True Colors (Elder Races #3.5)(6)

Not even the lights of the 94th Precinct could offer Alice any comfort as the square brick-and-stone building appeared suddenly, a great, hulking, shadowed mass in the gray-and-black night. Faceless evil destroyed her friends and stalked her community. The grief and fear were crushing.

Then there was this, a different kind of reason to shake, an impossible sense of knowing about someone she didn’t know at all. The conviction invaded her bones and assaulted her skeptical, resisting soul.

She didn’t want a mate. She didn’t even like to date. All of those questions everybody asked, the same ones, over and over. What do you do for a living? What do you do for fun? What do you like to eat? Are you seeing anybody else?

Did anybody ever answer those questions truthfully on the first date?

Alice’s tendencies followed her shy Wyr nature. She was a quiet person who liked solitary pursuits. She enjoyed reading, quilting, long walks and biking in parks, camping and books on tape. Her idea of going renegade was to make a radical departure from a food recipe. While she adored all fifteen of the quirky, rambunctious children in her classroom, she often spent her evenings at home recovering from the intense social interactions of the day. She got her social needs met by the routine get-togethers of her group, other teachers at lunch, periodic phone calls and letters to her parents and, oh gods, Haley.

The gigantic menacing stranger—what had Garcia called him? Detective Gideon Riehl. He couldn’t be who she thought he was. She had to be suffering from some kind of internal system malfunction, a strange by-product from all the stress of the last few days.

Wyr were deadly when they turned criminal. By definition, anyone who worked in the New York Police Department’s elite WDVC lived a violent, dangerous life. In order to bring down criminal Wyr, the members of the WDVC had to be better, more efficient killers than the Wyr they hunted. Alice couldn’t imagine anyone more unlike her. No wonder he had terrified her.

Had he felt something when he’d first laid eyes on her? Did he share the same, insane conviction that she was his mate? If he hadn’t, she had to worry about herself. If he had, then she had a whole lot of other things to worry about.

She caught sight of Detective Riehl’s unmistakable, immense figure as he paced in front of the precinct’s doors. He was bare-headed, his battered leather jacket unzipped. Apparently he was immune to the brutal blizzard shrieking around him. Riehl turned as Garcia pulled the patrol car over to the curb. He was already striding forward as the cruiser slowed to a smooth stop.

A powerful insanity took over Alice as she watched him approach. He moved his massive body with athletic, sure fluidity, those impossibly long legs of his making short work of the distance between them. His light-colored gaze fixed on her with the same unnerving intensity as earlier, but instead of filling her with panic, this time she knew that he was her only shelter from the killing storm.

Her gaze clung to him, her breath sawing in her throat as she groped for a handle, only belatedly remembering there weren’t handles in the back of a police car when Riehl reached out and gently opened the door for her. His icy gaze steady, he held out both powerful hands to her.

Maybe she meant to run. The part of her that continued to be appalled wanted to. The greater part of her, the insane part, reached for his outstretched hands with both of hers. His palms were hot and calloused under her fingers. He supported her weight as she somehow got her trembling muscles to work and climbed out of the car. Her teeth were audibly clacking, her pride nowhere to be found. He gave her face one keen, searching glance then he simply enfolded her in his arms. His warmth and scent surrounded her, and the relief and comfort were indescribable.

“Everything’s going to be all right now,” he rumbled quietly in her ear. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She gave up all thought of running, abandoned every sense of pride and propriety, and leaned against his broad, muscled chest. It felt like a strong and sturdy home.

Now that they were up close and personal, Riehl found Alice Clark such a wee little thing, he could almost pick her up and put her in his pocket. He rubbed her slender back as she huddled against him. For some reason his heart had decided to do a jackhammer tempo. The wolf in him growled as she trembled, but he kept a stern hold on his beast. Now was not the time to go all Cujo on anybody and run the risk of freaking her out even further. But he angled his head and bared his teeth in silent warning as the two uniforms stepped out of the police car and approached a little too close.

The male uniform held up his hands in a placating gesture. The female narrowed her eyes on him and said deliberately, “Ms. Clark, do you need anything else from us?”

Riehl’s snarl deepened as Alice’s arms fell away from his waist. She would have turned away from him too except he refused to let her go. She turned her head instead. Her wild, adorable, gold-tipped corkscrew curls tickled his chin, and he wanted to rub his face all over her as she said, “No. Thank you for everything.”

“You’re welcome,” said the female. She gave him an extra glare before turning away with her partner as they went back to their shift.

Alice tilted her head to look up at him. He assessed her strained expression. Thin, gold, wire-rim glasses framed large hazel eyes, brilliant with flecks of blue and green, against cocoa-and-cream skin so lustrous it made his mouth water with the urge to lick her everywhere. Her delicate, somewhat ascetic features were smudged with tearstains and lingering traces of fear. Standing out in the frigid cold, her shivering had increased.