Desire Untamed (Feral Warriors #1)(13)

Was he really? Or was he merely playing with her emotions again, this time from a distance?

She refused to race out of the room like a scared little girl letting her imagination run away with her. Not that her current situation didn't warrant some trepidation, but feeling ill at ease about the unknown didn't mean there was some evil presence breathing down her neck.

For heaven's sake, she was still in her nightie. And it had to be late. She looked around for a clock. Almost five o'clock. In the evening, she supposed. She'd slept all day.

Kara grabbed the toiletries from her suitcase and headed for the private bathroom. But despite telling herself there was nothing to be afraid of, the feeling of disquiet wouldn't go away. She raced through her shower in record time chanting one word over and over and over.

Lyon.

Fifteen minutes later, Kara started down the stairs, her eyes darting and watchful as she followed the sound of male voices somewhere in the house. All through her shower, and since, the unnatural dread had ebbed and flowed, rising to chill her skin and make her pulse race, then falling again. She hoped she was just being paranoid, prayed that when she found Lyon and asked if there was any reason she should feel spooked, he'd tell her no, of course not. Then he'd introduce her to the rest of the Feral Warriors, men as nice and charming as Tighe, and give her the full tour of the house, which would include a swimming pool or gazebo, or something equally luxury-mansionish, and she'd laugh at her completely unfounded misgivings.

She really hoped that was what happened, because right this moment she wanted to bolt from the house and not stop running until she crossed the Mississippi.

Her nose caught a whiff of roast pork as she stepped onto the painted floor of the foyer, making her empty stomach growl in complaint. She'd never had a chance to eat that soup last night… or anything since. Her trepidation took a sudden backseat to hunger. Maybe Lyon was in the kitchen. And if not? She'd grab something to eat before she continued her search.

The mouthwatering aroma seemed to be coming from the same direction as the voices, down a long, wide hall lined with more paintings. The voices became clearer as she walked.

"I can beat you, dog."

"Don't call me dog."

"Tonight at midnight. Outside the wards. No knives."

The second man grunted. "Deal."

"Morons," said a third voice Kara thought she recognized as Tighe's. "If they swarm, you're both dead."

Kara eased into the doorway of a spacious, window-lined room. Outside, the budding trees dripped with rain against a gray sky, darkening with dusk. Inside, large blue-and-gold birds covered the wallpaper in a dizzying explosion of color lit by a pair of chandeliers half the size of the one in the foyer, yet no less grand. At a table that looked like it might have been stolen from the court of one of the old French kings, sat four huge men. They ate and talked with one another as naturally and casually as if they sat in a rustic kitchen instead of a painfully formal dining room.

"Let 'em swarm," the first man said. She could see him, now, sitting facing the doorway, a shaggy thatch of red hair framing a youthful, freckled face. "Wulfe and I are going hunting, aren't we, my man?"

"I'm not your man."

The red-haired one looked up and saw her, then rose to his feet, prompting the others to do the same. Kara felt her cheeks grow warm. The only one she recognized was Tighe, who was even now slipping on a pair of sunglasses.

He motioned to her with a friendly grin. "Come join us, Kara."

Four pairs of eyes pinned her, watching her with varying degrees of interest and curiosity, making her feel ill at ease in a way that was utterly foreign to her. At home, she was never self-conscious, but. there had never been a reason to be. Everyone knew her and had since she was a baby. She was just Kara. Miss MacAllister to her preschoolers.

But she wasn't Miss MacAllister anymore. She was the chosen one. And what exactly did that mean? How did they expect her to act? Immortal VIP wasn't a role she'd ever imagined for herself. But she did know how to be Kara MacAllister, and she supposed that would have to be enough for now.

Kara took a deep breath and forced her feet to cross to the table where the men stood waiting for her. Watching her. Four of the most physically imposing men she'd ever seen other than Lyon.

Reaching them, she thrust out her hand to the nearest man, the biggest of the bunch. As she looked up into his face, she caught her breath in a small, startled gasp. She had to force herself not to jerk back at the scars that crisscrossed his hard, rugged face. Had he been in an accident? A bad one, by the looks of his nose, which had to have been broken at least half a dozen times.

The scowl on his mouth was only partly due to the scar tugging his lip downward, and she realized she was staring. And still standing with her empty hand outstretched.

"I… I'm sorry." Her hand dropped self-consciously as her gaze rose to his. In his eyes she saw not so much anger as a hardness. And maybe a hint of resignation. "I'm Kara. Kara MacAllister."

Something flickered in his gaze, softening the harsh lines of that badly scarred face. Easing, if only slightly, that scowl. He lifted a hand the size of a dinner plate to the spot hers had been moments before.

"I'm Wulfe."

Kara took the proffered olive branch without hesitation and managed to smile at him. "Hi, Wulfe."