Page 4 of Soulmates
I just stare at him, telegraphing my annoyance by dropping his jacket onto the nearest suitcase.
“Come on, Tony. Get a cart.On se casse.” He’s still wearing shades. One look at his eyes and I’d know whether he’s deliberately trying to annoy me, or if he really is a stupid little fuck.
For my money, the odds are even.
“My name is Trajan.” I don’t offer to shake his hand.
“Trajan, Tony, whatever.”
We glare, locked in some kind of unspoken standoff. I’ll keep him alive, but hauling his shit around belongs on some other sucker’s to-do list.
With a disgusted “tsk,” he scoops up his coat and stalks over to the rack of carts. When he’sback,I lift one of his suitcases onto it, and he handles the other one. He doesn’tsay thank you, and I don’t tell him what I think about guys who antagonize me.
The bright fluorescent lights are giving me a headache. “Come on.” I take hold of the cart’s handle and push it toward the door. David fiddles with his phone until we get to my Escalade, ignoring me—or pretending to. Without prompting, he loads both suitcases into the car.
Windingdown the spiral exit from of the parking garage, I figure it’s time for us to talk. “I changed your reservation.”
He stares out the front window, and his jaw tightens. “You what?”
“That hotel you picked was too open. I found someplace a little less showy.” His lack of response puts me on the defensive. “I cleared it through your dad’s office.”
Another disgusted snort. “Whatever. I want to stop at a club on the way there.”
We reach the gate and I slip the parking ticket into the machine, along with my debit card. “Don’t you want to get your stuff—”
“No.” Moving fast, he snaps off his seat belt, rises up on one knee, and grabs ahold of my wrist. The gate lifts, but I don’t put the car in gear. His hand darkens and his touch grows hot. Shaggy fur-covered claws dig into my flesh.
“I don’t want to stop at the hotel.” His voice drops, almost a growl. “Unless you’re planning to suck my dick when we get there.”
A car behind us honks their horn. I don’t know what he sees in my face, but he lets go of me and falls back into his seat.
“That’s what I thought. Come on, Guido.” He buckles in, head turned deliberately toward the window. “We can take the stuff to the hotel later.”
I manage to roll the car through the gate before it swings down. A succession of thoughts crashes through my mind. Flashes of irritation, fear, and a grudging respect. It’s been months since I’ve been in a night club that I don’t own, longer since I’ve sucked anyoneoff. I have a type, and flashy femmeisn’tit, but the amount of power and control it takes to make a partial shift means he’s someone I cannot underestimate.
If nothing else, David Collins is one seriously dangerous werewolf.
I let the silence between us settle until we reach a stoplight where I’ll have to either take a left toward the freeway or a right to keep to the surface streets. “Did you have a particular club in mind?”
“They said I should go tothe Fubar.”
I shoot him a quick glance. He sounds…sad. “Whatever. Can yougooglethe directions?”
The light turns green, and Siri directs me to get on the405. Traffic is almost light, but then it’s about one thirty in the morning. I drive, and David touches up his lipstick.Fascinating. Without his sneer, his bottom lip has a sweet little curve. He’s taken his sunglasses off, and thick lines ofkohledge his lower lashes.
Yeah, I don’t do femmes, but there’s a delicacy to David’s features that makes me want to see him with all the paint washed off.
There had been nothing delicate about Connor. Tall, strong, and Irish, he’d been exactly my type. His loss slams into me again, catching me off guard, the way it has for almost two years. I never forget him, but sometimes I get distracted. I have moments where the pain doesn’t wrap me up quite so tightly. Then his memory lurches in from an unexpected angle and takes me down.
For better or for worse, the search for parking on Santa Monica Boulevard keeps me from wallowing too deeply in my own head. The club is crowded and slutty, men packed tight. David shoves his fur coat into my hand. “Don’t drink and drive,Sal.”
He doesn’t smile, but his eyes flash like he could light me on fire. Then he’s gone, diving into the dance floor, which pulses like a single organism. Between his heels and his blond hair I can keep him in sight. The beat takes him and he waves his hands in the air, his grin bright enough to draw the attention of every man on the floor.
Draws my attention, too. I shake my head, my dick giving a half-hearted twitch. Without the fur obscuring my view, his ass and thighs are gorgeous. I blink, shake my head. David might not be my type, but this club isa fucking buffet. And I’ve beenon a starvation diet.
The beat slams against my temples, the flashing lights scorch my eyes, and the bundle of fur draped over my arm is hot and heavy. I head for the bar. Tequila won’t do more than take the barest edge off, but it’s better than nothing.
The bartender’s an elf. Tall, lanky, he’s wearing a glamour to cover his more eccentric features. I watch him carefully as he pours. Elves are mean, and I don’t trust him not to spit in my drink.
