Читать книгу Tamed By The She-Wolf - Kristal Hollis - Страница 14

“What is that god-awful noise?” It pounded in Angeline’s head like a woodpecker drilling a tree for food.

Slowly and painfully, she opened her eyes. The shirt Lincoln had worn last night obscured her field of vision. Suddenly, the pillow her head rested upon moved.

“Buenos días, Angel.” Lincoln’s deep Texas drawl sounded thunderously close but at least the beep grating her nerves stopped.

The sluggish thoughts in her brain, however, kept going. Unfurling her legs, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Were you speaking Spanish?”

“Yeah. I grew up in a bilingual household. My maternal grandparents emigrated from Mexico to Texas when my mom was a child. But I also speak German, Tagalog and some Somali.”

“Strange combo of languages.”

“I learn whatever the Program tells me to.” Lincoln began the process of putting on his prosthetic.

She remembered Lincoln asking if she was okay with him taking off his artificial leg because his stump hurt, but not much after he did.

“Um.” She glanced at the coffee table littered with a Jack Daniel’s decanter and likely every beer bottle she had in the fridge. All empty. “What happened last night?”

“You passed out and latched onto me in your sleep.” He wiggled into his pants.

“I did not!” The screech in her voice made Angeline cringe.

“Oh, so it was a ploy to keep me here?” He cracked a smile. “Aw, Angel, all you had to do was ask.”

She felt the weight of a frown on her jaw. “Tread lightly, I’m not a morning person.”

Despite her warning, he laughed. “You certainly aren’t. But you are quite adorable with your messy hair and grumpy face.”

“You’re not earning any brownie points, Dogman.”

“That’s not what you said last night.” He had the nerve to wink.

“They only count if I remembering doling them out. Which I don’t, so...” She massaged her temples.

“I’m not surprised.” Lincoln stood, and Angeline felt woozy looking up at him. He began gathering the discarded bottles. “Most of these are yours.”

“That can’t be right,” she said, trying to focus her fuzzy and somewhat incoherent memories. “I don’t normally drink that much.”

“Good to know,” Lincoln said. “But I think your family dinners are more upsetting than you allow yourself to believe.”

“Why? What did I say?” Angeline’s heartbeat sped up, despite the sludge a night of drinking had deposited in her veins.

“Nothing that bears repeating.” Lincoln dropped the bottles into the recycling bin underneath the sink.

“No, really. I need to know what I talked about.”

“Tell me where the coffee is.” Lincoln gave her an assessing look. “Then I’ll give you a play-by-play of all the beans you spilled.”

Angeline’s stomach churned and it wasn’t from the hangover. If her drunken self had told Lincoln about her music career...

“Check the pantry, third shelf. Coffee filters should be there, too.”

While Lincoln busied himself in the kitchen, seemingly making as much noise as possible, Angeline dragged herself into the bathroom, soaked a washcloth in cold water and buried her face in it. This—the morning-after hangover—is why she didn’t usually indulge in more than two drinks in one night.

Dampening the cloth, she glanced into the mirror and jumped back. Her bloodshot eyes were a little puffy, but her hair...yikes! What a tangled mess.

And Lincoln thought she looked adorable? Definitely, the man needed glasses.

At least nausea didn’t accompany the hangover, but if she didn’t take a painkiller for the pounding in her head, it might split open.

She fumbled through the medicine cabinet for ibuprofen and downed two caplets with a glass of water. After scrubbing her face and rinsing the funk from her mouth, she tackled combing her hair. Seriously, how did she get so many knots?

Emerging from the bathroom, Angeline looked much more presentable than when she’d gone in. Her nose twitched at the rich, robust aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, and she followed the scent all the way to the kitchen.

Lincoln handed her a big cup filled nearly to the rim.

“Thanks.” Holding the ceramic mug between both hands, she took her first sip. The heat sloshed down her throat ahead of the flavor. The more she drank, the more the tightness in her body began to ease.

“I would’ve made breakfast, but your fridge is nearly empty and so is mine.”

“I’m not usually up this early. On the occasion that I am, I grab a pastry from the bakery.”

“Sweets for the sweet,” Lincoln said. “I’ll remember that.”

“I’m not really sweet.” She tried to glare at him over the rim of her coffee cup, but his sleepy eyes and soft smile were just so cute.

“Difference of opinion then.” He poured a cup of coffee for himself and sat on the bar stool next to her.

“Okay,” she said, swiveling toward him. “You spill the beans. I want to know every word I said to you.”

“I don’t have that much time. You became quite chatty after that third beer.”

“Why did you let me keep drinking?”

“You have pretty, white teeth, Angel. And they looked very sharp when you snarled at me for trying to pry the bottle of Jack from your hand.”

