CHAPTER TWO
It's only once the small Colorado town I was born and raised in is a distant blur in the rear-view mirror, that it hits me all I've left behind.
I'm not thinking of my uncle and the pack's shitty treatment of me. No, I'm thinking I don't even have a goddamn pair of panties on.
Fortunately, there isn't a lot I'm devastated about leaving behind. Other than a few pictures of my parents who died when I was eight, I can replace the contents of my previous life from the nearest Walmart.
Yeah, that's Uncle Glynn for you. The last of the big spenders.
Not.
At least, I never have to see him again since with Dayne's pack being in northern Colorado, there's no reason for our paths to ever cross.
So, I sit back in my seat, content for the moment that the t-shirt Dayne tossed me is long enough to cover most of the tops of my thighs so I'm not completely exposed, and that he's turned the radio on so we're not sitting in complete silence.
Oh, I lie. He spoke, but it wasn't to me.
In the moments we left the Merrick pack land, he speed-dialed someone he didn't even let speak. Just barked out, "I have her. I'll see you tomorrow," and hung up. And that's been the extent of any conversation in Dayne's car for over an hour.
It doesn't surprise me Dayne's left the radio on a rock station, not heavy but the classic kind.
Mellow.
I don't recognize any of the songs or the bands, and it's all a little too loud for me.
But going by the way he's tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, and the gradual loosening of the harsh line of his jaw, this station and the songs on them are both familiar and bring him comfort.
Given he doesn't look like he's thirty-maybe twenty-seven or twenty-eight- I'm surprised he listens to music I'd imagine people much older would be interested in.
I can't help but wonder who introduced him to this music since he doesn't seem the type to have a lot of friends. He's too intense for that.
But he's not alone in letting go of the tension now Dawley is behind us. Except in my case, it isn't the music having a calming effect on me, it's him ignoring me that is.
There are no threats, no attacks-physical or mental-and I find myself not knowing what to do without these touchstones that have been a part of my life for so many years.
For the first couple of miles, it was impossible to keep my eyes away from him as he drove, still shirtless since he didn't stop to put another top on before we left my pack.
Although he's more ripped than all of the other shifters in my pack, who have leaner builds, his muscles aren't the reason I couldn't stop peeking over at him.
No, I was so sure he was waiting for the first opportunity to pull over somewhere and force me out of his truck.
The acrid stench of my terror was so heavy he couldn't have possibly missed it.
If he had, by some strange miracle, there's no way he didn't notice me pressing myself against my car door whenever he moved to change gears, thinking that this was it. This was when all the bad would start again, and he'd pick up right where Uncle left off.
If he didn't dump me out to die on the side of the road, that is. Lone wolves, my uncle was fond of reminding me, never last long on their own.
But none of that happened. Instead, he just kept driving as if he isn't the slightest bit aware of my fear, and, as the minutes tick by and we got further and further away from my old pack, I start to relax.
When the pervasive smell of my fear fades, I pick up his scent.
One thing is certain, Dayne Blackshaw is as hot as he is dangerous, and his scent is making my wolf go all kinds of crazy, wanting to press against him for a closer sniff, even as my head warns me to stay as far away from him as possible.
There's a wildness to his scent, a fresh bite of cedar and sharp frost, that tells me he likes to be outdoors-maybe as much as I do.
His pack might even be within sight of the Rockies, the snow-capped mountain range that have haunted me since my parents took me there when I was a toddler.
I have a picture-or rather I had one-of me sitting on my father's wide shoulders with the mountains behind us, with the widest grins on our faces. Mom must have been taking the picture since she's not in it.
If I can't have my parents back, the mountains are the next best thing, since it's the clearest memory I have of them now. The only time I remember being happy.
It's nothing more than a pipe dream, of course. Dayne Blackshaw, the cold-blooded alpha, taking me on long, romantic walks in the forests so he can show me picturesque views of snow-capped mountains?
Yeah, right. I almost scoff aloud at the concept. Happiness like that, a relationship like that, is never going to be in my future.
But, at least, I'm away from Uncle Glynn and that part of my life is over, I tell myself as I turn my face to the window and smother a yawn.
By now, we've been driving for close to an hour, which means it's around one in the morning.
Apparently, there's a magic to ceremonies being conducted under the moon. Not that I feel any differently.
