

Her tears, the whole sob story about the ring, everything had been fake. He thought about it for a moment. No. It hadn’t all been a lie. She’d responded to his touch. No one could fake that. Well, maybe someone, somewhere could, but not Rose and not with him. She’d responded to his kisses as well. She might not like the fact that she had responded to him, but it didn’t make it any less true.

That gave him hope. Her brain may not like what was happening between them, but her body recognized the chemistry, and physical attraction was a hard thing to resist, especially one as strong as the two of them had.

Then he cursed himself. He’d pushed her too hard, too fast, and she’d responded by running away. He should have taken things slower, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. She was soft, inviting, his, and he’d wanted—

no, needed—to touch her. And his inability to control his hormones was what ultimately drove her away.

He’d been tracking and hunting for more years than she’d been alive, and he was positive that if she’d been hunting him for over a month, she had a place somewhere within a couple hundred miles at the most.

And the next time she fell asleep, she’d tell him everything he needed to know, and he’d have her once again.

The long drive to the small house she was currently staying at had been tiring. Rose parked the truck under the carport in the drive, grabbed her duffel, locked the doors, and made her way to the front door. Home sweet home, well, home sweet temporary home. She hadn’t had a permanent home for over ten years, at times had longed for a place she could call her own, but there was no room for permanence or stability in her life.

Nonetheless, it was good to be at her own place and away from Knox. Away from Knox—she wasn’t having any luck convincing her body that was a good thing . . . or her heart.

She did a quick check of the house and made sure everything was secure before tugging off her boots and shedding her clothes. She shuffled to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped under the hot spray. As much as she wanted to linger under the soothing water, exhaustion demanded otherwise. She wrapped a towel around her and staggered to the bed, where she fell onto the soft mattress, snuggled under the covers, and was asleep almost immediately.

“Rose. I missed you. You shouldn’t have left me.” A low, gravelly voice floated in the air.

She opened her eyes and was startled a bit when she found Knox sitting on the side of the bed. He sat stil , watching her, not making a move toward her, and after a few moments, she relaxed. He didn’t appear angry that she’d escaped him. In fact, if she wasn’t mistaken, the only thing he looked was relieved, wel , relieved and hot as hel .

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m not real y here. You’re dreaming.”

“Oh.” She chewed at her bottom lip. “But you seem so real.”

“Sometimes dreams seem that way.” He smiled at her, and her heart flip-flopped in response.

She was glad she was dreaming of him. In her dreams she didn’t feel guilty for wanting to spend time with him or for wanting him to kiss her . . . and more.

“Walk with me?” He held out his hand, but she hesitated.

She’d gone to bed nude, but when she peeked under the covers, she found she was wearing a soft, pale blue nightgown. Very unlike her to wear such a feminine, silky thing, but it was a dream, after all, and she liked that she was wearing something sexier than she usual y donned. When she flipped the covers back, his gaze raked her from head to toe, and she blushed furiously when his midnight eyes glowed softly.

Her body heated in an instant under his scrutiny. He was the only man who’d ever had that ef ect on her, and the fact that he could do it without touching her was a little intimidating, and a whole lot stimulating.

She final y took his hand, and he led her through the smal house and out the front door. There was snow on the ground, and she was barefoot, but she wasn’t cold. And now that she looked at him closer, she grew warm everywhere.

His blond hair beckoned her fingers to sift through the silky strands, and his five o’clock shadow begged to be rubbed over al the sensitive parts of her skin.

His black T-shirt hugged every ripped muscle on his fine bod, and his dark jeans hung low on his lean hips, hips that she instinctively knew nestled the part of him that could give her al the pleasure she could ever need or want. He was tal , and she felt smal next to him. He was the first man to ever make her feel feminine, and she liked it. She also liked that he was not unaffected by her. Every time his eyes glowed when he touched or looked at her, it was because she lit a fire in him as he did her. He’d proven on more than one occasion that he wanted her, and she’d wanted to give in to him, stil wanted to.