Masked By Danger by Christa Wick

Chapter Ten

Hours later,Iris found herself bolting upright in bed, her brain and senses refusing to cooperate with one another. The scent of an unfamiliar woman clung at the room's edges despite the fresh linen that covered the mattress and pillows. Her gaze swept left, then right.

Small desk, a dresser and wardrobe. TV stand and television. Empty bookshelf.

Not her efficiency apartment in Syracuse, not a hotel.

She lifted her hand to the back of her head, fingers combing through her hair. The crack of a rifle had woken her, but the sound was a phantom, a cruel echo of the day before.

There were no blood-coated nuggets of Harper's flesh to remove, just unruly tangles with nothing more than her fingers to tame them.

Collapsing against the mattress, she forced her heart to slow. Even with her body supine, her head pounded from too long a day followed by too little sleep. She remembered dinner at the great table in the cavern as she read through the case files and jotted down notes.

Cade had remained, so had Lana and Seth.

Hard as she had tried, Iris hadn't been able to shake Cade. He knew the witch too well, knew what approach to take with her and the others.

With everyone convinced that Iris was both in heat and capable of strong magic, very few males could be trusted by the clans to guard her. Essentially, the guard in question would have to be a very powerful shifter who was already mated…or the stubborn ass that was taking every available opportunity to remind the packs that he was Iris’s mate.

Rolling over, she buried her face in the pillow and forcefully exhaled, the scream she wanted to release remaining ruthlessly locked in her throat.

While Cade had looked maddeningly happy with his victory after officially securing the right to be her full-time guard, Iris was anything but. She had tossed and turned relentlessly for hours after turning off the light, her thoughts alternately haunted by old nightmares and fresh images of Cade and the unfairly enigmatic wolf he had become.

In fact, it was more than simply images assailing her thoughts. With all that sexy, protective intensity coming off of him in waves from the next room—with nothing more than a shared bathroom and a locked door separating them—she found she was acutely able to sense Cade every time she woke.

From hearing him and smelling him, to then being able to feel him the more she became in tune with his nearness. It got to the point where she could even feel the change in the rhythm of his heartbeat during the short scheduled timeframe he allowed himself to sleep, just as she could feel when the blood flow in his veins would respond to his thoughts. His dreams.

…And every hot, vivid fantasy he’d have.

It was torture.

Yesterday's nightmare momentarily forgotten, Iris pushed a hand between her legs and pressed. The sensation too sweet and persistent, she knew no amount of pressure could extinguish the sensual burn.

No. Just no.

She would have to mentally push through it. She absolutely would not allow herself to stroke herself to try to find a tiny fraction of relief. If she did, Cade would hear or smell her efforts and assume the strokes were inspired by his presence.

Of course, he’d be right in that regard, but she definitely didn’t need him knowing that.

Iris had known something was changing in her body for a while now, even if she disagreed with Cade's assessment that she was a wolf in heat for the first time.

True, she couldn't argue that her moods recently had become more volatile lately. And yes, her already-sharp senses had intensified, as well.

But she could argue that was simply her wolf growing in strength.

The most damning evidence supporting Cade’s theory about her being in heat, however, was the one she’d been mulishly denying since the moment she’d scented Cade’s presence outside of the strip club for the first time in over a decade.

All at once, arousal unlike anything she’d ever experienced before had crashed into her like a giant, violent tidal wave of lust.

The entire drive away from the club, her sex had clenched with an urgent need to have him inside her—right there in the van—even with his driver mere feet away. Frankly, only fear and a long ago waking nightmare had kept her from succumbing to the blinding need that had plagued her all night.

And nearly every passing hour since.

Growling, Iris turned onto her side, ears pricking at the sound of a shower running and the groan of water through pipes that were probably twice her age and twice again.

She frowned. Had the shower been running all along? If not, when had it started?

Getting sloppy, North. She should have heard the water when it started or realized it was running when she first woke.

In fact, her hyper-tuned senses should have told her not only that Cade was in the shared bathroom, but also the number of people roaming the dorm's halls. She should know their mood, whether they had consumed alcohol or any other intoxicant, if they were sick, terrified or angry.

But with her thoughts fixated on Cade, Iris hadn't been able to sense beyond the bedroom in which she had spent the night.

Honestly, the man’s very presence was a menace to her senses. And absolutely brutal on her self-control.

Not to mention the things that gruff dirty-talker is able to do to her libido without even touching her…

Iris told her brain to shut up and stick with the program. No thinking about Cade’s effect on her. Period.

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she swiveled until her feet touched the floor. She glanced at the dresser opposite the bed and the mirror atop it. She looked a mess, but she really shouldn't care. If she wanted Cade to drop his fated mate mission, she needed to start going on the offensive. As in she literally needed to be offensive to the man.

The worse she looked, and the more annoying she could be, the sooner he'd move on. In theory, at least. Being stubborn had always come naturally to Cade.

Said the pot to the kettle.

At least she had a plan now. She liked plans. Feeling an actual smile starting to tug at her lips, she began a mental checklist of all the truly annoying things she could do to work his last nerve.

A nagging harpy at the bathroom door telling him to get his ass out so she could start her lengthy evening beauty product routine—which she’d have to study up on to be able to sound remotely believable at it—was a good place to start. Men hated diva behavior, right? She certainly did.

And like it or not, she and Cade were very similar. Which meant she had a pretty good idea of the most spectacularly irritating ways to get under his skin.

Heck, even if this plan ended up being unsuccessful, at least she’d get to drive him crazy some; it was only fair given how damn skilled the aggravating man was at testing her sanity.

What could possibly go wrong?