She-wolves didn’t blush from embarrassment, but Angeline certainly felt mortified at her lack of self-control. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“Clearly, you were upset. And drinking the way you did, I wasn’t going to leave you alone. Something could’ve happened to you.”

“Did anything happen?” They were both fully dressed when she woke up, but she really didn’t remember much about last night.

“No,” Lincoln said without hesitation and holding her gaze. “You drank, said a lot of nonsensical things, and then you fell asleep. I stayed in case you got sick.” He lifted the coffee cup to his mouth to drink.

“You’re a good guy, Lincoln. Thanks.” Angeline swallowed another mouthful of coffee, too. “So what sort of stuff did I talk about?”

“Your mom. You miss her a lot.”

True, Angeline did miss her mother. And she missed how differently her life would’ve been if her mother hadn’t been murdered during a mugging.

“You also kept saying if I were Tristan, you would tell me a lot more.” Curiosity edged around the uncertainty glimmering in his eyes. “Sounds like you and Tristan have been more than just friendly neighbors.”

A subtle tension crept into Lincoln’s body and his gaze left her face.

“No.” Angeline shook her head. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“It’s okay,” Lincoln said. “I don’t need an explanation.”

He might not, but Angeline’s instinct pushed her to clarify. “Tristan is like a brother, but closer than my own. He knows things about me that my family and other friends don’t.”

“Maybe you should’ve called him last night instead of inviting me in.” Lincoln carried his cup to the sink.

“Tristan has a mate now.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“I don’t expect him to be my confidant anymore. It wouldn’t be right.”

Lincoln finished rinsing out his coffee cup. “I guess you’re in search of a new one and I didn’t cut the mustard.”

“I barely know you.” How could she trust him the way she trusted Tristan, who’d been there for her for most of their lives? “Is it true that you’re retiring from the Program?”

“That’s what people keep telling me.”

Not exactly the answer she wanted to hear.

“Well, who knows?” She shrugged. “If you stick around long enough—” They might eventually become friends...good friends...really good friends with full moon benefits.

“I’m not planning on it,” he said abruptly. “Neither should you.”

Well, if that wasn’t a door being slammed in her face...

“Thanks for playing watchdog last night.” She walked to her front door and opened it. “But I’m in control of all my faculties now. Time for you to leave.”

He dried his hands on the dish towel, walked to the door and stepped outside into the breaking dawn.

“Angeline.” He turned around. Of the myriad of emotions flickering across his face, confusion, regret, loneliness—those were the ones that tugged her heart strings.

Damn, she was too soft.

“I have a really busy day,” Angeline lied. She didn’t have to be at the restaurant until the afternoon. “See you around.”

Locking the door, she hoped her heart took notice. Lincoln was no different than Tanner. Dogmen lived for the Program. Nothing and no one else mattered. And she would never put herself through that turmoil ever again.

Lincoln stepped into the Walker’s Run Resort and shook off the cold. A large fireplace in the rustic seating area crackled with flames, and red roses and hearts decorated the main lobby. A Happy Valentine’s Day banner hung behind the guest services counter. Coming from a part of the world where conflict and violence had become commonplace, he found the commercialization of love off-putting.

Intentionally early for his meeting, Lincoln walked to a seating area near the fireplace and sat in a high-backed leather chair to watch everyone coming and going. Brice had invited him to meet the security team leaders and unofficially consult on the upgrade process of the pack’s well-being. He’d also given Lincoln access to the resort’s state-of-the-art gym, which he planned to use to continue his fitness training.

Two sentinels dressed as resort employees casually patrolled the lobby. Outside, Lincoln had noted at least three sentinels working valet and four handling bell service. Lincoln expected those numbers would increase, depending on the number of non-pack wolfans registered for rooms.

He turned his attention to the three offices with interior glass windows that faced the lobby. Two offices were dark, but the middle one had the blinds up and the light on. Cassie sat at a desk, her back straight and her fingers tapping on a computer keyboard.

Hands paused and she turned, looking directly at him.

He gave a slight nod as she waved.

A few minutes later, limping, Brice walked slowly out of the corridor. Cassie’s attention turned to him.

Brice gave her a wink, which broadened her smile. Nearly an entity in and of itself, the palpable love bouncing between them was a phenomenon Lincoln had never witnessed.

His parents loved each other and loved him, in their own way. But their mateship, and their family life, had been centered on being the best of the best. Life was a competition to win and affection merely distracted one from the ultimate end goal.

