Lycan on the Edge: Broken Heart Book 13 Read online

  Sophie whirled at the sound of Trent’s amused voice. The glint of humor in his eyes told her that he’d heard most of the conversation.

  Nana piped up. “We’re just talking about Sophie’s—”

  “Feet.” Sophie bit her lower lip. “They ache.”

  Nana chortled. “It’s her feet that ache, all right.” Sophie saw the calculating look Nana sent Trent. She loved the old gal, but at that moment she wanted to trip her. A hip fracture would give her something other than Sophie’s sex life to fixate on. Not a very nice thought, but the woman was throwing her granddaughter to the big, bad wolf. Literally.

  Nana made a big show of looking at her watch. “I gotta go. Hubert’s gonna be on in a few minutes, and I need to get settled.” She swept past them and out the door. Her footsteps clattered up the basement stairs; then the door banged shut.

  Sophie clasped her hands together and stared at Trent. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt, which defined his physique in a saliva-inducing show of muscles. He hooked his thumbs through the jean’s belt loops and rocked back on his heels. She inhaled a fortifying breath.

  The expression on Trent’s handsome face did not reassure her. She wished he wasn’t blocking the only way out of the basement. Her knees always seem to wobble when she got too close to him. Surely, if she attempted to slide past, her knees would collapse, she’d topple over, and break her neck.

  “Who’s Hubert?”

  “Nana’s TV boyfriend. He’s as old as dirt and as greasy as lard, but Nana will watch that man from four p.m. to eight p.m. every day. She loves the shopping channel.”

  “That explains a lot.”

  “You have no idea.” Sophie felt jittery. Why did she feel so anxious about him? As though she might implode. Boom! Pieces of Sophie everywhere.

  “How bad do your feet ache?” he asked. The sincerity in his voice made her flinch. “I’d be happy to assist you.”

  “How?” she asked before she could stop the question. Damn it. “I mean—no.”

  “I give great foot.”

  The problem was that she had a sneaking suspicion he gave great everything, and she probably wouldn’t want him to stop with her feet. It had been a long while since she’d been intimate with anyone. Her last relationship had been more than a year ago, and it hadn’t been a serious one. Her desire for Trent was crazily intense.

  The fantasy of Trent touching her, kissing her, was nirvana. Realistically, jumping into bed with him only to satisfy her physical needs wouldn’t be enough. That had never been her style. She wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of werewolf. Gah. Sophie shook her head, hoping the motion would realign her thought processes.

  She caught his gaze. His fire dared her to get burned.

  Her mouth went dry.

  Her knees quivered.

  Oh hell.

  “I’ll pass on the foot rub,” she said, her voice going hoarse. She cleared her throat. “I appreciate the offer.”

  “My pleasure. Let me know if you change your mind.” He smiled. The dimple appeared. Sophie briefly wondered about tasting that indentation. Stop. It. She wasn’t putting her lips anywhere near his mouth.

  “How’d you like Nana’s lunch?” she asked going for the one full-proof way to change the subject.

  “I’ve eaten dirty socks that tasted better.”

  Well, he was honest. “I hope you were a wolf when you ate them.” She grinned. “C’mon, I’ll fix sandwiches.”

  Trent gestured for her to go first, but gave her little room to maneuver. Her breasts brushed against his chest, again, as she edged out the door. Her nipples hardened, her skin tingled, and her breath shallowed. She’d never felt so hot and bothered by a man before. As if she would die if he didn’t touch her right now.

  Sophie hurried to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, hoping the cool air would relieve her heated skin. As she grabbed the lunch fixings, Trent leaned against the counter. “How are you feeling?”

  “I feel fine.” Sophie wasn’t about to discuss any Alberich-related topic with Trent. Irritation flashed. Nana had created this uncomfortable situation. She knew that Nana was worried about her. But this little plot of hers wasn’t what she needed to recover … was it?

  Guilt niggled at her. She was shuffling along a crumbling ledge, a misstep away from plunging into the darkness and being consumed by it. Why couldn’t she accept help? If her king thought it was important to intervene, then it was obviously something she needed. But it didn’t mean she had to like it.

