Page 14 of Rust the Rejected
I agree, thinking I could help her with that even better. She scrolls through the satellite stations until she selects one, then sits back, eyes closed, effectively ending the conversation.
When we arrive at the restaurant, the valet helps her from the SUV as I round the front. She thanks him with a warm smile. For a second, I wish she offered the beatific expression to me. As though sensing my thoughts, she shifts her gaze to mine, and her smile widens. Fuck if my heart doesn’t stutter. I ignore it and place my hand on the small of her back, guiding her to the restaurant’s doors.
“Dr. Ingolf! What a lovely surprise.”
The host steps from behind the podium and extends his hand in greeting. We shake, and I introduce him to Dr. Moore. He double kisses her cheeks, then leaves us to get my usual table ready. It’s a prime spot within the kitchen, affording the opportunity to watch the chef and her team prepare tantalizing dishes.
I guide Dr. Moore to the bar to wait for the host’s return. She glances around, and I see the space through her eyes.
Typical of a top-tier steakhouse, it features customary dark wood and exposed-brick walls. But it stands apart for its sleek and superb design with white leather and low lighting resulting in a sexy decor. Up-tempo music in the background makes for a lively vibe. An eclectic mix of ritzy patrons mingle at the bar and dine at the tables. With business casual attire expected some of the clientele raise eyebrows at our scrubs. But I could give a fuck.
I pull out a Lucite and white leather high chair for Dr. Moore. She smiles graciously as she perches on the seat. I sit beside her and signal the bartender. She comes over, and we order drinks. I raise my tumbler of aquavit.
“Here’s to saving lives and to new relationships.”
She frowns as her lips part, then shakes her head and raises her mojito.
“Cheers, Dr. Ingolf.”
I cock an eyebrow and place a hand on her forearm to stop her sip.
“Don’t you think we’re on a first-name basis now?”
Once again, her onyx eyes glint in the dimness as that mysterious smile tips her lush lips. She slips her arm from beneath my hand and brings the glass to her mouth. The tip of her little pink tongue moistens the rim before she sips.
My cock throbs, intrigued by the erotic move.
“Yes,Rust.”
Fuck. Me. Or. What.
CHAPTER6
Rust
The full moonabove casts shadows from the towering pine trees onto the ground as I pad through the dense undergrowth. A barred owl hoots perched on a bough. I glance up. It spreads its wings and leaps into the air. The predator soars before it swoops down. A rustling in a bush and a shriek followed by silence indicate it found its evening meal. The metallic scent of fresh blood fills my nostrils. They flare as I inhale, savoring the aroma.
My turn.
Deep in the Everglades, I hunt.
I trot ahead, careful not to disturb the twigs and rocks beneath my paws. My eyes scan the surrounding thicket. Ears swivel to capture even the most subtle sound. My head swings to the right at a low snarl. The moonlight glints in a Florida panther’s eyes. Hidden in the scrub, it watches me. I issue a challenging growl as I stand my ground.
Nearly twice the size of a regular wolf, I have no fear of the night’s new predator. Thick red fur covers my massive body. Vicious fangs dripping with saliva appear as my lip curls. I snap my teeth as hackles raise. Paws stamp the ground. Another ferocious growl, and the panther turns tail with a disgruntled hiss. It slinks away further into the underbrush. I watch its retreat still alert should it circle back. Satisfied it’s gone for good, I prowl on in search of my evening meal.
Animals detect the presence of an apex predator and scurry from my path. I bide my time and lope along. I allow my wolf to decide our route, using his enhanced sense of smell as a guide. My nose twitches as it catches hints of a hare nestled in its form, a few white-tailed deer gathered beneath a pine tree, and rodents in their tunnels. I don’t have an appetite for them tonight. We move on.
The pine flatlands give way to a marsh. The roots of coastal mangroves provide cover for West Indian manatees and leatherback turtles. I push through the sawgrass, searching the still water for any signs of alligators. I have no desire to tangle with one, especially alone without my pack.
None seen—although they can lurk beneath the surface—I approach the water cautiously. Eyes dart about as I lower my snout for a refreshing drink. A few laps and ripples appear on the moonlit surface. I jump back just as the might jaws gape open where my head bent low to the water. A growl rumbles from my chest as the alligator slithers back beneath the surface. Yellow eyes stare until the water engulfs its giant head. With a last glance, I trot back to the tree line far from the water’s edge.
My ears prick up at snuffling beyond a fallen evergreen tree. I lift my head to scent the air. A feral boar! Just the challenge I seek for my meal.
Well aware of their dangerous tusks, I give it a wide berth before I move closer. Remaining downwind to avoid it detecting my scent, I pad towards its rear. Also, out for its evening meal, the large boar lowers its head to use its tusks to forage for underground roots. Distracted, it doesn’t notice me stalk, then pounce on its back. My canines sink into its neck as my claws dig into its flanks. Blood fills my mouth.
It squeals and bucks. I cling to it and shake my head, embedding my sharp teeth deep into its thick neck. Coarse hair pokes inside my mouth. But I refuse to let go. Snarls match its squeals. It drops to the side in an attempt to dislodge me. I use my back feet to clamber up. My unyielding grip ensures the feral boar rises with me.
My teeth meet its spine. I give my head a final jerk. The vertebrae snap. The boar collapses to the ground with a grunt. I loosen my hold and sit on my haunches panting from the effort to down the beast. My head goes back, and I issue a triumphant howl.
