The Luna's Bodyguard [a mature werewolf romance]

Ch 2: Old Haunts

OPHELIA

Their car was suspiciously nice, with a glossy black body that had no business being so clean this far out in the country. An Aston Martin DBX, according to the tag on Nate's keychain, with creamy brown leather upholstery and contrasting white stitching inside. The window tint was so dark it rendered the paddocks in shades of grey, reducing the lights of Kirkwall to little white spots on the horizon.

It felt like years since I'd passed through here on a bus with Aurora, but it had actually only been a few months. I sighed, trying to pretend I was in a movie to pass the time, but the throbbing bruise on the back of my neck was making it impossible to focus.

The black wolf had nearly crushed my spine. His fangs were seconds away from puncturing skin when Nate barked at him to ease up, but even then it took Fallon a moment to regain control. To set me down, surprisingly gingerly, compared to the force with which he'd grabbed me in the first place.

It was surprising to realise Nate was in charge. While they both exuded power so intense it clogged the air with their musk, the display of authority went at odds with the pretty boy's irreverent grace. I studied the chiseled line of his jaw in the rearview mirror, thinking the stubble looked at odds with his clean, pressed clothes.

Leather creaked beside me as Fallon's fingers dug into the edge of the car seat. I glanced at him sidelong, taking in his gloriously muscled legs, the way he had to stoop his head slightly to stop his thick, dark hair from flattening on the car roof. The man was a spartan warrior transported to the twenty-first century. If I didn't know any better, I would have assumed he was an alpha.

Lightning flashed behind his storm grey eyes as they met mine. "Don't get any ideas," he muttered, the words riding a low, guttural growl.

Apparently he didn't appreciate it when people glassed his friends.

Tough shit, I thought petulantly, scowling at his scarred reflection in the glass. That's what you get for being a bounty hunter.

That being said, there was something off about this trio. Their clothes were too nice, and they spoke with too much familiarity. I was used to the unrefined brutes who usually came after us, too jealous over their imaginary victory to share the spoils of the reward on our heads. Only Fallon looked the part in form-fitting black, with five-o'clock shadow and thick, swooping brows.

"Did you come out of the womb frowning?" I asked, realising we'd been staring at each other in silence for far too long. It was getting uncomfortably intimate.

Addy barked a laugh in the front seat. Nate's lip quirked, his teal eyes flicking up briefly to assess the situation in the mirror before returning to the road.

A faint tinge of pink crept up into Fallon's cheeks. "No," he said curtly.

A savage part of me relished his reaction. It was like proving that I could shift an enormous boulder, or that I was strong enough to make an impression in solid concrete. "You really ought to ease up. You'll give yourself wrinkles."

"Shut up," he muttered, looking away.

It was a small victory, but I seized it with both hands. For all his gruffness, it seemed my impropriety was unsettling him. I tucked that tidbit of knowledge away for later, eager to use it against him.

The next time he looked at me, which truly didn't take very long, I put my theory to the test.

"What?" I asked sweetly, cocking my head. "Still thinking about how I taste?"