Darcy Branwyn

Lothar shut off the engine. He hadn’t said a word to her the entire drive to the cabin. Danielle couldn’t take the silence between them.

“I fell asleep, that’s all.” She tightened her fingers around the edge of her seat.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he told her softly in Lithuanian. “I shouldn’t have taken you away from him.” He opened the van door and got out.

She watched him for a moment in bewilderment, feeling like she’d let him down. God, this had to be so hard on him. She’d told him she hadn’t wanted anything to do with Nick, and then spent the day with him anyway. Lothar took his responsibility to her so seriously, life or death seriously, and—she realized with a sudden flash of awareness—would probably do whatever she wanted.

Like share her with Nick?

Which meant that she would get Lothar in her bed whenever she wanted. Like other females of her kind. That spark lit within her lower abdomen.

Desire. Yes, that’s what that was.

Danielle got out of the van and started toward the cabin, just expecting him to follow. “You don’t have to apologize,” she said. “You had every right to check up on me. Everything will be fine.”

She heard the hood on the van creak open and tuned to see him behind it. 

What?

She was trying to clear things up between them, and he was ignoring her. Had he, or had he not, taken her from Nick ten minutes ago? She blinked, her eyes burning.

Lothar had taught her what it meant to be a werewolf. He was just arrogant enough to be sexy, and she’d been dependent on him for her physical and legal protection for years. Maybe what she felt for him wasn’t love, but respect. She really didn’t know anymore.

Danielle took the stairs onto the porch then turned back and watched him fuss with the engine.

That was it then, she thought. End of conversation. She was having an existential meltdown, and her alpha needed to change the spark plugs.

She went into the cabin, to her bedroom, and slammed the door. Then she stood there disoriented as she realized her things weren’t in there. Lothar had moved her into the other room because it smelled like Nick. She opened the door, stomped past Lothar—who must have followed her in after all—and went to the other room, slamming that door too.

Danielle fell into bed. Lothar hadn’t changed the sheets or pillowcases. She smelled both men all around her. She hugged her knees to her chest and closed her eyes. Thankfully, she was tired enough to sleep. After half an hour of tears.

She woke up at dusk, could sense Lothar in the next room. Danielle rolled over and realized her door was open a crack. He must have checked on her.

Standing, she ran her palms over snarled hair. Soon, she’d have no choice but to take Nick up on his offer of hot water. Her hair could only take so much. She went into the kitchen and saw him sanding a new cupboard door, by hand so he wouldn’t wake her.

He looked at her from over his shoulder, then set aside the sandpaper. “We hunt tonight?”

She cleared her throat and lifted her chin to him. A hunting partner. Yes. After fifteen years, that was all she was to him.

“Of course I will hunt,” she said, willing back the tears swelling her eyes. “It’s all I’m good for.”

His brow creased, brown eyes flicking over her. She knew he was trying to read her through visual and scent cues. Well, he’d be at it for a while, because he didn’t understand her at all.

“Forget it. Just forget it.” She walked past him and threw open the door.

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