Читать книгу Dark Wolf Running - Rhyannon Byrd, Rhyannon Byrd - Страница 8

Prologue

With his sharp gaze locked on the most magnificent female he’d ever set eyes on, Wyatt Pallaton did his best to choke back the deep, aggressive growl rumbling up from his chest—and for the most part, he succeeded. But then, most was a relative term. Several of the nearby guests glanced his way at the stifled scrape of sound, their eyes narrowed with censure, warning him not to be rude. As if he didn’t already grasp the situation. He knew damn good and well that a wedding was generally considered a “no growling” affair. Even ones where the majority of those attending were a far cry from human.

Still, he didn’t want to make a scene. Sending the disgruntled werewolves, or Lycans, as they preferred to be called, a tight smile, he waited until they’d turned back around in their seats before allowing his own irritation to show.

Mindful of the occasion, Wyatt was doing his best to keep a tight rein on himself—but Christ, it wasn’t easy. Predatory hunger, visceral and thick and savage, poured through his veins like liquid fire, burning him from the inside out. His body was tense, muscles so rigid and tight he felt like a bloody volcano on the verge of eruption. Just another ground-shaking, life-altering, cataclysmic event in the making, putting the tension on fate’s bowstring until it was ready to snap. Twang. Hell, it wasn’t as if he and his fellow Runners hadn’t had enough of those “what did I do to piss off the gods?” events lobbed in their faces recently. And here he was, balancing on the edge of a meltdown. Sweet. He was about to take the “biggest jackass of the year” award. Lucky him.

With his large hands clenched into hard, straining fists in his lap, Wyatt ground his jaw and tried like hell to keep it together. But there was only so much that a man could endure. Based on the pathetic fact that he was shaking apart inside with lust and need and too many damn confusing emotions, he could only assume that he’d finally reached his limit.

After months of biding his time, waiting for the stubborn woman to acknowledge their mutual attraction and come to him, he’d had enough. Not surprising, he supposed, since as a primal, aggressive male, waiting wasn’t exactly one of his specialties. Undeniably dominant in nature, the thirty-five-year-old Bloodrunner was accustomed to going after what he wanted with single-minded intensity, not stopping until he had it—but these were unusual circumstances.

And Elise Drake was a far cry from your average female.

Considering the length of time he’d been without a woman, he’d known tonight wouldn’t be easy. He’d tried to stay calm, but the sight of Elise walking down the aisle in her bridesmaid gown, the flowing whisper of silvery-gray silk accentuating the sumptuous perfection of her figure, had damn near done him in. Now, as the sun melted into the horizon and the lavender shades of twilight darkened the sky, revealing an iridescent spattering of stars, he was forced to sit in his chair and pretend that hunger wasn’t ripping him into tiny, pathetic chunks, one excruciating piece at a time.

Exhaling a slow, ragged breath, Wyatt forced his hands to relax, flexing his fingers and rubbing his palms into the black fabric of his tuxedo trousers. The monkey suit was strangling his throat, and he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable sensation that he really was coming out of his skin.

Beside him, his Bloodrunning partner, Carla Reyes, shot him a dark look from the corner of her eye. “Stop fidgeting,” she hissed under her breath.

“When is this damn thing going to end?” he grumbled, sounding like a petulant child on the verge of a tantrum. He winced, more than a little disgusted with himself.

“What’s your problem tonight?” Carla demanded, arching one slim golden brow in his direction. “I thought you liked weddings.”

He grunted in response and tried to force an outer look of calm togetherness. Carla was right, damn it. Unlike most men, Wyatt usually did enjoy these kinds of things. He liked the social aspect of hanging out with his friends and colleagues, the way his parents had often done when he was younger and they’d lived with his mother’s family. He liked the food and the beer, the laughter and the dancing.

It was the women, though, that he’d always enjoyed the most. Like a bridesmaid banquet, there were always plenty of single ladies to choose from. He’d never been as arrogant about it as Cian Hennessey, one of his fellow Runners, but he was definitely a man who enjoyed his sexual variety.

Tonight, however, Wyatt had eyes for one woman—and one woman only.

