Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven #1) - J.R. Ward Page 0,99
their proverbial separate ways, her to take a shower, him to downstairs for food, she’d been floating. He’d made them breakfast. They’d murmured over the eggs. He’d driven them into work early, before Candy had come in.
And everywhere she went, his eyes were always on her. Tracking her.
Not in a creepy way. It was as if he found her … captivating. A mystery.
She liked being someone’s fascination.
Scratch that … she liked being Daniel’s.
But what about when he left, when he moved on? He was going to leave a helluva hole to fill.
Assuming she lived that long.
As he pared off at the first branch in the trail, going to the right, just as she’d told him to, she tried to stop thinking like that. Thinking at all.
Focusing on the wolf, she ran her hand over his gray-and-white fur. The currents of air ruffled the stray, longer hairs and teased his tail, and she sent up a word of thanks to Rick—and then added a prayer in her grandfather’s tradition.
For the wolf.
And for Daniel.
Daniel was pretty good at distances. After taking three right turns, and heading so far into the preserve that even the hotel’s shave job on that forested ledge was no longer visible, he eased off the gas and let things roll to a stop.
Over the putt-putt of the ATV’s idle, he said, “This good?”
“This is perfect,” Lydia said.
He cut the engine and left the key in the ignition. Dismounting, he went around and stood off to one side. Lydia was petting the wolf, running her hand in the direction of his fur, over and over again.
She didn’t want to say goodbye.
As he watched her, he knew how that felt—and maybe that was why he couldn’t stop looking at her. He didn’t understand what it was about the woman that had gotten him so deep. Was it her hair? Her eyes? The feel of her body, the taste of her lips?
What was it exactly?
Some kind of magic as far as he could tell. Except it was not enough to keep him here, and in fact, it was something that made leaving an imperative.
But he didn’t want to say goodbye, either.
“I should just let him go,” she said in a sad way.
“It’s gotta be tough,” he murmured. “What with Rick having worked on him. Last ties and all that.”
Her hair had fallen forward and was blocking his view to her face, so he reached out—as if he had any right to reposition the waves behind her ear. Before he made contact, though, he snatched his hand back.
“You mind if I step away and smoke?” he asked. “I’ll stay downwind.”
“No, that’s fine. I just want to have a little more time.”
Daniel nodded, even though she wasn’t looking at him.
Walking off a short distance, he leaned back against a tree and took out the open pack. As he flipped the top, he was surprised to find so many of the Marlboros gone. When had he been smoking so much? Whatever. Lighting up, he coughed into his fist and then stared out to the valley. The northernmost tip of the lake was gleaming in the sunshine and the unseasonable warmth seemed like a peace offering from the weather, a way of making up for the brutal, long winter.
God, he was tired. And that fucking nightmare, just what he didn’t need—
“I think he’s coming around,” Lydia said. “We better lay him down and move away. We can watch him to make sure he fully revives, from a distance. Rick always …” Her voice caught and she cleared her throat. “When Rick and I used to do this, we made sure that the wolves were safe, but not interfered with. He wouldn’t … well, he never approved of me getting so close.”
Daniel glanced at the lit Marlboro. For some reason, it was down nearly to the quick, like he’d been puffing for a good ten minutes.
His sense of time was really fucked, wasn’t it.
“You took amazing care of him,” he said as he killed the butt with his fingertips and put it in his back pocket. “That’s all that matters.”
As he went over to her, she said, “Rick’s standards were higher than mine—or maybe my heart is just too in it. I should be more professional.”
Studying her, Daniel thought, I want to hold this memory forever. Of this woman and her wolf, both so fierce, so fragile.