  Sophie felt Trent’s gaze on her, but she concentrated on the sandwiches. She spread mustard on the bread slices and unwrapped the ham. “What did you do before becoming a handyman?”

  “Lots of things. I was born in 1790.” An emotion flickered in Trent’s eyes as he took the sandwich Sophie offered him. She couldn’t quite define it. Guilt? Grief? Worry? Hmm. She opened the refrigerator and took out a couple of sodas. “In a glass or straight from the can?”

  “The can is fine, thank you.”

  “I was born in the 1980s. So you’re what, more than two-hundred years older than me?”

  “In werewolf years that’s nothing.”

  “True.” She handed him a can, and they sat down in the breakfast nook. The windows looked out onto the rolling green fields edged by forest. Nature called to her on so many levels.

  “It’s beautiful out there,” said Trent. “You want to go for a run?”

  Shifting and taking a nice, long run sounded good. But she’d rarely taken her wolf form since the Alberich had tried to kill her. She’d been in wolf form then, too. The few times she shifted, she felt strange. It scared her.

  Memory flashed.

  The beast came at her screaming, wielding a terrifying weapon. She felt the imprint of the doubly curved blade on her back. She howled in pain, and instantly, there were a bright light and a thousand stars raining down on her.

  “Sophie?”

  She swallowed the knot in her throat. “No, thank you” she said softly. She excused herself and left. The only way to get rid of the shakes and the feelings of impending doom was to occupy herself so thoroughly she didn’t have time to contemplate.

  She went into the basement, feeling better the minute the fragrant smell of earth and its gifts hit her nose. She set her mind on finishing the herbs for drying and tried not to think about her wolf, about the Alberich, or about Trent.

  Yeah, right.

  Chapter Three

  “I’LL TAKE THE cuckoo clock and the punch bowl set,” Nana said into the phone. Her gaze was glued to the TV, specifically the shopping channel as Hubert enthusiastically endorsed everything from cutlery to dog beds. “Give me one of those wind chimes, too.”

  Trent watched in fascination as Virginia Lennox ordered a potato peeler and a cubic zirconia ring. Earlier, she’d invited him to join her in the living room, and he’d accepted because he’d hoped to get more information about Sophie. He needed something, anything at this point, to get female werewolf’s cooperation.

  Virginia occupied the comfy pink wingback to the left of the equally pink couch, where Trent stretched out. Sophie, however, had spent the rest of the day avoiding him and continued to do so.

  “Ooh,” squealed the old gal. “I need the extra large dog bed.” She glanced at Trent. “You like tan or green?”

  “I’m partial to green.”

  “The green one, please.” Satisfied with her purchases, she hung up the phone.

  “Virginia, did you just buy me a dog bed?”

  “Consider it a wolf bed.”

  He smiled. Then he ventured, “You’re not a werewolf.”

  “Nope.” She glanced at him. “I married one. Henry was a single dad, and he had a two-year-old daughter. Her name was Alice—that was Sophie’s mom. I couldn’t have children with Henry, but I considered that baby girl mine.”

  “Do you know anything about Alice’s mother?”

  “Henry never talked about her.” Virginia’s gaze went distant. �
��They died together, you know. Henry, Alice, and her mate, Mark. We lived in northern California. They’d gone off to howl at the moon. Died in a forest fire. All three of them.” She paused, her voice heavy with grief. “Sophie had just turned five. It’s been her and me ever since. She wasn’t around her own kind that much. When I heard about Broken Heart, it was a no-brainer to move here.”

  “Has she talked to you about what happened in Oregon?”

  “Not really. She’s good at avoidance. But that’s why you’re here isn’t it? To get her talking and dealing with it so she can move on with her life.”

  Unease skittered up his spine. Virginia didn’t know the full breadth of his job here. He wanted to help Sophie, that most of all, but he also needed to get her ready. She had a gift. Like his. Together, they were the only ones who could stop the Alberich from killing more werewolves.

  “I know Sophie’s been prickly, but she’ll come around.” Her sharp brown eyes studied him. “Something happened to her. I don’t just mean the attack. Something else. I think her keeping whatever secret she’s carrying is eating away at her.”

