Page 23 of What a Wolf Demands

He hadn’t made it a question, but she got the sense he expected a response.

It’s what she wanted, right? He’d just promised to let her go if she could prove her innocence.

So why did it feel like she was making a pact with the devil?

His blue gaze was steady, his fallen angel features arranged in the same neutral expression he’d given her when he walked into Jay’s Place.

Patience. That’s what it was. Dominic Prado seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of patience. Not the kind parents used for their kids or the type a person drew on while sitting in traffic.

No, this was a quiet, unwavering willingness to wait out resistance. Wolves were pack animals—both in the wild and in shifter society. They lived and hunted in groups. Every once in a while, though, a lone wolf broke from the pack and stalked prey on its own. The best hunters could trail a quarry for hundreds of miles, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Now, a lone wolf had caught her—well and truly, as he’d put it. Even if she managed to break free, there was no question he’d catch her again. That left her with one option: trust him to help her stay alive. She’d never get a fair trial in Bon Rêve. Luc Thibeaux would make sure of it. The Tracker who heard her side of the story would claim she was lying, and that would be that.

She couldn’t let Prado take her to Bon Rêve, but maybe she could convince him to take her to a different territory. Someplace neutral, with Trackers who weren’t worried about having their throats slit in the night if they crossed the wrong family.

Was it a long shot? Maybe, but she was used to shitty odds. Prado might be one hell of a wild card, but sometimes those turned the whole game on its head.

What else could she do but take the bet?

She gulped a breath and gave Prado a small nod. “We have a deal.”

He stepped back and gestured for her to leave the alcove. “After you.”

As she moved past him, something made her stop and meet his eyes. “Please don’t make me regret this.”

His gaze was steady, holding her prisoner while the club’s bass seethed around them. “I don’t believe in regrets, Ms. Agincourt.”

“Do you believe in justice?”

Silence stretched. He continued to stare. And though their bodies no longer touched, a connection seemed to arc between them. Like an invisible force pulled them together. She had to fight the urge to sway toward him.

At last, he answered, his voice deep. “When it’s deserved.”

A shiver went down her spine. He wasn’t the biggest wolf she’d ever seen—or even the most menacing.

But something about him made her pause and take note. It was as if some deep, primitive part of her brain knew he was trouble.

Or at least he could be to anyone who crossed him.

She gave a short nod and slipped around him.

He fell into step beside her. Humans hurried to move out of their way as if they knew not to tangle with the tall dark-haired stranger in the leather jacket. Even with their limited instincts, they knew that trouble walked among them, and it was smart to get the hell out of its path.

Now she had to do her best to do the same.

3

He shouldn’t have kissed her.

Dom tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he merged into the New Orleans traffic. The wrought iron railings of the French Quarter slid past, their colorful edges dripping with ferns and flowers. As usual, the streets were congested, which let him divide his attention between the road and the woman in the passenger seat.

She’d left the club with no problem, and she’d followed him to the car as if they were going on a sightseeing drive instead of to a criminal trial.

Which made him think she was up to something.

Why else would she be so docile?

Although, “docile” wasn’t a word that sprang to mind when looking at Lily Agincourt. For one thing, the sparks that had shot from her eyes after he kissed her had been hot enough to burn.

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