He didn't laugh. He never laughed.
«El drove. I'll take a cab home. Where's my cosmo?»
His sharp cheekbones and strong chin, and the pale, thin scar scoring his left cheek from his ear almost to his mouth, gave him a look of menacing power. That disappearing smile, though, made him look like a fallen angel. A hulking, six-foot-six fallen angel who could change in five minutes in broad daylight-the mark of a powerful alpha wolf.
«Don't tell anyone you know who I am,» he ordered. «I'm working a case.»
«What kind of case?»
No reply.
«Fine, whatever. I won't tell anyone I know you.»
He nodded and turned to go.
«Um. Hello?»
He turned back. «What is it?»
«You owe me a drink.»
He pulled a ten from his wallet and held it out, staring at her eyes as he did so. She snorted at the cheap shot power play, but it worked-a human couldn't maintain eye contact with an alpha.
She looked at the bill in his hand. She didn't take it. Instead, fueled with courage from her first cosmo, she put her hand on his outstretched arm and leaned in, her head grazing his cheek. Their bodies almost touched. A werewolf's normal body temperature was one hundred five point three; for the millionth time in ten years, she fantasized about snuggling up to his warmth.
Her pulse hammered in her throat as she whispered, «Taran? If you want people to think your cousin is a hooker, you could at least pretend I'd get more than ten bucks. Otherwise, go buy me a drink, you lazy bastard.»
He growled low in his throat. She peeked up at him. Taran meant «thunder» in Welsh. It fit him when he looked like this.
«Wait here,» he snarled before stalking off to the bar. The crowd parted for him by instinct, like zebras at a watering hole when the lion drops by for a drink. He returned with her cosmo.
«Thank you, cuz,» she cooed sweetly to his shoulder. New drink in hand, she steeled herself for another excruciating twenty minutes with Eloise and the Euro cheese. Would he watch her walk away? As if.
Taran rarely saw Lark without friends or family around. When he found an opportunity to watch her walk away, he took it and he savored it, because he liked the way it hurt.
The killer dress, long sleeved and stretchy, cut low in back, clung to every inch of her. It hugged her beautiful ass and stopped short of her knees, which meant twenty inches of leg still showed. His mate had legs like a fucking racehorse.
Did she know he hated the «cousin» crap? Sometimes he was tempted to think she did it to torment him, but he knew she didn't. Unlike many beautiful women, Lark didn't tease. If she knew how he felt, she'd react with disgust or pity. Disgust would make family functions uncomfortable, and alphas didn't tolerate pity.
Her scent, her laughter, the caress of her hair against his cheek would torture him for hours. He used to turn to other women whenever he needed to ease this blissful pain.
That didn't work anymore.
«Wow.»
«Uh? Oh-I didn't see you come back,» he said, turning to Danny. «Wow what?»
«The girl in the green dress. I mean, look at those legs.»
«Those are my cousin's legs,» Taran said dourly.
«Oh, um-sorry.» The brunet beta instantly dropped his gaze.
«It's all right.» Taran sighed. «I know she's hot.»
«None of my cousins look like that, that's for damn sure.»
Taran smiled tightly. «We're not actually blood. She's my brother's cousin.»
«Oh, right. You and your brother have different fathers.»
«Yeah. Myall's dad is human. Lark's his niece. My mom and stepdad raised her after her parents died. Myall thinks of her as a sister.»
«So you think of her as family, too.»
Taran nodded. «Yeah, a little.»
No. Not at all.
«She play basketball?»
«Soccer and volleyball,» replied Taran softly.
«Beach volleyball?» Denardo leered. The smile faded as he looked at Taran's face. «Just a joke,» he muttered. «How tall is she, anyway?»
«Five ten.» Ask me anything. Her favorite color is purple, her favorite food is Mexican. She's scared of roaches but pretends she's not. Great dancer, lousy singer. She'll laugh at the dumbest movie and the stupidest joke. Likes kids and rain, hates cats and golf. She's twenty-six. Her shampoo smells like apples and she thinks I'm an asshole.
«All right,» he said. «Let's start mingling around here.»
She returned to find El laughing uproariously with her new werewolf boyfriend and his pals.
Lark suspected El wouldn't drive herself-or Lark-home tonight.
«There you are!» El shrieked. To the werewolves she said, «Y'all excuse us a minute. Come on, Lark.»
Lark shrugged and belted half the cosmo before setting it down to follow a weaving El.
«What d'ya think?» El asked when they reached the bathroom. Lark noted the slurred speech and droopy eyelids. Definitely not driving.
«About who? Your Russian guy?» She stared at herself in the mirror as she waited for El to finish. I should wear more makeup. She liked her dark blue eyes and snub nose well enough. She considered her brown hair, with its auburn highlights, her best feature. Thick, straight and glossy, it fell to just below her shoulder blades. She wore long bangs in front, parted on the side. It's an okay face. I need more makeup.
«Dominik is Czech. He's loaded.» El giggled. «I'll probably go home with him, if that's cool with you?»
«I only came out tonight because you didn't want to go out alone!» Lark said, exasperated.
Dominik apparently didn't care enough to pick Eloise up and take her out.
«Please don't be mad, Lark.» El pouted. «I really like him, and I don't want to be alone tonight.»
Lark didn't blame El for being a ditzy narcissist-she couldn't help it, not with all that fae blood.
It made her annoying but irresistible to all three species of sapiens.
«Whatever, El. That's fine.» She'd already planned to cab it.
As they walked back to the table, Eloise looked over to the bar. «That's your cousin the cop, isn't it?»
«He's not my cousin,» Lark responded reflexively.
«He is so hot. I know that guy he's with.»
«You do?» She wouldn't look in that direction; she didn't want Taran to see her watching him.
«I don't know his name. He's a friend of Luc. You remember-the French wolf? We went to Vegas a lot.»
«Luc with the Ducati?» Lark wasn't a fur chaser, but she loved fine motorcycles.
«Yeah, he took me out on it a few times. This one time we rode to Austin…»
El talked all the way back to the table, promptly ignoring Lark once they got there. Lark drank her cosmo and ignored the other werewolves. She people watched, trying to guess couples on first dates, couples just hooking up, couples breaking up. When she got bored, she Taran watched. He never glanced in her direction, so she felt free to spy until a flock of geeks descended on a table and blocked her view.
The werewolf who'd tried to buy her a drink-Sergei/Stefan/whoever-offered her a chair at one point. She declined. A little later, she thought maybe she'd reconsider.
The whole world listed to the left sharply and suddenly. She grabbed the edge of the table and swallowed hard. The music got both louder and harder to hear. The room began to spin very fast, like in a movie where the camera pans around and around until the viewer gets sick and dizzy.
She didn't see El and the Czech werewolf anywhere. Another guy, dark haired, joined the group now. Lark concentrated on staying upright while she tried to get the attention of the werewolf next to her. She labored to keep her eyes open.
«Hey,» she said. It came out nearly inaudible. «Hey!» she tried more loudly, and took one hand off the table to put it on the shoulder of Stefan/Sergei/whomever. He finally looked up at her; she all but sagged on him at this point. He said something. It sounded all muffled and distorted, like it came from underwater.