No.
She was a human. Nothing would change that. Shock. Betrayal. Loathing. All the emotions churned inside him like a maelstrom.
He pulled away, disgust creeping in him. His wolf protested, snarling at him, but he pushed back. “I should go.”
Her gasp was sharp, the sound striking him like a knife in his chest. “Of course. You go ahead. I’m enjoying the fresh air here.”
If he looked at her now, at those eyes, he would never leave. So he avoided her gaze and instead, turned his back to her. “Have a great evening.” He strode toward the exit. Instead of going to the elevators, he went to the staircase. The door hadn’t even closed behind him as he descended the stairs, taking them two at a time, trying to get away as quickly as possible.
His wolf was scratching at him, its claws digging into him, wanting to surface. This time, he wasn’t distracted so he pulled it back. She’s human, he reminded it. Just like those men who hurt us, hurt Adrianna. Like the one who hurt Caroline.
His wolf quieted down at the mention of the name. The tightness in his chest he didn’t even realize was there eased. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he tore across the club, needing to get out of there as her scent still seemed to linger in the air. He flew out the door and into the street, letting the cold air wash over him and clean his senses.
He took his phone out of his pants pocket and dialed Reyes’s number. “I’m here,” he said. “Come pick me up. I need to go. Now.”
“Right away, sir.”
Though he fought with every instinct he had, he couldn’t help but look up. The deck wasn’t visible from here, but he wondered if she was still there. Still standing by the edge, wrapped up in his coat, looking out into the city. He huffed. It didn’t matter. He would never see her again.
Chapter Two
“Rough night?” Detective Fleetwood snickered as Sofia passed by the group of detectives hanging around the water cooler.
“I’m sure she doesn’t mind it rough,” Sergeant Benito stage-whispered. It was followed by more sniggering and chuckles.
She didn’t say a word nor act like she heard them. A few months ago, she might have told Fleetwood to mind his own Goddamn business, which would have gained her some respect. But now if she had said that, she would be labeled a whiny, sensitive bitch. Of course, ignoring them would make them call her an uppity bitch, so she couldn’t win either way. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. The story of my life.
Plonking down on her desk, she booted up her computer and stared at the screen as it slowly came to life. Her vision blurred and she found her thoughts drifting to last night.
She shouldn’t have done it. Her actions could have been misconstrued as police harassment. There were no pending charges, no crime committed. But her instincts were screaming at her. Something was not right in Blood Moon. And so, for the past few weeks, she found herself going to the club every couple of nights. She was hoping to catch something illegal going on. Or maybe find some answers to her questions. Every night, she stood by the bar, waiting. Waiting … for what?
For him? The man with the mismatched eyes.
It was a fluke. He hadn’t shown up there in all those weeks and then last night, he was there. Came right up to her. His presence was overwhelming, and it wasn’t just his over six-feet frame and broad shoulders. It was his strange aftershave; she couldn’t get it out of her mind. Ocean sea breeze. It wasn’t unpleasant, in fact, it was amazing. She told herself that he might have the answers she was looking for, which is why she kept talking to him. Let him guide her to the rooftop so they could be alone. Allowed him to come close to her.
And then he pulled away.
Maybe it was just her imagination. That only she felt the attraction sizzling in the air, the tension between them. His touch was, for lack of a better word, magical. And she was sure he was going to kiss her. But he drew back, away from her.
Of course he did. He’s fucking engaged.
That made her groan and bury her face in her hands. She was a Goddamn idiot, almost kissing a nearly married man. His poor fiancée. Did she know he went to clubs and bought strange women drinks? Maybe it wasn’t a habit. Maybe he was just looking for a one-night fling before the ring, then got cold feet.
Good, she thought. Though she didn’t know his fiancée, she should be glad he got attacked by his conscience. She wondered how the poor woman was coping. Or who she was. It would be easy enough to find out …
She shook her head. No way. Sure, she could easily look him up. She even knew his name, though she didn’t dare speak it, even in her mind. One little web search. Or hell, she had police records at her fingertips. But she was not going to go there.
“You okay, Detective?”
She shot straight up. “I’m fine, Sergeant.”
Sergeant Alice Winters cocked her head. “You look pale. Didja sleep at all last night?”
Of course not. She’d tossed and turned, her mind wide awake, thinking of blue and green eyes and the scent of the ocean. He even left his jacket with her. She told herself that she would toss it away, but it was still in her closet. This morning, when she got up to get dressed, she found herself breathing in that scent. Later, she told herself, later she would throw it out.
“I got a lot of cases on my mind.” She liked Winters a lot. The young sergeant was spunky and didn’t have that hard edge most cops had. Not yet, anyway. Winters was also
