Page 58 of What a Wolf Demands

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I’ll stay here.”

Good enough. He removed the gun from the holster and checked the magazine.

She tracked his movements. “What are you doing?”

He put the holster in the center console and held out the pistol butt first. “I’m leaving this with you. If anyone but me comes toward this vehicle, you shoot them if you have to.”

She recoiled. “I’m not shooting anybody!”

“Not unless you have to, no.” He offered her the pistol again. “Take it.”

“I don’t know, Prado . . .” She kept her gaze on the gun, her whole body reluctant.

“Lily.”

She looked up at his use of her name. Red waves spilled over her shoulders.

On impulse, he smoothed some of the strands back. “You’re no match for a transitioned wolf.”

Her eyes flickered. “I know that.”

“So even the odds.”

For a second, time seemed to stand still. Their gazes held, unspoken emotions swirling between them. Their surroundings fell away until it was just the two of them in a quiet bubble in a still universe.

Then she looked down, her gaze falling to the gun.

The spell broke.

Voice quiet, she said, “Dammit, Prado, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t.”

She lifted her gaze. “You can’t guarantee that.”

No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t lie to her, either. So the truth would have to do. “I’m not afraid of Luc Thibeaux.”

Her green eyes were stark. “Maybe you should be.”

He wrapped her fingers around the gun, then put his hand on top of her cold one. “I’ve faced far worse. Now, watch closely.” He showed her how to disengage the gun’s safety, and how to hold it if she needed to fire.

“I hate guns,” she said when he settled it back in her lap.

“That’s fine. Just keep your finger off the trigger unless you intend to use it.”

She grimaced. “No problem.”

“How do I get inside the house?”

“There’s an old servants’ door.” She winced and added, “Slave door, actually. When the mansion was a working plantation, the owners didn’t want the slaves coming and going through the main door, so they cut something like a cellar entrance into the basement.”

“What’s it look like?”

“Wooden slab with white, peeling paint. You can’t miss it.”

He nodded. Then he grasped her chin in a firm but gentle grip. “One last time, Lily. Give me your word you’ll stay put.”

“I said I would.”

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