8. Chapter Eight

Undeniable, the urge to close the distance between them was a nagging ache beneath his skin. For a man driven by instinct, it was hard to strangle the impulses he felt with Cortana. Riaz struggled with the reality of the woman before him versus the woman his wolf wanted to believe she was.

Because his wolf claimed this woman was pack, and his instincts were never wrong—the creature was innately keyed into werewolves under his care and their wellbeing. They were family.

Cortana was a force to be reckoned with in her own right, a key figure in the community and lieutenant to one of the most powerful vampires in modern history. He wouldn't admit it, but he'd done his research on her while she slept—both on the vexing laptop and by asking the other immortals who were familiar with her. At four hundred years old, she'd lived through countless wars and trials, overcoming each obstacle and emerging stronger on the other side.

She clearly didn't need any help from him, but damn if his wolf didn't bemoan that. The creature pushed at his skin, his claws tingling on the tips of his fingers, salivating for the shift. Riaz had work to do and no time for it.

"We missed the shift change, but we can still scope out the fence line."

He knew Cortana would hear him, even if his voice was barely audible. While werewolves had the edge, vampires had similarly keen senses. He pointed toward the main building.

"The largest is where they manufacture colloidal silver, but we've yet to get blueprints. The brick building over there is for liquid sunlight, and from the way it's built, our pack architect was able to draw a few ideas together about internal structure."

"Have we been inside the fence at all?" Low, the vampire's voice was like a sensual caress to his ears, making him want to close his eyes and enjoy the sound as though he was tasting the finest chocolate.

"Not yet, and we shouldn't risk it tonight. At least, not until we have blueprints for the main building."

Going silent, Riaz maintained his position as Cortana scrutinized the exterior of the buildings. Everything about her drew him in—and though his attention never strayed from the guards walking the perimeter, he was studying her just as closely as she was studying the buildings. When she gave him a nod, they crept back toward the brush that'd conceal them.

When they were out of hearing range of the guards, she asked, "What weaponry do the guards carry?"

"Besides your basic bat and a taser, they carry a handgun, but we've yet to determine what ammunition they hold."

The scathing glare she gave him indicated just what she thought of the failure. "We're planning an attack, and you still haven't found out if their guns are one-shot kills or a bee sting at most?"

His jaw clenched. "I haven't been able to weasel it out of one off the guards during our daily brunch, no. But don't worry, I have high hopes for Donut Day next week."

Sighing at his misplaced sarcasm, Cortana rubbed her temples with her forefingers. "Well, anticipating complete and utter failure on Donut Day, I think we can reasonably assume they're packing what they're manufacturing."

"We'll be careful."

Cortana was pensive for a moment before she asked, "Why don't we just blow up the place now?"

"If we nuke it now, we risk it looking like a deliberate attack instead of an internal failure. We have to make sure the human authorities don't suspect any foul play. I won't risk it backfiring on the den in any capacity."

The look Cortana gave him betrayed her innermost thoughts: that up until that moment, she hadn't considered him a leader worthy of the position he claimed. Eyes of deepest brown held his, a line forming between her eyebrows as if she'd expected him to be as casual about his pack's safety as he was about protocol and keeping up to date with technology.

It made his wolf snarl.

While Riaz had little regard for formality and even less for the modern devices everyone in this century seemed so eager to shackle themselves to, his dedication to the safety of his people would never be questioned. For this particular vampire to doubt it made his fur stand on end.

He stopped walking, forcing her to pause alongside him.

"Did you believe I care so little for my people as to endanger them with such a risk?"

"No," was her immediate reply, but the timidity that followed proved it false. She drew in a breath, then met his eyes once more, an apology behind them. "Yes."

All of his attention focused on her, the wolf peering at her through his eyes. "My pack is my life, Cortana. There is nothing I would not give to ensure their safety; no piece of me I wouldn't surrender. Don't mistake my informality for ineptitude."

She dipped her chin and nodded. "Forgive me. It wasn't my intention to insult you."

"Nothing to forgive." He paused a beat before a lopsided smile split his lips. "Come on, Pet, let's blow this joint. I'm starving."

Now familiar with the path, they made good time back to the bike. Riaz rolled it back from its trappings behind the brush, pushing it up the incline to where Cortana waited, swathed in the night's shadows. Mounting it in one fell swoop, his heart thudded in his chest as she swung on behind him.

This close, it was impossible to deny the desire that heated his blood. While he readied the bike for departure, he tried to calm the wolf's need to declare her as his own, to scent mark her and ensure no other creature would ever dispute his claim.

His claim?

Riaz froze. A lick of anxiety rose within his gut in tandem with understanding, his wolf howling the truth of it. Since the moment she'd thrown a dagger at his head, he'd known something would be different about her—and now it was beginning to make sense.

"Tell me, Cortana," he purred, "is there a Mr. Dracula I need to be worried about?"

One undignified grunt spoke for her.

Bike jolting forward with a roar, she tightened her hold on Riaz's waist. He tried not to think about the way her shapely legs molded against his, the feminine scent of her that called to his primary instincts, nor the blaze of that would be their first kiss.

Swallowing his instincts, he quipped, "Just making sure I don't end up a throw rug on someone's floor—or the lining in someone's coffin."

"And why would you worry about that?"

"Because try as you might, you're still wrapped around me like a barnacle," he chuckled. "Not that I mind, Pet."

Where they would've turned back to the den, Riaz kept straight, the motorcycle carrying them toward downtown Estes Park. No one could deny the charm of the city, and his lips curled as he absorbed the scenic drive that transitioned seamlessly to town.

Riaz slowed the bike, crawling through the main streets as his passenger peered curiously at their surroundings. Shops buttoned alongside the road, their classic exteriors bringing with it a sense of times past. While some bore a resemblance to the style of the roaring twenties, others were built with natural facades, rugged wood and shingles designed to bear tribute to the mountains in which they resided.

Streetlamps illuminated the paths of bag-laden shoppers, most businesses already having closed their doors for the night. The very nature of the town would be a stark contrast to New York City where Cortana lived, where everything was designed to be fast and furious, always open, and never happy to see you.

Here, time was far more content, opting instead for a leisurely skip rather than a mad dash.

It was one of the things Riaz appreciated most about the town. Tourists might come and go—and take all the best parking spots—but there was a quaintness about his adopted hometown that he'd never take for granted.

He'd traveled the world, but never found anywhere quite like Estes Park.