Page 59 of Roguefinder

It was midnight by the time we returned to Rome, and the city was unnaturally quiet, the tourists and club-goers driven inside by the storm and January’s bite.

The rain had stopped, but the streets were slick and so shiny they reflected smeared copies of the buildings above them. As we left the car behind its gate, I could only hope I’d gotten all the mud off the carpet. Cleaning fees were no problem, but I didn’t need the inconvenience of ending up on the rental company’s ban list.

But if it came to that, so be it. The image of Caleb on his knees wearing nothing but rain and my sweat wasn’t leaving my head anytime soon.

He kept pace at my shoulder, his hands buried in his hoodie pocket and his eyes at half-mast. Every few steps, he listed toward me before rousing and correcting himself.

My beast urged me to pick him up and carry him the rest of the way home. And I could have managed it. Caleb’s weight was nothing to my wolf. But I quashed the impulse. Striding past the Colosseum with a six-foot-one man in my arms would attract unwelcome attention.

And Caleb wouldn’t have allowed it. He’d proven as much in the alley beyond the opera house, when he put me against the wall like it was nothing. It shouldn’t have surprised me. He’d honed his strength and speed on a college football field. Lycanthropy had only enhanced it.

No, the thing that really surprised me was how much I’d enjoyed it.

Had I liked it enough to kneel for him? No, and I didn’t think Caleb wanted that, either. But the alley had uncovered a new layer in our relationship. It was unmapped territory, and maybe we needed to do a little exploring.

Caleb’s shoulder bumped mine. He caught himself and blinked hard, his freckles standing out under the streetlight.

“You okay?” I asked, stepping closer.

“M’good.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “Just tired.”

I nodded toward the end of the street. “We’re almost home. You need food, a shower, and bed in that order.”

He slanted me a look, some of the sleep leaving his eyes. “Is the shower a group activity?”

“You still have energy for that?”

His expression turned smug. “I always have energy for that.” He gave my shoulder a deliberate bump. “Too bad you can’t keep up, Grandpa.”

The challenge shot straight to my dick as usual. Calling up my wolf, I waited until its power flooded my chest and rose into my face. Then I looked at Caleb.

“We’ll see who taps out first, college boy.”

He missed a step, stumbled, and cursed softly.

I let my laugh carry into the night air. When he scowled, I pitched my voice low. “Are you sore?”

He shook his head, and some of the smugness returned. “Supernatural healing, remember? I’m fit as a fiddle. And just as tight.”

This time, my laugh emerged more like a choking sound—probably because I choked on it. One day, I was going to get used to his complete absence of decorum.

“Fiddles aren’t tight,” I said when I recovered. “They’re…” I groped for a suitable response to his mangled analogy.

His blue eyes twinkled. “I am, though.”

I could only shake my head. “You’re⁠—”

The scent of rogue snatched the rest of the sentence from my mouth.

Overripe fruit. Earthy rot and sweltering garbage. Unmistakable.

Caleb went rigid, instant comprehension on his face. “Ulfrik.”

“Stay close,” I said, already moving.

He fell in beside me, alert and watchful as I followed the trail away from the rental down a jumble of streets lined with apartments and shuttered shopfronts.

My focus narrowed as it always did when I tracked, the world shrinking to nothing but the trail hanging in the air like a ghostly river.