Page 16 of Taming the White Wolf
Zoe was fine. It was daytime. “Don’t borrow trouble,” he muttered. Unable to let his unease go, he pulled out his phone and called her. With her full name and address, he’d tracked down her number the second she’d left him in the coffee shop. It rang and rang and went to voicemail. His message was terse. “Call me. I need to know you’re okay.”
Odds were she was home and not answering because it was him. She’d made her displeasure with him quite clear. Too bad. She’d have to get over it. He wasn’t going anywhere.
Tucking his phone in his pocket, he shoved his worries away. Awareness and strategy would serve him better. She might not need or want his concern, but she’d damn well get his protection, at least until he’d uncovered the truth of the situation. What happened after that depended on what he found.
Was it possible for her to hide her involvement with a mage? Normally, he’d say it was impossible, but everything had been off about his reaction to her from the start. Magic had a…scent, for lack of a better word. It was unique to each mage—a signature. He’d brushed up against some in the past, but always white mages who’d stayed out of his way.
The only off smell on or around Zoe had been at the club when he’d caught the wolf’s scent, augmented by several drops of blood to mark her for death. It was the werewolf version of blood magic.
His long strides ate up the distance, his earlier unease almost panic. His wolf was pacing inside him. Fur bristled beneath his skin. Was the animal aware of something he wasn’t? When he rounded a corner and her building came into view, he gave a huff of relief. He made short work of the stairs. If she made good on her threat and called the cops on him, he’d deal with it. He was banking on being able to talk her out of it.
Using the edge of his fist, he banged on the door and waited. The claw marks in the wooden panel made him want to rip the thing off its hinges. To keep from doing that very thing, he shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. When there was no sound from inside, he focused his hearing, blocking out ambient noise from the surrounding apartments and outside.
Nothing. Not a heartbeat or a rustle of movement. She’d gone out.
He should’ve expected it. This was on him. Zoe had done the unexpected from the beginning. Any sensible woman would’ve stayed inside, maybe tried to catch up on sleep. Not her. No, she was out there wandering around the city, disregarding every warning he’d given her.
Back down on the sidewalk, he looked right and then left. Which way? He started to go right but felt the visceral tug in the other direction. Following his instincts, he went with it. Scanning as he went, he searched for any sign or her. He sniffed the air, but there were too many competing scents in the city.
Where would she go?Central Park.
Not questioning the guidance, he crossed the street and lengthened his stride, barely noticing the people hurrying to get out of his way. Of course she’d go to the park. It made too much sense to stay home. When he found her, he was going to wring her neck for worrying him. Yeah, right. There was no way in hell he’d hurt her, and if he tried to hug her, she’d likely slug him.
It was a chance he was willing to take.
His wolf growled in agreement.
…
Zoe meandered through the park. Couples, old and young and in between, walked hand in hand. Groups of teenagers sprawled under the trees and flirted. Businesspeople were on their phones. Mothers chased energetic toddlers. People jogged with their dogs. There was even a cat on a leash.
Central Park was her favorite place in the city. There was always something to see and plenty to enjoy—from musicians and artists to impromptu games of Frisbee on the grass. Today, the magic wasn’t working. Instead of feeling as though she was a part of the vibrant mass of humanity, a thread in the greater tapestry, she was somehow apart from it. Rather than finding comfort here, it left her empty.
Alone in the crowd. The phrase had never applied more. She’d worked hard to get past the sense of not belonging that had plagued her for her entire life. A square peg trying to jam itself into a round hole summed up her life perfectly. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” She hated when she fell into that habit. Yes, there were challenges ahead, but she was strong and healthy and smart. She’d figure it out. She always did.
And if she missed Devlin, she’d get over it. It wasn’t like they’d dated or been a couple. They’d shared a handful of intense encounters. It was a shame there’d never be more than that. His kiss hadn’t knocked her socks off, it’d melted them.
The delicious doughy scent of fresh pretzels made her stomach growl and her mouth water. Five minutes later, she took her warm cinnamon pretzel and chilled lemonade to a nearby bench. A large tree blocked some of the sun but enough filtered through the leaves to create intricate patterns on the pathway in front of her.
How had she gotten to this point in her life? Other than work, her free time was usually taken up with the business of living—cleaning, laundry, paying bills, and grocery shopping—with occasional trips to thrift stores and the rare evening out on the town thrown in for good measure.
Shouldn’t there be more?
She valued her independence, but a relationship would be nice. Someone to love and depend on, someone like Devlin. Big and built and gorgeous, he fit the bill, except he thought werewolves were real. Being sane and gainfully employed were at the top of her list when it came to men. She had no idea how he made a living. She also had to be able to trust a man. Impossible when there was no way to be sure if he was involved with the dog attack on her door.
Trying to figure it all out was bringing back the headache she’d finally gotten rid of. She tilted her head back and let the sun warm her skin. Sitting here wouldn’t get answers.
Gathering her garbage, she dumped it in a bin and resumed walking. Despite the heat, a chill trickled down her spine. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Her scalp tingled and the fine hairs on the back of her neck rose. There’d only been one man who’d ever caused such a visceral reaction. How had he found her?
She spun around to confront him. “Stop following—” And abruptly slammed her mouth shut. It wasn’t Devlin.
A tall man with brown hair and dark brown eyes held up his hands as if to fend her off. He was well-dressed in black pants and a crisp white shirt. The sleeves were rolled back to expose muscled forearms sprinkled with dark hair. His hands were big. He was merely standing there, but a palpable aura of danger surrounded him. Other people on the path gave them plenty of space.
She reined in her temper. “I thought you were someone else.”
A twinkle appeared in his eyes, but it in no way negated the edgy vibes he was giving off. “I could tell. Pietro Cardelli.” He held out his hand.
It would be rude to not shake it considering she’d snapped at him. The contact was brief but left her wanting to rub her fingers against the leg of her jeans. There was something inherently “wrong” about his touch.