My attraction to Dayne is still only that, a physical awareness only. The mate bond is a connection that builds over time, and right now, we're still perfect strangers.
My mind takes me back to that first time I saw him as I stepped through the forests and onto the edge of the clearing in my short silk robe.
He was mid-conversation with Uncle and he had such a severe look on his face, I could tell at once he and Uncle weren't friends and never would be.
His short, dark beard surprised me. For a second, I itched to touch it, even though I knew I never would.
Something about his stance, the expression on his face warned me away, but that wasn't enough to silence the quiet voice inside me that told me I was secretly pleased it was him I was mating, and that he would be my first. Even knowing everything he was capable of, and everything he'd done.
I hadn't even realized I'd stopped until one of the pack prodded a finger-a finger she'd changed into a claw-in my back, and I yelped in surprise at the unexpected attack.
While Dayne's expression was unreadable as he turned at the sound of my cry, Uncle's smirk told me all I needed to know. He'd always encouraged behavior like that. The pettier and full of spite, the better. Particularly, if it surprised me into crying out.
They weren't always like that. The pack. A long time ago, when my parents were still alive, they wouldn't have dared hurt me. But once Uncle Glynn stepped in for my father, and his older brother as the new alpha, one by one they fell into line.
I don't realize I've fallen asleep until I'm being shaken awake.
"Wake up."
For a second, with my head resting against the glass and a half-empty dark-lit car park outside my window, I don't know where I am.
And then I remember who's shaking me, and what he's capable of doing with his bare hands. Sucking in a sharp breath, as fear fills the interior of Dayne's truck to overflowing again, I yank my shoulder from under his hand and press myself against my door.
The silence from his side of the car is deafening, and I fix my eyes in my lap, too afraid of what I'll find if I glance over at him.
He doesn't say a word, and he's so guarded it's impossible to read even the faintest echo of his emotions, which considering we're mates now, is more than a little strange.
I don't know if it's because he's as cold as everyone says he is, or in the short time we've been mates I've already managed to fuck up the bond between us. It's probably me, I decide, since everything else has always been my fault.
But before I can say anything, or get a handle on my emotions, he's shoving his door open and stepping out.
"Wait here," he growls in a voice more wolf than man. Hearing it, my fear spikes.
The car shakes and creaks from the force of him slamming the door shut, making me jump, and then he's stalking toward a dimly lit building.
I find myself unable to stop staring at his sharply defined back muscles as he strides to the door, and after yanking it open, he steps inside.
If I hadn't had such a long day to look forward to, full of so much change, so much fear, I would have slept better than I did the night before. And with the benefit of sleep, it might not have come as so much of a surprise to me that we'd be stopping at a motel on our way to his pack.
With my pack, my former pack now, based more in central Colorado, and his northern, it seems obvious now that we wouldn't be able to make the drive in one night.
So, we're staying in a motel room. Just him and me. A room with a bed.
Will he want to have sex? I wonder as my mouth goes dry. Snorting, it doesn't take me long to reject the idea Dayne would want anything to do with me.
Of course, he won't, Talis. He has no interest in a plain brown-haired, brown-eyed broken shifter when a guy that hot-no matter what crimes he's guilty of-can get any girl he wants.
He didn't bring any of his pack to the ceremony, not even his beta, which hurts because a moon-blessing ceremony is a celebration. And no one celebrates an event as important as a newly mated couple without bringing any of their family along.
Was it shame? Is he that embarrassed by the idea of being with me?
I tell myself it doesn't matter, what's important is that I'm away from Uncle. That he can't hurt me anymore, but like all wounds, it isn't such an easy thing to shrug off.
To distract myself, I watch as Dayne books a room through the glass-fronted building. It's more of a box room than a building if I'm honest, and the only thing I can see through the glass is a counter and a wiry young-looking guy behind it.
With my heightened shifter sight, I observe the exchange as the guy has Dayne fill in paperwork before handing over a credit card he slips out of his back pocket.
The guy doesn't seem fazed at all Dayne is driving around shirtless at… my eyes slide to the car dashboard, nearly two in the morning. But I guess working nights at a motel off the highway you get used to seeing all sorts, and nothing really surprises you anymore.
I'd have thought he'd at least pull a shirt on from clothes he must have brought in his trunk since there isn't anything in the backseat when I take a quick peek.
