Alpha's Revenge (Shifter Ops 3)

“Dark brown…” I swallow. We’re close enough to kiss, and my body is burning up. I tug the scarf away from my throat. My goodness. I wave a hand in my face while Rafe looks at me like I'm nuts. It's freezing out here, and suddenly I'm too hot for my coat.

“Adele…”

“Full moon tonight,” I say desperately, turning away and continuing to trot down the sidewalk. “Or not tonight, but in a few days. Soon.”

“Yeah.” He falls into step beside me, looking amused, like he knows what I’m doing. Distract. Deflect.

“Did you know the word lunatic actually comes from the word luna because it was believed that the moon caught madness intermittent insanity?” I keep babbling. “My mémère told me about moonlit nights in New Orleans. People act crazy…well, crazier than normal.”

His brow furrows. “What are you trying to say, princess?”

I was going to say something about women’s menstruation cycling with the moon, but that’s probably taking the distract and deflect tactic too far. “Oh, nothing. Just making conversation.”

He steps in front of me, making me stop short.

“Is this about the last time we were together?” he murmurs. “You and me, my bedroom. You gonna plead temporary insanity?”

I guess we are going to talk about this. “No. I knew what I was doing. And I liked it.” I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.

“So did I.”

Warmth curls through me. “But–”

“It’s probably not a good idea to continue,” he finishes the thought for me.

“No.” Why am I so disappointed? “I like my job, and I want to keep it. Screwing the boss is never a good idea. But we can be friends, right?”

He looks almost pained. I hate seeing him in pain.

“Truce?” I stick out my hand.

He raises his chin and closes his hand around mine. For a moment, he just holds it. My breath catches, but then he shakes it firmly. “Truce.”

“Adele!” someone calls.

I drop Rafe’s hand and step away.

Sadie and Deke are up ahead. My friend’s cheeks are chapped with cold under her bright red hat. Deke strolls beside her, taking one long stride for two and a half of hers.

I wave back to my friend and hasten toward her. Rafe sticks to my side, his fingertips brushing the small of my back. He’s barely touching me, but I feel it in my whole body for the rest of the night–his hand hovering in the small of my back, ready to catch me if I fall.

The Stranger

It's been so long since he's walked among the commoners. In this new age, men and women mingle together freely. Children are allowed to run and play and laugh loudly.

He stands in the Taos plaza and observes. He has not lived such a long life that he is not good at observing.

Since he awoke, everything has changed. The world is modern, made new. But people are still the same. The peasants still gather in the square. They shop and talk and greet one another. The main difference is that coffee is no longer something to sit and savor for hours–it’s poured into little paper cups and carried everywhere.

He came to the high mesa following Lightfoot. Normally he wouldn’t lower himself to personally chase after a quarry, but his kind always enjoys playing, as a cat plays with the mouse. It's food.

He spots his quarry across the plaza. A big man, Rafe Lightfoot. Almost boring, duty bound.

Not the most interesting diversion but better than nothing. He adjusts the dark glasses he wears to hide his eyes and starts to cross the street. No use being close to the enemy and not letting Rafe know he’s here, in the wolf’s territory. Taunting the enemy is the best part of the game.

And then he catches a ribbon of scent, and his foot hovers in midair. No, it couldn't be. It is impossible.

After years of searching the seven continents, there she is–right in front of him. The one female in the whole world who belongs to him. His mate.

“Adele,” her friend calls, and the lovely female waves back.

Adele, that was her name. It would take but a moment to dart out and grab her and swoop away.

These puny humans would scatter as soon as they saw his monster. The two wolves would fight, but they would be no match to him.

But the whole snatch-and-grab maneuver lacked a certain style. He considers himself a gentleman. A mate must be courted and wooed. What use was all the treasure he’d amassed, if he could not display his vast riches and awe his true mate?

Adele, he murmurs to himself, tasting the name like a drop of honey on the tongue.

And there she is… with Lightfoot. The wolf hovers over her, crowding close. Acting protective of the female Adele. Acting almost like his wolf claimed her as his mate.

Well, well, a conundrum.