Doctor Wolf (The Collegium Book 4) Read online

  And despite the woman’s evil, that didn’t sit right with him.

  Liz stopped fighting her instincts and hugged him. “Thank you. For saving the children and Steve.”

  “I didn’t save them. We left the children there.” Guilt, irrational but fervent showed in his anguished eyes. Eyes that flickered to the smoke-gray of his wolf. “I was torn up. Steve was concussed. I killed the warlord, and then, we had to run. A chopper came for us in the morning. We survived the night.”

  He put his arms around her, hands restless along her spine. “Troops went in later, but the children were gone.”

  “The lost children, taught to kill.”

  “Yes. There are charities working to offer them new lives, normal lives, but…”

  She pressed her lips to his throat where he swallowed his emotion, Adam’s apple bobbing. “How do you heal souls?”

  He pressed his face against her hair.

  They stood like that for minutes. So much was clear to Liz, now. Not only her grandfather’s backing of Carson’s research—the family owed him Steve’s life—but Carson’s non-swaggering, independence. He knew his strength. He’d fought and killed a lion-were pair. For most wolves, that would have required a full pack fighting with them. And none of that mattered to him. Carson mourned the children.

  She heard his breathing deepen and knew he’d conquered his emotion. She drew back. “You don’t have to protect me. Brandon is a nuisance. I’ll deal with him.”

  “Omega wolf. Do you know what that means?”

  “That I detest conflict.”

  He touched her face. A caress. “That you heal, which you do. That you take others’ pain on yourself, which you shouldn’t. And that you have fantastically sensitive instincts. If Brandon has rattled you, then you need to let me deal with him, alpha to wannabe alpha.”

  Her smiled was wry. “He’s not an alpha, is he?”

  “No, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t powerful. What he lacks is an alpha’s protectiveness.”

  The simple statement struck a chord with her. Her grandfather was protective, so was her brother, the new Suzerain, and so was Carson. Brandon might love his children, but she received no sense that his concern extended further. Perhaps that was why, despite all his surface appeal, she was so wary of him.

  She touched a leaf of the nearest gentian, feeling its slight roughness and sensing its vitality. “I didn’t come here for you to take on my problems.” She let the leaf go and watched it spring back, heard the faint rustle of it. “I’ll tell Brandon the truth. That I panicked, not wanting to hurt his feelings, but that you and I aren’t involved, and I won’t be wooed into a relationship with him. The truth is safest.”

  Carson tipped his head fractionally, as if he’d heard something curious in her words.

  She replayed them in her head, and couldn’t detect anything. “I’ll phone him.”

  “No,” he said slowly. “John didn’t seem to think that associating with me put you in danger.”

  A faint flush rose in her face and she ducked her head, turning aside, to hide it. On the contrary, her grandfather had implicitly encouraged her involvement with Carson. Had she, mortifying thought, mentioned Carson to Brandon precisely because she did want a relationship with him despite the necessity of putting protecting Kylie first? Was that why the excuse had risen so easily to her tongue?

  Or had she recalled his quiet protectiveness and instinctively sought a refuge?

  “One date,” Carson said.

  “Pardon?”

  “Are you working, tonight?”

  “No. Tomorrow night.”

  “Dinner and a club. We’ll go dancing.”

  She stared at him.

  He elucidated. “One public date. It won’t mean much to anyone watching me—although you can’t visit here, again—but to Brandon, after what you told him today, if he pursues you I have the right to challenge him over it.”

  Challenges among weres happened, but her grandfather had strict rules of behavior for the wolves in his pack and those, like Carson, who were visiting. According to John, squabbling was for youngsters. If Carson intended to call Brandon on his behavior, then he had to have a clear case for doing so. A date, as he’d said, would provide the proof for Liz’s lie to Brandon earlier.

  And her grandfather knew they’d run together last night.

  “All right,” she agreed. “Dinner and dancing. If you don’t mind?”

  Unexpectedly, Carson grinned. “Do I mind an excuse to cuddle you on a dance floor?” He swooped and bent her back over his arm as if they were tangoing.