If Lincoln had remembered what his family had taught, he wouldn’t have allowed his emotions to lead him and his team into a trap. While in Walker’s Run, he needed to stay focused on his mission and not be led astray by indulging in errant emotions and human customs, or he would screw up his chance to get back on active duty and lose the only opportunity he had to find Dayax.

“Tristan’s office is on the third floor,” Brice said, approaching.

Lincoln matched Brice’s stride but remained a half step behind him. As progressive as some wolfan packs were, a natural pecking order remained. Brice, the Alpha-in-waiting and a direct descendant of the first Alpha of Walker’s Run, deserved his respect.

The Wahyas of Walker’s Run had done well in choosing an Alpha family who, through the generations, had remained committed to serving the pack rather than accumulating wealth and power.

Not that the Alpha family didn’t have both. The difference being that they shared the wealth and utilized the power for the benefit of the pack.

All able-bodied adult pack members were expected to work and contribute to the pack’s finances—a tithe of sorts to the Walker’s Run Co-operative that funded their health care, education, business start-ups and things for the pack’s overall enjoyment. The Co-op’s Family Park, for instance, included a baseball field, picnic pavilions and an entertainment stage. Unfortunately, the stage itself had been destroyed a few months back by a diversionary explosion in a domestic power struggle between a pack member and an outsider.

It might be easy for wolfan rogues to mistake the peace-loving Walker’s Run pack as being ripe for a takeover. However, Lincoln had seen enough of the world to recognize that wolfans and humans who fought to defend their families and their ideals could become the deadliest forces on the planet.

They stopped at the brass elevators rather than continuing to the wide, curved hardwood stairs.

“I can make it up the steps,” Lincoln said, trying to keep the strain from his voice. If he couldn’t convince Brice of his fitness, he’d have no chance swaying the medical review board.

“Be my guest,” Brice replied without censure. “But I can’t. Cold weather wreaks havoc on my bad leg. It’s a struggle to stand and walk today. Climbing the stairs will likely do me in.”

Ding! The doors slid open and Brice stepped inside the elevator. Lincoln joined him.

“I meant what I said last night before you left.” Brice held Lincoln’s gaze as the elevator began to climb. “Regardless of when you retire, I hope you’ll consider settling down in the Walker’s Run territory.”

“I appreciate the invitation,” Lincoln said. “It’s hard to look that far ahead when all I can think about is that scared wolfling waiting for me to keep my promise.” A new pack, a new home, a new family to keep him safe: That was what Lincoln had vowed to find for Dayax. Until Lincoln fulfilled that oath, he couldn’t begin to think of his own future.

The elevator doors opened. Instead of guest rooms, the third floor housed offices and conference rooms.

He followed Brice to an office with a large interior glass window looking into the corridor. No matter how civilized they became, wolfans didn’t like being boxed in.

The wolfan sitting behind the desk and the one leaning next to him with his palm flat on the desk blotter studying the computer screen looked up as he and Brice entered.

“Lincoln, this is Tristan Durrance, our chief sentinel.” Brice waved his hand toward the blond man behind the desk beginning to stand.

“Finally, a face to go with the voice.” Grinning, Tristan extended his hand in the customary greeting that Wahyas who worked closely with humans had adopted. “Sorry about the mix-up with the key.”

“No worries. Angeline got me oriented and I’ve settled in.” Lincoln pocketed the key Tristan handed to him.

“Great.” Tristan hiked his thumb toward the man beside him. “This is Reed Sumner, one of our lieutenants.”

Like Shane, Reed greeted him with an obligatory nod of acknowledgment rather than a handshake. After pleasantries were exchanged, they discussed the recent run-ins with illegal game poachers inside the pack’s protected forest and a series of unrelated attacks by revenge-seeking wolfans. In Lincoln’s experience, their concerns were generally consistent with what most first-world packs dealt with from time to time.

“It would be a great help if you ran through our security protocols and advised where and how to tighten our current measures,” Tristan said.

Reed cut his eyes at Lincoln.

He needed to be careful to avoid stepping on the lieutenant’s paws.

“Sounds like Reed has a good handle on things,” Lincoln told Tristan, then turned his attention back to Reed. “But I’d love to stretch my legs if you don’t mind a tagalong.”

“I’d appreciate the company,” Reed said, beginning to relax. “Is now too soon?”

“Not for me.” Lincoln admired how their recent adversities had brought the Walker’s Run pack closer together, making them stronger rather than tearing them apart. They were a united force working toward a common goal.

A team.

Something Lincoln no longer had.

His ribs seemed to fold in on his lungs. The immense sorrow he buried after realizing his team members had died because of their loyalty to him threatened to surface. If he gave in to the grief, it would simply consume him and their deaths would be in vain. He needed to keep a clear mind and a singular focus on finding Dayax.