Page 28 of Immortal Burden

“It… won’t?” he asked, unsure.

I couldn’t tell whether it was a result of him being caught up in the afterglow, or if he was truly nervous. Either way, I was sure I would find out as I pushed on. “We’ll go to dinner.”

“You mean, a date?”

“Indeed.”

“That’s… huh.”

When no further response came, I twisted to get a look at his face, only to find that he’d fallen asleep in my arms.

My arms.

Right where he belonged.

And right where he needed to stay.

8

~Mia~

Insolent. Brusque. Hunk.

I eyed the hulking mass of man before me, my agitation difficult to contain.

I had been moments away from sinking into my soothing Jacuzzi bath in a bid to relax myself with the disturbing burden that was determined to screw with my life, when the call had come in, informing me that my help was required. With the way the Guardian Movement was set up, members didn’t actually receive phone calls. It was far more advanced than that, as well as being above the security risk of possessing a database of everyone’s contact information.

Upon their induction, each Guardian was presented with a white-gold ring imbued with my father’s magic and a rather complex spell he’d fashioned. The great Cornelius Martel had numerous impressive abilities, one of which was being able to sense significant threats upon the supernatural world. The rings channeled this and delivered an alert to the Guardian most suited to dealing with said threat, either by being in closest proximity, or by possessing specific skills beneficial to the situation. Their ring would then glow with my father’s signature silver power, and the details of their mission would be broadcasted much like receiving a vision from on high. Well, it really wasn’t far off from that. My father was, after all, a celestial being. A fallen one, but he’d been forged in the divine light, nonetheless, and he still maintained a connection to it.

The message I’d received, concerning the situation on Silverwood pack lands had actually chosen Ryker as the designated Guardian. But it’d bounced to me, meaning he’d been unreachable.

I kept my head held high, as I stood my ground, staring down the heavy-handed, rude Alpha wolf in the middle of the living room of his musty, old log home. A tiny, cabin-like structure with scarce amenities, or space, from what I’d seen when he’d ushered me through the modest space.

Jaxon Silver.

Leader of the largest wolf pack in the supernatural world—boasting thousands—their pack lands extending over several hundred acres. Jaxon, as Alpha, was at the very top of the werewolf hierarchy.

I stepped forward, menacingly, my heels clacking loudly and echoing through the quiet space. “Excuse me?”

The corner of his mouth turned up, a look of amusement playing on his face. Folding his mammoth, inked arms across his muscular chest, he gestured with his eyes to my ensemble.

Shrugging inwardly, I couldn’t fathom why my clothing choice supposedly made me ill-suited for the task at hand.

My double-breasted Burberry coat with its distinctive brass buttons hugged my compact hourglass figure perfectly. A pair of black dress pants gave way to sensible block heels. I’d known I’d been headed out to the abhorrent sticks, so I’d avoided my favored spiked heels. And, my hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, out of my face. Again, sensible, and ready for anything.

The stylish, pristine image I put forward was a stark contrast to his scruffy getup.

His shockingly mammoth legs strained within a pair of ripped blue jeans, giving way to a pair of ugly brown steel-toe boots, which were caked in mud, and hell only knew what else. A white tank highlighted the stark black ink of the tattoos covering every inch of both arms. It was form-fitting enough that an incredibly defined six-pack was easy to make out. And, unlike my perfectly coiffed hair, his was a dirty-blond shaggy mess. It looked like he had just rolled out of bed without even bothering to run a comb through it. The piercing in his left eyebrow made his shocking blue eyes seem all the more so. But, it was the four-inch scar etched into his right cheek that added that menacing air. I watched his eyes flash when he caught me eyeing it curiously for a little too long.

Averting my gaze, I pushed up my left coat sleeve and eyed my jeweled Chanel watch. As I’d suspected. Time was ticking by quickly and we were wasting precious minutes with his reluctance to let me get down to business. The call had stressed the time-sensitive nature of the situation. So, why was he continuing to delay me?

He blew out a breath, frustrated that the slight nod of his head my way hadn’t revealed what he’d been getting at with his infuriating comment. “That designer get-up doesn’t go well here. Looks like you’re ready to argue some fucker’s case in a goddamn courtroom for some fancy-ass law firm. Not to get down and dirty to fix this shit for me and my pack. I can’t risk it getting worse, so I’m not gonna let somebody way out of their depth take it on.” He turned away and flicked his hand at me. “Get me somebody else. See yourself out.”

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

He stomped to the patio doors leading out to a large backyard, throwing them open with a curse.

I refused to allow him a step further, snapping my hand down, my blue fire sparking, as I muttered a chant. The patio doors slammed shut with a thunderous clang, forcing the wolf to jump back, or face being trapped between them.

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