  She started laughing, unable to stop even as he pulled her upright. She leant against him until her laughter faded. “I have a favorite club.”

  “Ah?” Cautious. Such a clever wolf. He wanted to know what she found so hilarious.

  “Everyone will expect me to take you to the club. It serves dinner, so we can eat there.”

  “What’s the club, its theme?”

  “Salsa.” She smiled brilliantly. “Get ready to shake your booty, baby.”

  “What if I have two left feet?”

  “I’m a doctor. I’ll stitch you on a right foot.”

  It was his turn to laugh. “Okay. I’ll pick you up about eight o’clock.”

  “Uh no. Don’t do that.” Her laughter vanished in a panicked rush.

  So did his. “If you think Brandon’s watching your house, this is more than game playing. I’ll challenge him now. Stalking is wrong.”

  “No, no. My house. Eight o’clock. I’ll be waiting.” And Kylie will be hiding. “See you then. Wear your dancing shoes.”

  Carson found a parking spot within walking distance of Liz’s home and didn’t try for one closer. There probably wouldn’t be. It was a perfect summer’s night and London was heaving with people out and about, intent on enjoying the last of the warm weather.

  In Eaton Square, the iconic plane trees of London towered over all else in the private garden. Classical music drifted on the air. Someone was hosting a small concert in the park.

  Liz waited on the steps of her house, sitting there as casually as if her multi-million dollar townhouse was student digs. She smiled at him. “I’m listening to the concert. Baroque on a summer’s evening.”

  “You look like summer.”

  Her smiled widened. “Thank you.”

  He had to look away from how beautiful she was. He’d expected she’d wear something short and flirty for clubbing, but instead, she wore a peasant top, white but colorfully embroidered, falling off one shoulder, and a long full skirt that draped sensually along her thighs. The skirt was the deep green of gentian leaves. Gold hoop earrings dangled, emphasizing the graceful line of jaw to throat, with her hair tied up and back in a loose knot.

  If she had been a student, a girl waiting for him, eager to dance and love and forget the world, he’d have been tempted to do the same. But she sat on the steps of a house that was a silent, emphatic reminder of just how wealthy she was. It wasn’t just the Elixir Gentian that separated them. Liz belonged to a different world.

  She stretched out a hand, and he clasped it and helped her up. She rose effortlessly, standing tall in high heels and shaking out her skirt.

  “Can you walk in those shoes? My car’s a bit of a distance. I could come back for you.”

  “We can walk to the club from here.” She released his hand to slide her arm through his.

  They did, strolling along the sidewalk before Liz tugged him into an alley.

  He frowned. “Don’t tell me you walk home this way from the club. You shouldn’t even walk this way to the club.”

  “It’s a shortcut, since you’re with me. And I always get a taxi home or a friend drops me off. I’m aware that London is dangerous for women, even for wolf-weres. Some of the pack—” She fell abruptly silent.

  Her sudden silence could have been because they’d just emerged from the alley to a busy street, but Carson had excellent instincts for danger. �
��Some of the pack…?”

  “Some of the women are talking about taking a stroll where the surveillance cameras don’t record and luring men into attacking them.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “Fight practice and teaching would-be assailants a lesson. Women aren’t victims.”

  He blew out his breath in an aggravated sigh. “There are better ways to prove that than provoking a fight.”

  “Which is what I told them.”

  “Did they listen?”

  She smiled ruefully. “When I told them I’d tell Grandfather if they didn’t swear not to do anything so idiotic. I understand their frustration. In A&E I treat women who’ve been assaulted, raped, and abused. Children who’ve been battered.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders in a quick hug of sympathy and reassurance. “We can’t turn vigilante.”

  “Justice, not mob vengeance.” She nodded, jerkily. “Anyway, I don’t know how we got onto such a depressing topic. The club is across the road.”

  He saw an Indian restaurant, a Thai one and a bookstore. There was no sign of a flamboyant salsa club.