There's nothing in his truck at all, it's spotless, though with his scruffy cowboy boots, and dark blond hair, which looks like he's fond of raking a hand through it instead of a brush, he doesn't strike me as being the type of guy who likes to spend his downtime cleaning.
Since this is my first real opportunity to examine him without his being close enough to notice, I take my time doing it. It's the tattoo on his arm that captures my attention once I've-for the time being at least-got my fill of all the tanned muscle on display.
The tattoo ringing his arm is an intricate design in the shape of a pack of wolves, both old and young pups. Some prowl, a couple look poised to pounce on one sleeping, and one appears to be watching over the others. It's incredible, and I find it so impossible to tear my eyes away that I don't notice when I've become the center of attention.
But when I do, my head snaps up, and through the window, my gaze clashes with Dayne's ice-blue stare as he leans against the counter, his expression neutral.
Jerking my eyes back to my lap, my heart pounds in alarm.
To stare an alpha in the eye is to be risking challenging for the alpha's position. That's what it means to hold an alpha's gaze in the shifter world, and such an act is a provocation. If he thinks that's what I'm doing… he has a right to punish me for it.
So, with my heart about ready to burst out of my chest, I try to force myself to calm, waiting with a rising sense of terror as I hear him shove the door to the reception open.
The sound of his cowboy boots striking the concrete parking lot has me shaking, and keys jangling as he stalks toward me makes my heart pound all the harder. All the while, I can feel the weight of his attention on me as he moves closer.
When he wrenches open my car door, the bottom falls out of my stomach and I squeeze my eyes tight as he wraps his hand around my forearm and hauls me out.
I wait for the axe to fall. Is this where he picks up where Uncle stopped? Am I in line for more of the same, starting at a motel parking lot in the middle of the night?
Releasing the tight grip he has on my shoulder, he grabs my hand instead.
"Get inside. I have to get some stuff out of the trunk." He drops something in my hand and then he's walking away.
Surprise has me peeling my eyelids open to blink at the keys he just dropped in my hand. The motel room keys.
Oh, I guess I didn't piss him off then.
Conscious I'm being observed again, but this time it doesn't feel like Dayne's the observer, out of the corner of my eye I catch movement from the reception.
It's the guy manning the counter, except now he's no longer behind it.
No, he's nearly falling over it as he leans over it to stare at me with wide eyes, which catches me off guard since he didn't react in any noticeable way to Dayne's shirtlessness. But, I guess a girl wearing nothing more than a guy's t-shirt will do that.
"Talis," Dayne snaps, sounding more wolf than man.
Jerking in surprise, I spin around and find him standing in front of the trunk though he hasn't opened it yet. But his gaze isn't on me, it's on the guy in reception.
"Get inside. Now."
I rush toward the motel rooms and get halfway before I think to double-check the room number stamped on the plastic keyring in my hand so I know which room is ours.
Twelve. And all the rooms I'm facing are odd numbers, which means the other side must be the even-numbered rooms.
Shit.
I've gone in the wrong direction of the U-shaped line of motel rooms than I should have.
Spinning around, I find Dayne has stopped staring at the reception building. Now his eyes are on me and his expression is unreadable.
No doubt he's regretting this whole mating altogether, given I've done nothing but prove myself to be clumsy, weak and stupid, and now I can't even find a motel room on my own?
Yeah, he's definitely regretting mating with me.
Face flaming at that once again I've made a fool of myself, I duck my head and dart toward the right side of the motel, using my hair as a shield as I always do.
After fumbling with the key in the lock, conscious of the weight of Dayne's gaze digging into my back, I finally get the door open and rush inside.
I flick the light switch on and lean my back against the wall beside the door.
A few deep breaths later, once I feel I have a handle on my emotions, I take a second to scan the room.
It's basic. Which considering this motel is part of a chain I've seen advertised on TV pretty regularly, the interior doesn't surprise me, but the king-size bed does.
Surely, motels like this give you the option to have two beds instead of one. But Dayne's booked us a room with one bed. I can't even begin to understand why.
I know I shouldn't read too much into it, especially with how fast he walked away from me after our moon-blessing ceremony, but my heart leaps a little at the thought of sharing a bed with Dayne.
I've never shared a bed with anyone. And certainly, I've never slept in a bed this big. My room at Dawley was the smallest-with a single bed, a dresser and a jute rug. That was it, super basic. But it was at the top of the house in the attic, which meant privacy and being far away from the rest of the pack. I wouldn't have switched rooms with anyone for all the money in the world.
