Zeven Ways To Kill Your Lover

...Zeven fought through the angry red haze. Damn it all to fucking hell. How could Harley be here? What exactly had she done? How the hell was he going to keep her alive?

He ached to take her into his arms, to ignore everything but the feel of her under his hands and lips. He backed away from the temptation. With a little air, maybe he could think this through.

“Are you going to kill me?” she repeated

“Shut the fuck up.” At Harley’s shocked expression, he realized his frustration might have been mistaken for an answer. He sucked in breath after breath until he hit level and once more had a little control. “No, I am not going to kill you.”

Harley sagged against the wall. “You always did have a way with words.”

“And you had a way of calming me that I’ve been without for a long while.” Shit, the Harley of long ago had been the only one who’d broken through his attitude back then, and there hadn’t been another since. “Now isn’t the time to reminisce.”

“Right. Now is the time to run.” She made as if to dodge around him and bolt for the door, but with a smooth grab, he caught her arm and spun her back the other direction.

Zeven blocked her escape. “I never run.”

“Well, I do. I’m damn good at running. Running is all that’s kept me alive.” Harley’s angry retort made little sense. But then people being hunted weren’t often thinking at their best.

“You don’t need to run. They won’t be sending anyone else after you.” At least not right away. His never-fail reputation would gain Harley some leeway. “Why do they want you dead? I need to know what happened.”

Harley glared at him for a long silent moment. Then she paced slowly around the room.

Leaning against the back of the sofa, Zeven settled in for a wait. Even ten years ago Harley had been a pacer. That was simply how she thought. The motion calmed her and allowed her best ideas to come out. Two or maybe three trips across the room and then she’d tell her story, then they could find a way out of the mess.

Without stopping, Harley began talking. “All I did was stop at a bar on the way home from the hospital. I should have known better. John’s instincts about danger have always been horrible and Roxie would go along with any idea.”

His stomach tightened into a knot. “Is John your husband?”

“Husband? Zeven, I’m not married.”

He drew in a deep breath and knew then the question had been stupid. The only scent in the house was Harley’s. She lived here alone. “Your name…I thought—”

“That I was married? No, I just changed my name. I was hoping to settle here and didn’t want the name Walters to bring your pack to my door. I guess that doesn’t matter much now.” The hitch in her voice twisted his insides just a little more.

Guilt came hard on the heels of relief. While she was telling him how her life had gone to hell all he wanted to do was rejoice that she wasn’t married. “Just tell me what happened.”

She nodded and rubbed a hand over her face. “John and Roxie work, or worked, with me in the emergency room. We’d all just had a rough night after an ugly three-car accident. They thought a drink would help. I should have argued, but instead, I followed them inside. The moment I did, I realized just how big a mistake we’d made.” She paced back across the room. “There was a mild bar fight at the opposite side of the room, the kind of squabble that doesn’t send anyone to the ER. Every bad ass in the joint—about thirty of them—was jacked high on the need to get in on the action. I could tell that much and that everyone else seemed to be werewolves.”

That brought him upright fast. Not many could tell his kind from the average human.

“Yes, I could tell. I’ve gotten very good at picking the werewolves out even when they try to blend in, which these weren’t attempting to do. I grabbed John’s arm and tried to get him to leave right then, but he refused. Roxie was already heading for the bar and John shook me off to join her there. I knew it was turning ugly even before it did. Too many angry werewolves crammed in there and their emotions were so wild, thick enough to choke me.”

Holy shit, how could she as a human have felt their emotions? It was something only other wolves could do, as far as he knew. “Was that how you knew they were werewolves, by their emotions?”

Her brows drew together. “No, I don’t think so. I just always know. I think it’s how they move or something.”

Interesting how she said “them,” rather than including him among the ones she hated and feared. The slip of phrasing gave him a little hope...