  Trent agreed. “I wish there was a way to get her out of her comfort zone.”

  “Good luck with that. She hasn’t been out of Broken Heart since she came back. Hell, getting that child to go into town is like pulling cow teeth.”

  “Why would you pull cow teeth?”

  “You wouldn’t. That’s why it’s hard.”

  Trent didn’t understand the allegory, but maybe that was the point.

  Virginia looked thoughtful. After a brief moment of quiet contemplation, she skewered him with a suspicious gaze. “You sure that whole getting-out-of-her-comfort-zone thing would help Sophie?”

  He thought about his answer, going over the pros and cons. He nodded. “Yes.”

  “Okay then.” She stood and stretched. “Time for me to turn in. You want the remote?”

  “No, thanks. I think I’ll turn in, too.”

  She turned off the TV, reached down, and patted Trent on the shoulder. “You do right by my girl.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  After Virginia had left, the room seemed unbearably stuffy with the weight of his burden. He only hoped he could keep his word. He wanted to do right by Sophie, but he worried. Despite knowing, or rather believing, that she was the key to ridding the world of Alberich once and for all, he hadn’t expected the overwhelming attraction. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, the way she looked, the way she smelled, and the way she made his pulse race. No, he hadn’t expected the intense chemistry when he’d pulled into the old farmstead, but Sophie made him feel like a teenage pup in the bloom of adolescence. For a werewolf his age, he should have better control. Even when he said things to her meant to help her, even to himself, he could hear the double meaning.

  He walked through the kitchen, exiting out the back door. Chirping crickets greeted his entrance onto the enclosed porch. The screened door leading outside screeched loudly, and Trent winced at the echoing noise. Stars winked at him from the night sky, and a spring breeze teased his senses with the faint scent of honeysuckle. He thought of Sophie and his promise to her grandmother.

  I’ll help you, Sophie. No matter what.

  * * *

  TRENT ROLLED TO his side and plumped the goose down pillow. The bedsprings squeaked, and he grimaced. The quiet dark of the room engulfed him, and he stilled, looking out the open window at the clear night. He was tempted to shift and run off he excess energy building within him. He’d absorbed more of Sophie’s stress and fear than he’d intended. She had a surprising way of getting through his barriers. It was just another sign that she was the other half. His other half, he supposed. The ability to heal, to take her pain, was part of the gift he had been granted. When they went against the Alberich, she would need him for healing, for energy, as she prevented catastrophe.

  All the same, he couldn’t let her, however unintentionally, steal his energy. He’d need every bit of his strength and ability to help her. Her trauma was deeply embedded, mind, body, and soul. He’d have to go slow with her, absorbing her pain a little at a time until she was strong enough to handle the truth. And the ominous task before them both.

  The werewolf queen, Kelsey, was the only person who could understand his ability and the toll it could take. Thanks to her heritage as a changeling, she had empathic abilities. She’d accidentally learned how to absorb emotions from others. Her talent was different from his. She was more powerful, especially after becoming a werewolf, and she’d been born with her gift. His had been bestowed. The power had been had absorbed at the cellular level—magic and genetics binding together. And he only had empathic abilities with one person. Sophie. It was further proof that she was the one.

  He knew well the terror and struggle of dealing with his demons. It was why he identified so easily with Sophie. So, he needed to control the fierce yearning for the lovely werewolf. That longing was almost a living creature within him, devouring his good intentions bite by bite. His cock reacted to the mere image of Sophie with her soft pink lips, her wide brown eyes, and her silky blonde hair.

  No, no. Don’t think of her.

  He sighed, adjusted himself and tugged at his now uncomfortable boxer-briefs. Sophie. The mere thought of the bewitching woman disturbed his very core. He’d never reacted to a woman so immediately and with such...intensity. Not even his wife. She’d been fierce and strong, and he’d loved her. They had volunteered to be the weapon, and she had given her life for the pack. It had taken him a long time to stop feeling the acute pain of her loss, and the guilt that he’d been unable to save her. With Damian’s help, he’d managed to keep going. To keep living. But now that he’d met Sophie, he wondered if he’d been living or merely existing?