  He let his arm drop from her shoulders to her waist and they dashed between the traffic to the far side. A faint Latin beat reached his ears. He looked for a basement window, an underground club, but the music came from above. He glanced up, puzzled.

  “Rooftop bar. I know it’s tempting fate in London, but they have a roofed area for when it rains.” Liz ventured down yet another alley, to a set of circular stairs. “There’s a commercial elevator for those who prefer it, but I like climbing up.” And climb she did, smoothly and athletically, despite her high heels that struck the metal steps with sharp clicks.

  Round and round, dizzyingly, to emerge to a fourth story rooftop filled with tables, a hum of conversation and a live band setting up. Which meant it was recorded music that provided the background ambiance.

  “Querida!” A handsome man, not a were, greeted Liz enthusiastically, kissing her on both cheeks, before stepping back to theatrically admire Carson. It was quite a leer, but didn’t disguise the sharp assessment behind it. “And you are?”

  “He’s mine.” Liz slipped an arm around Carson’s waist, leaning into him lightly. “Carson Erving, meet Santos Rodriguez, owner, manager and guiding light of Medley. Santos, don’t scare him away.”

  “But can he dance?”

  Liz looked at Carson.

  He hid his own amusement. “A little.”

  “Margaritas,” Santos proclaimed. “Everyone can dance after margaritas.”

  They had their margaritas, lime and pineapple, and tapas-style Mexican dishes, before Liz looked wistfully at the dance floor filling with people. The live band was in full swing, and fantastic.

  “Would you like to dance?” Carson put a hint of reluctance into his voice.

  “Yes.” She sprang up, and paused a moment on the dance floor, her hand flat against his chest. She lowered her voice. “It’s okay if you’re not comfortable dancing. Just shuffle.”

  He took her hand, spun her out and pulled her in tight against his body in a classic, dominant dance move: a challenge and invitation.

  Her mouth dropped open.

  He let the rhythm drive up his feet, on through his thighs, into the movement of his hips and the limber shift of his body. “Try and keep up.”

  They salsa’d.

  Liz moved like sex and laughter. She flirted with him, teased and retreated, and obeyed the slightest hint of direction. It was as if they’d danced together for years—but years of familiarity might have dampened the energy that arced between them. This was new and overwhelming. They generated an electric atmosphere that kept other dancers at a distance. The music was just for them.

  It fell from bright demanding beat to a whispering compulsion. Carson pulled her against him and their hips ground together, marking the rhythm.

  “Where did you learn to dance like this?” she asked.

  “Mom runs a Latin dance studio. Since there were always more girls than boys enrolled, I’d be roped in.”

  The music clashed, demanding they separate. He kept his hand, fingers spread wide, at the small of her back, insisting she stay against him.

  She shimmied. “Those extra dance classes were worth it.”

  He spun her out, setting her free. “At the moment, they were worth every excruciating second.”

  The tie between them was intense, woven of attraction, matched steps and the music. Their gazes stayed locked, heating.

  “Are you going to ignore me all night?” A man in his late thirties, leopard-were by his scent, broke in.

  Liz stopped dancing to throw herself at him. “Evan!”

  He wrapped her up tight, Santos appearing like a genie beside him.

  Carson reeled in his possessive male instincts even before he caught Santos’s mocking, watchful gaze. A leopard-were could be family for Liz. She was a wolf-were, like her mom and grandfather, but her father and brother were leopard-weres. This Evan could be a cousin.

  If he wasn’t, then Carson would punch him. No. Well, maybe. Dancing with Liz had brought his alpha wolf nature very close to the surface. It growled within him, Mine.

  “Evan, this is Carson. Carson, Evan’s my cousin and Santos’ life partner.”

  They shook hands, people dancing around them. Evan’s grip was firm but not aggressive. He had nothing to prove. A hint of amusement curved his mouth. He’d recognized Carson’s possessive instincts.

  Not so Liz. She hugged Evan’s arm. “I thought you were overseas.”

  “House rule! You talk off the dance floor.” Santos swept them all towards their table. A waitress arrived instantly with fresh drinks.