Of course, Elise Drake was hardly just any woman. Fiery and cool, strong and yet at the same time achingly vulnerable, she was a fascinating combination of opposites that had managed to turn his entire world on its head.

“Keep staring at her like that and she’s gonna notice,” Carla whispered, jabbing her elbow into his arm.

“Maybe I want her to notice,” he muttered, appreciating the way the twilight turned the fiery strands of Elise’s hair a deep, vibrant red, her dark blue eyes the color of a storm-ravaged sky. He’d chosen his seat specifically because it afforded him a clear view of her place in the wedding party, but he hadn’t anticipated how torturous it would be.

“What? Could it actually be true?” Carla gasped, pressing one delicate hand to her bountiful chest. “After months of waiting, you’re finally going to get off your ass and do something about her?” She made a soft, feminine snorting sound and rolled her eyes. “Call me cynical, but I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Shifting in his seat, Wyatt stretched his long legs out as far as he could and tried to relax. “I’ve been waiting for the right time,” he said tightly, wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered talking to Carla. He loved her like family, but like a bratty little sister, the Runner got too big a kick out of pushing his buttons.

“Bullshit,” she quietly snickered. “You’ve been waiting for her to make the first move. But guess what, Pall? She’s never going to come panting after you like all the other ladies. Not in this lifetime.”

Biting back a foul curse, he groaned instead. “Trust me, I noticed.”

“Anyway, it’s good to see you conquering your fear,” she said brightly, patting his thigh. “I’m proud of you.”

Turning his head to the side, Wyatt gave her a hard, steely look. “I’m not afraid of her.”

Obviously unconvinced, Carla just smiled. “Right,” she drawled, her tone making it clear that she didn’t believe him. Problem was...the little brat knew him too well. He’d been Bloodrunning with Carla for almost seven years now, and she no doubt understood him better than anyone. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Will you stop trying to pick a fight?” he muttered. “I said I’m not afraid of her and I’m not.”

“Hmm. I know you’re not afraid of her physically. You just don’t know what to do with a woman who doesn’t go all starry-eyed every time she gets near you.”

Choking back another primitive growl, Wyatt drew a second round of disapproving stares from their neighbors.

“I suppose it could be that she just doesn’t like you,” Carla offered with a delicate shrug of her bare shoulders, after motioning with her fingers for the frowning guests to turn back around in their seats. “God knows I’ve seen crazier things happen.”

Wyatt slanted her a mean look. “Reyes?”

“Yeah?” she asked, giving him an innocent smile.

“Shut up,” he grunted, while she snuffled a quiet burst of laughter under her breath.

They listened to the ceremony for a few moments in blessed silence, until she leaned in close again, asking, “So are you on duty later tonight?”

He sighed, knowing there was no sense in lying to her. “Yeah.”

“Took another shift again, huh? Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“Just fucking drop it,” he warned, pushing his hair back from his face in another restless gesture of impatience.

“Okay, okay.” Her voice softened, as if she’d decided to take pity on him. “Hey, maybe you’ll even get lucky and she’ll actually take you home with her. I’m sure that little scenario would be a hell of a lot more fun than watching her from the woods.”

As Carla turned her attention back to the love-dazed couple exchanging vows, Wyatt leaned forward and braced his elbows on his parted knees, thinking he had about as much chance of getting invited home with Elise Drake as he did of becoming a friggin’ ballerina. And the hell of it was, he wasn’t even ready to go home with her. Not when he was still trying to wrap his head around how he could get everything he wanted from her without giving more than he was willing.

And, God, did that make him sound like a dick.

Yeah, there was a lot he needed to get figured out in his head. But no matter how bloody difficult it proved to be, he was done letting her pretend he didn’t even exist. Done driving himself slowly into this maddening state of frustration, with no apparent end in sight.

One way or another, he would approach her tonight—and with that firm decision finally came the merciful beginnings of peace. Leaning back in his chair, he kept his avid gaze focused on Elise as he lazily crossed his arms over his chest, the rise of anticipation in his veins like hot, thick syrup. Wyatt figured he might get his face slapped for his efforts. Hell, knowing Elise, he might even get a knee in his balls. But one way or another, things were about to change.

Come hell or high water, she was done running.