“Slipped from her leash. She’ll be back.” His smile was taunting. “Like you, she has nowhere else to go.”
Harley jerked from his touch. Bastard.
“So now you’ve lost half your pack and your demon, and you’ve left behind a trail that will lead the pissed off King of Weres and his angry posse directly to this lair.”
Caine shrugged. “I’ll call for one of the local witches. My trail will be long gone by the time the almighty Salvatore manages to get out.”
“Get out of where?”
“I collapsed the tunnel on top of them.”
“God. Are you even barely sane?”
“Once they manage to heal enough to dig out of the rubble, they’ll discover the entrance has been completely blocked. They will have no choice but to turn back.”
“You’re pretty damned cocky for a cur who has just pissed off your royal master.”
“I don’t have a master,” Caine snarled, revealing a glimpse of resentment at being a lowly cur instead of a full Were, before he smoothed out his expression. “And besides, the prophecies have spoken. I’m destined to transform the curs into purebloods. Nothing can happen to me.”
Harley snorted. Caine wasn’t a complete loon. He managed to control his large pack that he had spread throughout the Midwest with an iron hand. He was a Harvard trained scientist who made a fortune with his black market drugs. He regularly kicked her ass at Scrabble.
But at some point in his very long life, he claimed he’d been visited by an ancient pureblood who had given him a vision. Harley didn’t pretend to understand it. Something about seeing his blood run pure.
Being a scientist, he naturally assumed this miracle would be performed in a lab, which was why he kept Harley as his permanent houseguest. He thought by studying her blood he could find the answers he sought. Moronic, of course. Visions were the stuff of mist and magic, not glass beakers and microscopes.
“Look, if you want to get yourself killed because of your delusions of grandeur, I don’t give a shit.” She narrowed her eyes. “But I’m not going to be happy if you put me in the firing line.”
Caine stepped forward, reaching to trail his fingers over her shoulder. His touch was warm, experienced. She shook him off.
A woman would have to be dead not to find Caine attractive, but Harley needed more than simple lust. She needed…hell, she didn’t know what she needed, only that she hadn’t yet found it.
Besides, her skin was suddenly feeling hypersensitive. As if it had been rubbed raw by sandpaper.
“Would I ever put you in danger, sweet Harley?” Caine goaded.
“In a heartbeat, if it meant saving your own hide.”
“Harsh.”
“But true.”
“Perhaps.” His gaze dipped downward, studying her sports bra. “I need a shower. Why don’t you join me?”
“In your dreams.”
“Every night. Do you want to know what we’re doing?”
“I’d rather yank out your tongue and eat it for dinner.”
With a laugh, he snapped his teeth near her nose. “Naughty Were. You know how it makes me hard when you threaten violence.”
Spinning on her heel, Harley headed for the door. “You’d better make that a cold shower or you won’t have to worry about Salvatore Giuliani slicing off your balls. I’ll already have them dangling from my rear view mirror.”
She tuned out Caine’s low laugh as she headed toward the front of the house.
It was late and she was tired, but she ignored the carved wooden staircase that led to the bedrooms as she entered the paneled foyer.
What the hell was wrong with her?