I shake my head and peel my eyes from the bed to take in the rest of the room. There's nothing about it that's out of the ordinary. My shifter nose picks up on someone having cleaned it recently, going by the scent of sharp bleach, and some kind of pine spray they used to clean the furniture.
Even though the surface the room looks clean, the artificial vanilla room air freshener the cleaner used isn't enough to hide the faint underlying odor of those who stayed in the room days or months before me. But that's okay, I can't really complain about something most other humans wouldn't even pick up.
There isn't a whole lot of space since the king-size bed covered with a pale blue comforter eats up so much room. Even though the bed's shoved up against one wall, it leaves room enough for a dark mahogany bedside table and matching heavy dresser and wardrobe.
And then I notice the door leading to what must be the bathroom, and I feel my excitement stirring for perhaps the first time in… ever.
A shower. I would kill for a shower.
In seconds, I'm across the room and stepping into the bathroom. After no more than a cursory inspection to make sure it's clean, I'm slamming the bathroom door shut, then dart for the shower as I peel Dayne's shirt off as I go.
I don't even wait for the water to warm up before stepping inside.
But I don't care. I embrace the initial blast of cold water when it hits me because it's going to mean I get clean. I can finally wash the scent of dirt and sex off my body and feel new again.
When I step out several minutes later, it takes me a lot longer than it should for me to realize I have a problem. I stand there blinking in confusion.
Without my noticing-I'm going to blame my total absorption in showering since I've always loved being in the water-Dayne must have come into the bathroom and taken his shirt since I distinctly remember tossing it on the floor, and now there's nothing there.
I'm dripping water all over the floor, my hair is soaking wet, and I'm staring at the hand towel hanging behind the bathroom door thinking that doesn't look right. Surely a motel, even the cheapest one would have at least one bath towel.
There's no way I'm going to be able to wrap it around my body.
And why would Dayne take his shirt?
"Talis," Dayne snaps from outside the door, making me jump. "It's nearly three in the morning and you're not the only one who needs to use the bathroom."
I dive for the towel, slipping and nearly going down from the mess I've made on the wet floor as I quickly pat myself dry with the tiny towel.
Finally, when I've done the best I can, I suck in a deep breath, do my best to cover my front, and then I grab the door handle and shove it open.
I find Dayne sitting on the edge of the bed closest to the bathroom door with a small silver laptop perched on his lap.
He's still not wearing a shirt, but beside him on the bed is a duffel bag. And beside the duffel bag is the shirt I tossed on the bathroom floor… and something else which has me narrowing my eyes. It's a neatly folded peach-colored bath towel. One that matches the hand towel I'm desperately trying to cover my nakedness with.
Before I have time to even process why Dayne would steal the towel from the bathroom, or what I'm going to be wearing to bed, or even how I'm going to get past him without revealing more than I want to, he snaps the lid of his laptop shut and shifts his focus to me.
His gaze slowly slides down my body, lingering on my breasts, and then on my thighs which are mostly exposed by the short towel. As I'm coming to expect, it's once again impossible for me to know what he's thinking.
I'm holding my breath without knowing why, and when he rises from the bed in a smooth, graceful display, my mouth goes dry. Then he's stalking toward me, and I'm standing frozen in the bathroom doorway, still unable to find my breath.
But when he gets to me, he stops so close I can't miss the silver sparks in his eyes which tell me his wolf is peering out at me.
Sucking in a breath, I take a small step back. He follows and I back up a little more. Which is when I lose the tenuous hold I have on the towel and grab at it desperately as it slips down.
Lips curving with a hint of a dark smile, he shakes his head, and after nudging me aside, steps into the bathroom with the bath towel.
Seeing it has my anger stirring again at him for taking it. I'm not expecting for us to have shared or anything, but for him to take it when I was already in the shower?
What guy would do that to a girl? Was he trying to embarrass me?
"You can have the wall side," he says as if he's doing me a favor.
Great. Now it means I'll have him on one side, and a wall on the other. Trapped, in other words.
I open my mouth to ask him about what I'm going to wear to bed since I don't have any clothes, and he's reclaimed his shirt.
But before I can speak a single word, Dayne firmly shuts the bathroom door in my face and I'm left standing there staring at the white door.