Wild Hunger (The Phoenix Pack, #7)(61)

“If you’re sensing it, she’ll be sensing it too.” She hadn’t said a word about it, though.

“Probably. You won’t have to hold out much longer, Trick. I’ve watched her with you. Watched her gradually soften. She used to frown at the way you constantly touched her. Now she leans into it. She never used to touch you back, but now she does. She’s also started to relax around the rest of the pack, but she doesn’t smile at us or talk as openly with us as she does with you. And if you’re not in the room with her, she’s uncomfortable.”

While the latter made Trick feel kind of smug, it also saddened him that she hadn’t yet fully relaxed with the pack. He understood it would take a little time, though.

“I like the way you are with her,” said Marcus. “And I have to say, I’m surprised, relieved, and impressed that she leans on you. A lot of females see that as a weakness. She seems to respect your need to take care of her, and she’s happy to let you do it—maybe because she’s never had anyone to lean on before and she’s not afraid to try it on for size. These are all good things that indicate that she’s happy with you and accepts that you’re her mate. She just needs to face whatever’s getting in the way of the bond, which I’m guessing is connected to the Newmans.”

Trick’s hands clenched around the wheel. “She’s still hoping she can find a way to make them accept her decision to have the pack in her life.”

“I don’t foresee that happening.”

“Neither do I, but they won’t think that they should feel guilty about that. They’ve always made her feel like the bad guy, and I fucking hate that. Oh, she sees that she’s not the one being unreasonable, but it still makes her feel like shit.”

“All you can do is exactly what you’ve been doing since you found her again—be there for her.” Marcus twisted his mouth. “We’re not far from her house. Why don’t we stop by and see her? I get that she’s busy, but it’s probably the only thing that will calm your ass down.”

Totally true. “She might not be back from the salvage yard yet.”

“Call her and find out.”

Frankie had just finished hauling the scrap metal out of the van and into the studio when her cell phone rang. She lowered the music and snatched the phone from the shelf. Trick’s name flashed on the screen. “Yup?” she answered simply.

“Hey, baby. You done at the salvage yard?”

She frowned at the strained note in his voice. “Yeah, I’m back at the house. Where are you?”

“About ten minutes away. I’ll be there soon to help you unload the stuff out of the van.”

Damn, he was too sweet. “I’m already done with that. But you’re still welcome to come.”

“I’ll be there soon,” he said, his voice a little warmer this time.

“Okay, I’ll—” The sound of a car engine made her turn. Seeing a blue Chevy Tahoe, she sighed. “Crap.”

“What?”

“Looks like Vance has decided to pay me a visit.”

Trick swore. “Do not let him in the house. Pull down the fucking studio door and ignore the bastard. I’ll deal with him.”

“I can handle him just fine myself.” She slowly walked out the side door as the car turned up the driveway that led to the studio. No way was she letting the bastard in her—“Wait, it’s not Vance,” she realized as she saw the license plate. Vance’s ended in “VCE.” “Motherfucker,” she spat, because the driver slammed their foot on the pedal and the tires screeched as the car zoomed right at her.

“Frankie? Frankie!” yelled Trick.

Without a thought she fled to the side door and turned into the studio, but the car followed her inside and screeched to a halt, clipping her leg hard enough to send her sprawling onto the concrete floor. Pain pounded up her leg and burned the heels of her hands. Grinding her teeth, she rolled onto her back. That was when the driver smoothly exited the car.

He looked vaguely familiar. She hadn’t gotten a good look at the guy who’d attacked Trick in the restroom, but she suspected that this was him. Drake. Well, fuck.

She clenched her fist. Where the hell was her phone? She’d dropped it when she fell, and she couldn’t see it anywhere. Dread hit her square in the chest.

In retrospect, it had been stupid to run into the studio—she would never have been able to shut the metal door in time to keep the fucker out, but she hadn’t been thinking. She’d been too busy panicking. That panic flooded her now, pumping adrenaline through her veins. She braced herself on her elbows, wondering if he could hear the frantic beat of her heart—it thrashed in her ears, just as her wolf thrashed inside her with rage.

He came toward her, whistling. “Hey, sweet girl. Fast runner, ain’t you? Just not fast enough. Now, why don’t I help you up?”

Her claws sliced out and she swiped at him, slashing his face and drawing blood. He jerked back, as if shocked by the sight of her claws. Taking advantage of that, she slashed at him again.

Laughing, he jerked back and dodged the move. Yes, he laughed. “I did not know you were a shifter. You live out here, no pack, no mate. It’s a good thing I like surprises.”

She struggled to her feet—bad idea. Her leg still throbbed with pain. Sensing he was ready to lunge, she snarled. “Don’t even try it, motherfucker.” She might not know the type of combat that shifters often learned, but she could still cause him pain.