Wolves' Bane (The Order of the Wolf, #3)(35)
I squinted into the darkness, straining to see beyond the dense line of trees.
“Morgan.”
Another snap of a branch had me turning on my heel, no longer curious or interested in discovering what lay beyond the protection of the property. With terror propelling me, I made it back to the house in less than a couple of minutes, the stitch in my side sending me down to my knees as I panted for air and looked fearfully over my shoulder at the forest line.
Something was out there, just as Cal had warned.
And it wanted me.
Chapter Sixteen
The Threat
Cal slid on his hand-wrap, then methodically began taping his wrist and knuckles, winding the tape with practiced ease. He was edgy and in a foul mood. Lance was out with the girls, jogging along the perimeter of the property as he liked to do and it had Cal anxious. He wasn’t keen on the idea of Morgan being out there so close to danger, even if the bastards couldn’t touch her—wouldn’t be able to get through the magical barrier. Why Lance couldn’t run on the treadmill, Cal would never understand.
But that was only part of the problem. The thought of suave Lance out there flirting with Morgan—as he was undoubtedly doing—had Cal even more riled up. It should have been him training with his Huntress, but after the night before, there was no way she would tolerate his direction. They needed some space from one another, and Lance was the next best choice when it came to training coaches. He wouldn’t let Morgan slack off.
Vibrating with pent-up stress, he needed an outlet. The punching bag always worked—that or drilling a few werewolves in a good ol’ fashioned ass-kicking. But the wolves were behaving, or at least biding their time. There hadn’t been any new reports of attacks since they had retrieved Morgan. That in itself had Cal worried. The wolves hadn’t slowed down in their attacks for years, always keeping the Hunters on high alert. But the guys out in the field—Jeremy and his team—had reported no movement, no human killings, no sightings. It was eerily odd and Cal didn’t like it. Lazarus was waiting for something.
He moved over to the bag and started with a few light punches, warming up his muscles, breaking in the bag. Unwittingly, his thoughts drifted to the night before, to Morgan’s lithe body as she undulated with her growing pleasure, to the feel of her pressing against his erection, to the softness of her lips and the wicked taste of her tongue. It was enough to drive him mad—his desire for her, to bond and make her his. He’d hardly slept all night, one fantasy playing into another as he imagined what it would be like to take her in every possible way. With a hard jab that sent the bag careening to the left, Cal pulled his thoughts away from the torment that was Morgan. There was no use dwelling anyway. She hated him. Again.
He grunted as he picked up his pace, moving around the bag and landing several hard punches in quick succession, then switching to combination shots—short and long jabs, hooks and then crosses. He kneed and kicked, jolting the bag in every direction. He was caught up in his workout, his body burning with adrenaline, his skin coated in sweat, blocking out any thought, any outside stimulus. It was only when his tattoo flared with warmth, burning him hotter than his workout that he realized Morgan was standing at the other end of the room. Watching him. Studying him.
He cocked an eyebrow in her direction, slowing only a fraction as he continued to pummel the bag. “You come to scream at me some more?”
She shook her head slowly, her gaze traveling down the length of him as she took a step closer. When her eyes returned to meet his, Cal realized something was wrong. She was pale and shaking.
He was at her side a second later, using his hands to feel for injury, scanning her body from head to toe, inspecting for any damage. “What happened?”
Morgan shook her head again and swallowed, waving him away as she moved to sit on the bench that lined the wall. “Something’s in the w-w-woods,” she stuttered.
“Did you see something out there?” Cal stared down at her, clenching and unclenching his fist. “I’m going to kill Lance. I told him not to run outside.”
Morgan coughed. “Could you…could you get me some water?”
He calmed his fury long enough to grab her a bottle of water from the pantry, as well as an energy bar. “Here,” he said as he handed them over. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Eat this.”
When Morgan opened her mouth to argue, Cal gave her a stern look and forced the bar into her hand. “Eat it.”
She pulled in a deep breath. “I’m fine.”
“Like hell you are. You’re as pale as death. What did you see?”
Morgan shook her head, then took a sip of the water and a tentative bite of the bar. Grimacing, she moved to set the bar down on the bench, but a warning growl from Cal had her taking a larger bite.
“Where’s Lance and Candy?”
Morgan swallowed the piece she was chewing and cleared her throat. “Lance and Candy are still running. I got a cramp.”
His fury exploded again and he paced a short circuit in front of her. “And what? He left you behind? That son of a bitch, I’m going to—”
Morgan stood and laid her hand on his forearm, her touch instantly stilling him. “It’s okay, Cal. I wasn’t far from the house. Nothing attacked me. I just heard something.”