He set her down on the seat in the back. Pulling out his wallet, he took out a wad of money and his hotel key. He handed her both even as she stared at them in confusion.
Turning to the driver, he gave instructions to take her to his Uptown hotel.
“Scarlett, I’m in room 228. Wait for me.”
She nodded but bit on her lower lip, which made her wince in pain.
“Just tell me one thing. Were these men involved in any of your beatings?”
Watching her look at the floor was the only answer he got. The cab driver seemed to be getting annoyed at their long conversation but Michael couldn’t care less.
“Tell me, Scarlett.”
“I don’t want them to hurt you.”
So they were.
“If you believe nothing else, believe this—they will not hurt me. They’re bullies. I’m not and that makes me more of a threat to them than they are to me. I teach men to fight.”
He emphasized the word because the driver was in earshot, hoping she would know he meant shifters. “Take a hot bath, get in bed and wait for me. I won’t be long.”
He closed the door and watched as the taxi drove away. His mate was going to need lots of care. It was a good thing he was never in a hurry. Except for now, he thought.
Right now, he was going to deliver a beating.
Turning his back on Canal Street, he let his nose direct him toward the shifters. They waited, as he suspected they would, in one of the quiet alleyways that littered this part of town.
He took two more steps forward. “Gentlemen, would you like to stop skulking in the corner and come out or shall I come in there?”
One of them moved forward in his direction. He was tall, broad shouldered and tattooed. He wore his brown hair spiked up like out of some movie where one of the characters was supposed to be a punk. His shirt was cut to the shoulders revealing a skull and bones tattoo. Hell, the idiot was like one bad cliché after another.
Just the fact that he’d moved forward first meant he thought he was a tough guy.
Are we shifting?
Michael looked left and right. The street was clear. It so often was when these things happened. He wasn’t an expert on magic by any means, but it seemed to him that the level of magic it took for a shifter fight sent out some sort of adverse signal to humans that they instinctually stayed away.
Yep.
Calling the warm white light onto himself, he shifted into his wolf form. He knew he looked impressive when he let the wolf out. His canine-self was big, at least two feet taller than most of his brothers, and dark black except for white stripes around his ears and eyes. His belly also had a circle of white. These fools wouldn’t be seeing it today when they fought. None of them were getting anywhere near his stomach.
As he watched, his opponent also shifted. The white light surrounded him. At least he was able to call the light. That meant he was a real magical wolf. Not one of Kendrick’s miscreant wolves for whom the shift was painful and wrong.
Growling, Michael leapt, landing hard on the other man’s back. With an oomph and a whimper the “tough” wolf hit the ground hard. With very little fanfare, the wolf who had challenged him, who had very likely beat up Michael’s latent mate, whimpered and whined, moving his body until he lay flat beneath Michael in a gesture that screamed subservience and defeat.
Michael snapped at him as he jumped off his back. He wanted—no needed—more of a fight than that. They’d hurt Scarlett. He arched as he felt the hair on the top of his spine stand straight up. Turning around, he regarded the four other men still in their human form. There was nothing he wanted more than a good fight.
As if moving in unison, they backed up into the wall behind them, raising their arms in surrender. None of them had shifted.
Finally, one of them spoke. “We’re sorry.”
Michael called the shift onto himself, returning to his human form. He stared at the men in front of him. The wolf he’d easily bested shifted and joined his friends.
Regarding them each with a cold stare, he found not one of them to be more than a pipsqueak pretending to be a man. But then even a pipsqueak could beat up a human and had when they’d attacked his woman.
“What are you sorry for?”
The one farthest to the left, who had blond hair and a goatee, spoke first. “For stalking you.”
Michael waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I don’t care if you stalk me. Stalk me all day if it makes you feel like a man.” He pointed at each of them. “The four of you hurt my mate. You’ll answer for it in blood.”
The one he’d beat up gaped at him. “The latent? Scarlett?”
Michael growled as his wolf took over his eyes. “That is my mate you speak of. You will never speak of her in disrespectful terms again, and out of your mouth, the word latent doesn’t sound okay.”
The man fell to his knees. “I didn’t realize a wolf of your abilities would be interested in a creature that should have been killed at birth.” Michael lunged forward.
This time he would kill.
Dipshit fell flat on the ground before Michael could even speak. “I apologize.”
Michael decided he didn’t feel like accepting his apology.
Chapter Two
Scarlett stared dauntingly at the bed. So far she’d managed to follow all of his instructions. She’d taken a bath, but she hadn’t had any clothes to put on afterwards so she’d taken one of the bathrobes she’d found in the closet. Biting down on her lip, which caused her enough pain to bring tears to her eyes, she quietly hoped he wouldn’t mind that she’d looked in the closet. He hadn’t told her it was okay.
But he was her mate so it should be fine, right?
Rolling her eyes, she sat down on the end of the bed. Who was she talking to? She had no wolf to answer her. Never had, never would. So why were tears forming over this issue now? Sniffing, she climbed onto the bed, wincing with every jerky movement.
The tears were because she now had a mate, a handsome, strong shifter from a royal family of a famous wolf pack who would no doubt, despite his best protests, throw her over for a non-broken wolf the first chance he got.
And then there was Cole to deal with. He was going to be furious she hadn’t brought Michael straight to him, especially after he offered her protection. But she hadn’t completely disobeyed him. She hadn’t told Michael about Angel yet. Cole had been clear.
No one told Michael about Angel Kane but Cole. That much she could handle. She hoped.
The door swung open and she tried to sit up, groaning in pain as she did. Michael strode into the room wearing different clothes than he’d had on when he’d put her in the cab. In the bar, Michael had looked like a secret agent. He’d been dressed in all black, with curly hair cut short and high cheekbones that framed his long face. His chin was covered with dark brown stubble and the eyes that had regarded her were a warm, chestnut brown with specks of green in them. When he’d stood up, he was so tall she’d had to lean all the way back to look at him.
Oh and how he’d smelled, it had been so right. His scent was like coffee, like cloves, like cinnamon and like the woods. Well, what she imagined the woods smelled like. No one let her go to the woods.
Now, however, as he walked into the room on nearly silent feet, he wore a Harley Davidson t-shirt and pants that were too big on him. Not to mention he smelled like …
Seamus. Oh heavens, had he killed Seamus and taken his clothes?
Michael walked to the end of the bed and looked down at her, still not uttering a word. His silent regard made her gulp. What did he want? Had she done something wrong? She’d get out of the bed and take off the robe if he wanted. She’d move as fast as she could.