Page 4 of Killian
“Troublemakers?” asked Killian, smiling back at her.
She took a step closer, and he inhaled the delicate scent of her. He felt a flutter of nerves in his belly. Troublemakers had his name, and they had sent Moira to find him. Why? It couldn’t be good, could it? He never got that lucky.
“That does sound like our kind of people,” he added, feeling wistful. It would be nice to know other wolves, although Killian knew what he really meant was that it would be nice to know Moira.
“Oh, you have no idea,” she said.
“I think I’d like to get an idea,” he said, matching her step with one of his own. “I’m Killian.”
“Yes,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I know.”
“Killian Adeche,” he said, feeling his cheeks grow hot.
“Moira DeSandre,” she replied.
He was almost close enough to touch her, and he wanted that more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life. There was a shout from below them, and his head snapped around, remembering that they weren’t alone on the mountain.
“Fucking warlocks,” said Moira derisively. “I should have dropped a bigger boulder on them.” Then she turned to him with another of her brilliant smiles. “Race you to the door?”
“Yes,” he agreed instantly, although he felt like he would have agreed to anything she suggested.
Episode 2
Race to the Door
Moira
Moira leaped from a boulder and knew she was showing off a little for Killian, but he’d seemed so unimpressed with her. She wasn’t used to that. Ahead of them, she could see a flash of gold in the mountainside that she hoped was the door. Behind them, she could hear the shouts of the warlocks.
Plenty of people were cautious around the DeSandre pack, but Killian had a wary edge that she associated with lone wolves. He’d certainly looked surprised to have her help with the warlocks. But every male wolf she’d met since puberty had done his best to impress her or show some sort of interest. Killian had held back, and she wasn’t sure what to make of that. She couldn’t tell if he was being thoughtful or just not interested.
Not that she should be worrying about Killian anyway. She had a mission. Their species was dying. Unable to mate with humans, unable to make werewolves, Shifters were dying out. And with global climate disaster looming, pandemic ravaging the globe, and warlocks becoming as common as mushrooms, Albert DeSandre had decided to take the unprecedented action of aligning with other races. His pact was causing waves among the wolves. And lately, every wolf she’d met had wanted to voice an opinion, frequently an unflattering one, about her family. Every wolf but Killian.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. Killian had moved out sideways along the path so that he was visible in her peripheral vision and not directly behind her. That was polite since they weren’t from the same pack, but she got the feeling that he wasn’t really trying to race so much as politely keep an eye onher.
Well, screw him. She was here to find out how to make werewolves again. She would focus on the mission.
Moira snuck another look at Killian. Even on the tumbling gravel of the slope, he ran with a sure-footed gait. His gear looked well-lived in and reminded her of all her grandfather and uncle’s things. They didn’t like buying new items when this one had workedjust finefor twenty years. Never mind that someone might have invented something better in the last few decades. She wished she could get a better smell of him, but he’d been reluctant to get close to her, and she’d been upwind. Moira was struck by a fresh and terrifying thought—what if he didn’t like how she smelled?
When she’d been sent on this mission, all Aunt Azure had told her was to expect was Killian. It was just a name, and Azure hadn’t even been sure it would be a wolf. Moira had found a few Killians on the lists, but none of them had been likely suspects to match Azure’s vision. Moira had been expecting that Killian would turn out to be Fae, like Azure. Someone who would probably be helpful to her mission and focused on saving Supernaturals like Azure was. It seemed like a workable theory—she was going to a Fae-run library, and Azure’s visions were usually about how to best protect the pact and her family—so it was reasonable to expect a helpful Fae. But Killian didn’t seem to match any of that, and now she wondered just why Killian was here.
Moira did have to admit that she was very happy to have Killian turn out to be a wolf. A wolf with gorgeous brown skin and eyes to make any girl breathless.
Moira wrinkled her nose and tried to refocus.
She was here to find out how to make werewolves. That was the mission. Not Killian. Werewolves could change things for all Shifters. But at least as a wolf, Killian would understand that.
Of course, she loved Azure and tried not to be speciesist, but she did not understand how her uncle managed his inter-species mate. It just seemed like relationships were hard enough without having a partner who didn’t really understand the needs of a shape-shifter. She respected the hell out of the wolves who were taking up the challenge of mating with humans, but although she had taken the cure, she was hoping fate didn’t have a human picked out for her. On the other hand, fate was fate. You couldn’t fuck with that. Unless you were Azure. But since Moira was no Fae seer, she figured the rule held.
The trail dipped down and rounded a chunk of rock, and she heard Killian speed up behind her. The next thing she heard was Killian’s feet leaving the ground. He leaped from the rock berm, sailing over her head. He landed in front of her and tossed a laughing grin over his shoulder. He was ahead. So much for not racing. More like biding his time. Moira growled and sped up.
She thought it was a good sign. Someone only bothered to show off if they wanted to impress the audience. Moira tried to decide if she wanted him to show off because she was used to a certain level of attention or if she really wanted him to like her.
She rounded another turn, nearly colliding with him in mid-path where he had stopped, and caught her first real whiff of him. She had to restrain herself from making an mmmm noise. Something in his scent reminded her of the very best sort of pastry or baked good. That was enough to answer the question—she wanted him to like her because shereallyliked how he smelled.
“Warlocks,” he growled. Moira followed his pointing finger, trying to remember that they were in danger. Further down the gravel slide, the warlocks had gathered in a clump.
“Don’t they feel like idiots in those stupid robes?” demanded Moira.