  What’s wrong with you?

  When they’d fallen into the puddle, he’d been jolted to his core. Even with mud spattering her face, he’d seen the freckles on her nose. Her blonde hair had been drawn into a ponytail. He wondered how she’d look with it down around her bare shoulders. Trent reigned in his thoughts. Don’t go there, he warned his libido. He would not think about how close her luscious mouth had been to—damn. His blood stirred, pure lust claiming him. Red underwear, sassy lips, and those secretive dark eyes should not be enough to justify the raw heat coursing through him.

  Trent cursed as his cock hardened to full mast, poking against the thin barrier of his underwear. Think ice. Glacier. North Pole. Antarctica. The whole concept of freezing cold did nothing to cool his ardent response to the image he had of Sophie. Stop it, Trent. You can’t help her if you think only of having sex with her.

  He waited, emptying his mind of other lurid thoughts, allowing the tepid breeze to wash over his body. Maybe he just needed a cold drink with a hundred ice cubes. Maybe a two-day cold shower. Trent smiled ruefully.

  Despite her strong reaction to him, Trent knew Sophie suspected him of some chicanery. She wouldn’t be pleased with his false pretenses. Besides, Trent sensed Sophie was not a one-night stand kind of woman. He suspected she wasn’t even a have-an-affair kind of woman. No, Sophie Lennox had an invisible sign that read “For Long Term Commitment Only.”

  He supposed that was a boon, in a way, because they would need each other for a while. In these modern times, werewolves were not superstitious, but some were old enough to remember the Alberich, and his own sordid tale. He winced as he thought of his wife, Laura, gone almost a century now. He’d wished for his own death for nearly a decade after hers. But as the years passed, he’d been able to let go. Being without her no longer hurt. And there lay a conundrum. If she’d been his true mate, he wouldn’t have gotten over her at all. He’d witnessed the way Damian loved Kelsey, and it was not the same as with Damian’s former wife. Granted that had been an arranged marriage. Yet, Kelsey and Damian were connected at a soul-deep level. So, on top of the guilt that he’d failed to protect Laura was this new burden: That she had not been his true mate.

 
Trent turned away from those painful thoughts, and refocused on Sophie. If there had been another werewolf like him, someone who could help take his pain, would he have accepted the help? Sophie’s trauma had been different from his own. Surely her pain was something she longed to let go. He hoped the moment to tell her about his true purpose and his psychic healing abilities would come sooner than later.

  Trent pounded the pillow again, and gave up trying to fluff it.

  Sleep would not come easy tonight. He rolled off the bed and moved to the window, looking out into the backyard. The branches of a huge oak tree rose to meet the night sky; its leafy foliage blocked part of the glittering stars. The creak of the tire-swing rope made him look down. Sophie clung to the tire, her laughter soft as she twirled around and around, her ponytail whipping about. She wore a shirt and jeans, her feet bare. Her enticing long legs stretched out, and then she grasped the top of the tire and leaned back.

  His heart lurched. He watched her, envying the damn tire every time she scooted her sweet little bottom forward and back.

  He couldn’t resist her. He told himself this was the most relaxed he’d ever seen her, and would be a good time to try and reach her.

  But the truth was, he just wanted to be near her.

  He dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top and went outside barefoot. October was chilly in Oklahoma, but werewolves ran hot.

  Too hot.

  He approached her and asked, “Need a push?”

  “Oh!”

  He barely registered Sophie’s startled expression when the tire swung around, bringing her fabulous legs into brutal contact with his all too sensitive groin. Pain exploded. He bent over, his breath leaving his body in a strangled whoosh.

  “I’m sorry,” cried Sophie. She extracted herself from the swing and hovered at his side, patting his back.

  “Do you want to sit down?”

  “No,” he groaned, working hard not to vomit. “Let me die in peace.”

  “Oh, Trent. I didn’t mean to.” Obviously distressed, she moved to stand in front of him and rubbed his shoulders. “What can I do?”