plan became all too clear, and I knew I’d been a fool not to connect the dots earlier. A beautiful red Indian motorcycle was parked next to the open rear doors. It was old but in perfect condition. My pulse jumped.
“We’re not taking the truck?”
Wilder stepped up to me until he was so close I could smell the woodsy aroma of male werewolf on him. I had to raise my chin to see his eyes, and much to my irritation, he was smirking at me again. He slid his fingers under the strap of my bag, his rough skin rasping against my bare shoulder, and he lifted the bag effortlessly over my head so the strap crossed my body.
“There,” he said.
Once his own helmet was on I could breathe properly. And with my head on right I scolded myself for being once again distracted by a pretty face. I had a pretty face at home already, one I cared about a great deal. I conjured up an image of Cash as I settled onto the bike behind Wilder.
When I snaked my arms around Wilder’s waist and rested my face against his back, I found it difficult to think anything. The natural peat-and-pine scent of him was complemented by fresh soap and the faint aroma of car oil. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever known a man to smell so manly before. The firmness of his abs under the thin material of his shirt was tough to ignore as well.
I tried to lift my head away and put some distance between us, but when he started the motorcycle and the engine rumbled beneath us, I reflexively tightened my grip. I might have been in scarier situations in the past, but that didn’t mean riding with him couldn’t make me nervous.
His belly shook with a chuckle. I wanted to hit him.
Instead I hugged him, worried one misguided slap would send me falling from the bike. He rolled us into the parking lot then hit a small switch in his pocket to close the garage door. “Hang on tight, Princess.”
I gritted my teeth. His helmet bumped against mine, and the clack made my heart jump. It was ridiculous for me to be this on edge now, when I’d been calm following an actual attempt on my life. I could tell spending any further time with Wilder wouldn’t be in my best interest. Anyone hot enough to make me overlook the huge list of their character flaws was the kind of guy I’d do well to avoid.
He revved the engine and tore out of the lot. My first instinct was to keep my eyes shut the whole way home, but after a few minutes I opened them and watched as the highway blurred past in streaks of gray and green. Wilder handled the bike like a pro, keeping us smooth and straight, never erring from his path. Soon I felt safe enough to lift my head and loosen my grip slightly, shifting my hands from his stomach to his hips. The gesture felt oddly intimate.
The sharp scent of plant life and decaying debris was muted by the helmet, but I still caught it in passing. I’d liked driving this road with the window down, and as much as it pained me to admit it, I could relate to the joy felt by dogs when they stuck their faces out the window of a moving vehicle. The musky way the land smelled had always fascinated me, and having spent so many years in the bayou, I liked to be reminded of the fine line that existed between life and death.
Memere had taught me a lot about what it meant to bridge that line and harness the powers of both worlds, but I’d never been comfortable using death magic. I could, in theory, reach into the great abyss beyond the world of the living and steal magic from those who were gone. But that was dark power, bordering on voodoo, and I had no interest in messing around with voodoo.
The urge to say something bubbled up in my chest, and I didn’t know why. It wasn’t like there was a tense, awkward silence that needed to be broken. The sound of wind rushing past would steal my words away, regardless of what I said. Instead I watched and smelled and let the comfort of home sink into my pores. It didn’t take long until Wilder was turning the bike off the highway and onto a long