Page 36 of Banished From the Pack

“You like the smell of that testosterone, huh?” he asks with a wink. “I know a way we can make more of that.”

His face is bloody and bruised, and crimson drips down his neck from where the vampire bit him.

“How?” I ask.

Warrick throws a sharp jab into Ethan’s ribs, and the long-haired wolf groans. I know by now that they hit each other a lot, and that it doesn’t mean they’re mad or fighting. Callan says that’s how they play.

“Is the vampire gone?” I ask.

The two men side-eye each other and grin.

“Yeah. Sure. He’s gone,” Warrick says, followed by more chuckles. He’s got a swelling on his lip that’s leaking blood, along with scrapes and bruises on both cheeks.

My forehead furrows in a crease. “Why are you laughing?”

“You know what?” Callan says, pushing to stand. “I should help Ethan get cleaned up, make sure that vampire bite is clean. It may take a while.”

“There’s some yard work yet to do,” Warrick says, even though it’s almost dark out, and they usually come in from working by now.

I narrow my eyes when they all glance at one another, sharing some secret that I’m not a part of. They do this a lot—casting glances at one another, laughing at things I don’t understand, disappearing outside or suddenly leaving to take a shower. If anyone’s not to be trusted, it’s them.

“Do you want me to leave?” I ask, standing on stiff legs.

Ethan cups his hand around my jaw and tips my face up. “That’s the last thing we want, pup.”

His face looks awful. I reach out and gently stroke one of the bruises beneath his stubble. He rubs his face into my touch and closes his eyes, inhaling so deep his nostrils flare.

“I just got to get cleaned up,” he says, his voice gruff but gentle. “And then we got a few things to take care of.”

Staring into his golden-green gaze is like peering through the morning mist over the swamp when the sun hit it just right. My tension dissolves, and I nod my head.

“Tell you what,” Warrick says. “I’ve got to run into town and grab a few things. Luna, you’ll come with me. Might be good for you to get out of the house and do something. If you’re gonna stay on a while, you need your own things, anyway. Clothes and the like. Lady stuff.” He looks away, rubbing his jaw, and the other two chuckle.

“You want to take me into town?” I ask, my heartbeat picking up speed. “Just us?”

Warrick barely talks to me, and we’re never alone together. If the other two are out, he goes to his room and closes the door. The others teach me things, let me help them cook or clean up, and talk to me like I’m one of them when we all go out on the porch after supper and have a beer together. Warrick only watches. Though he never speaks directly to me unless he has to, sometimes I feel his gaze and turn to see him silently watching me with an unreadable expression. Despite Callan saying otherwise, I know Warrick doesn’t like me or want me here.

But he hasn’t hurt me when we were alone, and he hasn’t told me to leave. If he meant to hurt me, he could have. And now he’s inviting me to go to town with him, something Mama never let me do. Maybe this will be my chance to change his mind about me.

“Aww, the pup’s scared of you,” Ethan says, slugging Warrick’s arm. “I told you to be nicer to her.”

Warrick only grunts and turns to me, jerking his thumb toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Fifteen

Warrick

Luna trails behind me as I stride from the house, heading for my custom-designed motorcycle. The salt air is kissing it into a bucket of rust, but nothing to do about that in these parts. My brothers and I worked on my baby for a solid year, testing and perfecting each change until we hit the sweet spot. She’s a vintage Harley, chopped low and mean like me. A chrome skull and crossbones leer from the handlebars, and the engine’s a loud growl, warning shifters and humans alike to get the fuck out of the way, ‘cause I’m going to blow through them, past them or over them. The frame’s been converted to a rigid hardtail, we added eight inches to the frame tube, and the steering neck rake is set at an angle of forty-five degrees.

When I pull the motorcycle out of the garage and lean it on the kickstand, Luna climbs on the front. I bark out a laugh. Does she think I’m going to sit on the Queen seat?

“You driving, sweetheart?” I say, towering over her. “You’re in the King’s seat.”

She gazes up at me with the eyes of a deer in a hunter’s sight. “I thought this was the seat.”

She chews on her lower lip, a picture of nervous innocence. I stare at her mouth, and a temporary insanity takes over because the next second I’m wondering what it would be like if I were to nibble on her lower lip… And work my way down to other places on her tight little body.

What the fuck is wrong with me?