"My Explorer is this way." He set off to the left.
She thought of pointing out that her car was the other direction, decided it wasn't worth arguing over. "Don't grab my arm again."
"What?" His head swiveled. "Oh. Your gun. You want your right hand free. Sorry—I didn't think of that."
"What's the thing with your eyes?"
His voice was clipped. "I needed to Change."
"Ah ... are you okay now?"
He didn't answer. That worried her.
They'd reached the corner. The light was red and a car was coming, so she stopped. So did he. The drizzle was heavier now. Lily's clothes were damp, her face and hands wet, but the rain was warm and made her feel clean and private, alone with him on the street.
As soon as the car passed they stepped together into a shiny-wet street—without a word, both of them moving at the same instant.
Weird. Lily asked, "Is it because the moon is nearly full?"
"He was threatening you."
"Biff is a bully and an asshole, but I had things under control. Until you played macho man and your eyes went spooky."
"It excited him to force himself on you. You couldn't smell his reaction the way I could, but you must have known he enjoyed making you uncomfortable. A man who gets off on intimidating a woman in public is likely to do worse in private."
Lily wanted to understand. She wanted that with an urgency that strummed along her nerves like adrenaline, turning her skin sensitive, as if she could feel each tiny, separate drop of mist that fell on her. But there were so many pieces to him. Pieces that didn't fit any pattern she knew.
Inhuman pieces. "So," she said, trying to sound casual, "this need to Change—that's part of those protective instincts of yours? When you feel that a woman is in danger, you—"
He stopped dead, grabbed her shoulders, and said fiercely, "It was you he threatened, Lily. Not some woman. You." he crushed his mouth down on hers.
Chapter 9
LILY'S MIND WENT blank. Unwilled, her hand lifted to his cheek and found it smooth, damp, and warm. Her head tipped back. Her mouth opened to his.
His taste was like nothing she'd ever imagined—subtle, layered, clean as the wind. And necessary. She burrowed into him, the feel of his body a shock of pleasure against hers. Baffled by pleasure, buffeted by quick slaps of need, she lost her grip on herself. The sound she made held both protest and discovery.
He tore his mouth away. "Sweet Mother.", He wrapped his arms around her, tight, and leaned his head atop hers. "Give me a minute. I need a minute."
So did she. Her heart galloped madly in her chest. If she let him go—if she couldn't touch him, feel his skin, smell his breath—something inside her would rip open. "What have you done?" she gasped. "What did you just do to me?"
His body was hard with need, but his hand on her hair was infinitely gentle. She lifted her head. He was smiling with such sweetness her breath caught.
He started to speak—then his body, already taut, quivered.
His smile evaporated. "They're coming. Half a block behind us."
She'd heard nothing and, in the rain-muffled night, saw no one. But instantly she knew what he meant. Biff and his buddies had followed them. "Your car?"
"The end of the block."
They ran, splashing in shallow puddles. But he jerked to a stop fifteen feet short of an alley and pushed her against the wet brick of the nearest wall, putting himself in front.
Two men emerged from the alley.
"No!" She shoved her way out from behind him, reaching for her weapon. "Let me handle this," she said quickly, her voice low. "We don't need a massacre here."
There was no more time to argue, to reason. Fear coated
her mouth as she sighted on the chest of the nearest man, a
blond guy with a droopy mustache. He held a knife in his right
hand, point up like he knew how to use it.
"Police!" she shouted. "Stop right there!"
He did. The man beside him—tall, skinny, with dirty black hair to his shoulders—didn't stop until she swung the gun barrel toward him.
"Dammit, Biff, you didn't say she had a gun!"
"She's a cop, asshole!"
That was Biff's voice, from her right. He and two more men emerged at a run from the veils of rain. Biff had a metal baseball bat. One of the others held the ragged top of a beer bottle. Lily swung her gun that way. They stopped—and the two on the left surged forward.
Rule made a sound low in his throat. "Stay back."
His voice sounded funny—soft and growly. Lily wanted to look, to see what was happening with him. She didn't dare take her eyes off the men. Very low, she said, "You watch the ones on your side, let me know if they budge."
His whisper barely reached her. "They aren't moving. Yet."
She recognized the ones with Biff. They'd been at the bar. The other two hadn't. Where had they come from so fast? "Any of you idiots done time before? Assaulting an officer, that will get you three to five years' hard time. That's if I don't shoot you," she added casually.
It almost worked: One of them muttered, another took a step back.
Then two more men came running up from the right—a Hispanic man with a knife, and a second Biff. Same little head, bland features, and outsized body. Except this one's cap was blue, and he was holding a tire iron instead of a baseball bat.
Twin Biffs? Sometimes, Lily thought, God had a lousy sense of humor.
The first Biff grinned a mean, gloating grin. "Hey, bro. Knew you wouldn't want to miss the fun."
"Sent Pete and Baker to flank them, didn't I? Needed to get my iron." The second Biff slapped it against his palm. "Gonna see if a were's brains look all pink and gray like a real person's."
"Were bitch," one of them spat.
Lily was intensely aware of Rule beside her, fairly vibrating with needs she didn't understand but could feel shimmering out from him the way heat radiates from hot concrete. He was very, very angry.
She reached out without looking and touched him lightly, hoping he could hold on a little longer. Wondering just how stupid you had to be to push a lupus prince to the edge of control. "If all of you scatter real quick, I won't charge you with assaulting an officer. Or shoot you. Lots of paperwork for me either way."
"Hell we aren't going to mess with you," Biff said, that mean grin fixed tight to his face. He swung the bat back and forth. "All you have to do is walk away."
Oh, yeah, they'd like it fine if she and Rule separated. She shook her head. "You don't understand about the paperwork. If you make a move, Turner here is going to smear pieces of the lot of you all over the street. You would not believe how many reports I have to fill out about that sort of thing."
The second Biff gave an ugly laugh. "Seven of us, two of you. The odds work for me." Some of the others yelled agreement or insults involving weres, were-lovers, and how they ought to all be exterminated.
They were working themselves up. They were almost ready to move. She could see it in the way they stood, the restless movements of their feet and hands. If they attacked, there would be a bloodbath. "Well, now, I guess you don't read the papers? Or maybe you don't have a good picture of what a lupus can do, Me, I've seen what's left afterwards. This one
guy had a knife. The lupus bit his hand off, knife and all, and spat it out. Then he took off the guy's face. Then he killed him."
"We've read about the killings!" one of the men on Rule's side shouted. "Lousy, filthy weres. We take this one out, we ought to get a medal."
"That's right," her second admirer from the bar said loudly. "And taking out a were's whore, that ought to be worth a couple of beers."