“Don’t make me kick your ass myself, Chulo. Blood or no blood you’ll be at the bottom of the pack if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
Chulo growled, his eyes flashing wolf-yellow but Angel growled louder, his lips wrinkling back from his teeth as he took a step toward his cousin. Abruptly Chulo gave a soft whine and looked down, breaking the staring match. Paul knew if he’d been in wolf form he would have been on his back right now, offering his packleader his belly and throat in a show of submission. As it was he ducked his head and backed away.
Mercedes was smart enough to go with him and the rest of the pack dissipated too, as though by silent consent. Soon Paul was alone with his packleader in the overgrown backyard with the nearly full moon riding high in the sky above them.
“Okay.” Angel turned to him, frowning. “Now what the fuck, Paul?”
Paul shrugged, trying to look cool. “Mercedes is full of shit.” It was a flat-out lie— the first he’d ever told his packleader and he hoped Angel couldn’t smell it on him. He was doing his best to keep his breathing calm and his face neutral but his heart was still racing and the palms of his hands were damp. If Angel realized he was lying…
“Yeah, she usually is.” Angel gave him a searching look. “So she really tried to poison you?”
Paul nodded guardedly. “Had the shit all over her fingernails and she clawed me.
My stepmom said I barely got to her in time.”
Angel’s eyes narrowed. “And the marks on your neck?”
Fang marks. So they are still there. “The vamp in the park bit me before I eighty-sixed him.”
“So why aren’t they healed yet?” Angel sounded skeptical.
Paul shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “How the hell should I know? I’ve never been bitten by one of those fuckers before. How do I know how long a bite takes to heal?” Inside his head he kept feeling Laurent’s mouth against his throat, and then his mouth on Laurent’s, the other man’s body against his own as they rubbed against each other, pushing each other higher and higher… God, have to stop thinking like this!
“All right.” Angel nodded but he was still frowning suspiciously. “Is what Mercedes said true—you can’t shift right now?”
“No, I can’t,” Paul said shortly. And as soon as I get out of here I’m going to find out why the fuck not.
“Okay, so it’s good I voided the challenge. But if I know Chulo, he’s going to want a rematch and soon. I can give you a week—two max to get your shit together.”
“That should be plenty of time.” Paul lifted his chin. “I’ll show him his place. And I want something done about Mercedes—she nearly fucking killed me.”
In the past Angel would have agreed with him. Mercedes would have been busted out of the pack in a heartbeat. But now the packleader just frowned and shook his head.
“Haven’t you heard the old saying—what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger?”
“Angel—”
“Look, Paul.” Angel put a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. “I don’t know what’s going on with you right now and I don’t want to know. I just want my second wolf at my side without all this bullshit. So fix it, okay? You fix this shit before I have to fix you. You got me?” Paul stared into the black eyes of his best friend and saw none of the warmth he was used to. Angel’s eyes were flat and shiny as buttons in the moonlight. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Yeah, I got you, Angel. No problemo. ”
“Good.” Angel patted his cheek gently. “Now get the fuck out of here and go home.
I don’t want to see you again until you’re ready to fight.”
Paul nodded and turned to go but home was the last place on his mind. Laurent was already making another appearance in his head—this time he was naked and wet in the shower. The image made Paul hard as a rock even though he knew it was wrong.
The vampire owed him a major explanation and he intended to get it tonight.
Chapter Eight
The angry hammering on his door didn’t exactly take Laurent by surprise. The connection between himself and Paul—however imperfect it was—allowed him to catch glimpses of the were from time to time so he knew Paul was coming over. What he hadn’t realized was how close the other man was. He’d been taking a shower and the pounding outside came just as he was trying to dry off.
“Open the fucking door!” He could hear Paul growling. “I know you’re in there, Laurent—I can see you inside my fucking head. So get out here or let me in.”
Cursing in French, Laurent rubbed a towel over his damp hair and pulled on a pair of slacks. Then he ran to the door, hoping to get Paul safely inside before the racket attracted his parents’ attention.