  While Evan answered Liz’s questions and more on some family member, Santos leaned towards Carson and spoke low, under cover of the music. “I’m the one to watch out for if you hurt our Liz. Evan would rip your throat out, but he wouldn’t be able to because I’d hide your body so it was never found.” Somehow, the salsa club owner didn’t sound like he was exaggerating. It also sounded as if he knew his partner’s true nature.

  Carson concentrated. Beneath the swirling scents of perfume and food, he caught a hint of the other couple’s mate-bond. Yes, although mundane himself, Santos knew and had accepted Evan’s true nature. He’d also, evidently, adopted Evan’s family as his own. Liz was getting the full, protective, big brother treatment.

  Omega wolf-weres did tend to elicit that concern for them, and Carson could respect it. “I won’t hurt Liz. Her grandfather, John, will tell you.”

  “The earl?” Santos sat back. “Family approved?” He laughed. “Liz!” His call for attention attracted it from tables around.

  She broke off her conversation with Evan. “You bellowed?”

  “You know what playing games with a family-approved date leads to?”

  “Oh no. Don’t say it.” She stood in a rush and grabbed Carson’s hand.

  He let himself be pulled to the floor.

  Santos’s voice followed them. “Puppies!”

  “Puppies?” Carson murmured as Liz picked up the rhythm and ignored Santos’s laughter.

  “Santos knows weres don’t shift to their animal form until puberty. Evan has told him. We’ve all told him. But he also knows Grandfather would love for me to find a mate, have some kids.”

  “Puppies.”

  She grimaced comically. “He likes the in-joke of knowing I’m a wolf.”

  “And Evan must have told him I’m one, too.”

  “Probably.”

  Santos waved at them, one hand on his partner’s shoulder, before dashing off on some business. He was an active club owner and manager.

  Evan stayed at their table, watching them.

  Carson had a feeling Santos underestimated his partner’s lethalness. The watchful way Evan observed them had a haunted, cutting edge.

  “Evan’s a marshal.” Liz slow danced against him. “He brings in the weres suspected of awful thin
gs for judgement by…well, by Steve, these days since he’s the new Suzerain. Santos’s determined frivolity is a good balance for Evan.” She moved easily with Carson, their thighs sliding against one another’s. “Mates should balance.”

  Her arms were around his neck, her perfume subtle, enhancing her natural scent rather than masking it—at least, for a were’s acute senses. She filled Carson’s world.

  “We should go home,” she said.

  Chapter 6

  Liz swayed against Carson. They were linked by her arms around his neck, and his arms low at her waist, hands barely brushing her butt, teasing; and by their bodies shifting and aligning from chest to thigh. She followed his lead so easily on the dance floor that she couldn’t help imagining how good sex would be. She wasn’t a passive sexual partner, but she wasn’t dominant. A man who could read her body, incite it and wring more pleasure from her worked for her.

  Carson owned her body and they were simply dancing.

  Her back arched, just a fraction, pushing her hips tighter against his.

  He was so flexible, so incredibly powerful in his response to the music—and to her—that she craved more.

  “I’m working tomorrow night,” she said. “I shouldn’t have a late night, tonight. Santos has told the world we’re together and that’s what we wanted this date to announce.” It was a lie that could be true.

  She and Carson stared at one another.

  The slow, sultry song ended and a fast tempo pounded. Neither moved.

  “If I kiss you, now, will Santos shout ‘puppies’, again?”

  She’d have laughed if sheer arousal hadn’t locked her muscles, melted them. She was fused to Carson. It wasn’t the music but the pulse of his blood that she moved to. Infinitesimal movements that no one would see, but he’d feel.

  His hands slid to her butt, tilting her pelvis that fraction forward.

  He kissed her.

  Mercy. No, she didn’t want mercy! She wanted more of the torture-heaven. He flicked his tongue against hers, teased her lower lip, and then, the kiss got serious. He filled her senses, shutting out the dance floor, the crowd and music, shutting out everything that wasn’t him. She growled in her throat when he drew back.