Broken Heart 08 Must Love Lycans by Michele Bardsley Read Free Book Online Page A

stopped short. He looked me over, tilting his head. I saw the jade green eyes, and gasped. “Damian?”
    “Late,” he said with a bark. Then he turned and took off.
    I followed.
    “Wait!” I cried.
    The wolf was fast and nimble. He sailed over fallen limbs and scrubby bushes, and darted past trees in Easter egg colors. I tried to keep up, but he was too quick. Then I stumbled into a small clearing. We were at the massive purple tree again, only this time, I could see a gaping, dark hole in its thick, gnarled base.
    The wolf looked into the hole, and then at me.
    “What?” I asked. I crept closer, staying clear of the hole. “You want me to go in there?”
    He nodded.
    “I can’t,” I said. I smiled weakly. “I’m not Alice.”
    “Mate,” he said. “Mate.”
    “Don’t you mean late?” I asked.
    “Save me,” he said. Then he leapt into the hole.
    I screamed, and lurched for him, my arms wide, and then I fell, tumbling, tumbling into the dark.
    I awoke gasping for breath. I shot off the bed, the pillow still clutched in my arms. I tried to get myself together, but I was shaking. Way to be helpful, subconscious. I sucked in some steadying breaths, not even remotely ready to dissect the meaning of that dream.
    I glanced at the clock on the nightstand and cursed. If I didn’t get my ass in gear, I would be late for my dinner with Jarred. Like it or not, he was my boss, and I wanted to keep my job.
    Damian. I paused. I really did want to save him. Despite my stern self-lectures, my unrepentant pulse gave a little leap. How could I ever hope to treat Damian if I couldn’t stop drooling over the man?
    Argh!
    I plopped back onto the bed, thinking about Jarred, which wasn’t exactly a safer area. Maybe my discomfort with this place had to do with the niggling suspicion that Jarred had picked me for me —a far more terrifying consideration than the idea my patheticness had driven him to an act of unimaginable kindness. Despite my lapses in judgment over the years, I had never told a soul about my empathic abilities. I can’t exactly remember what it was like for me as a child, but I’m sure any weirdness I displayed was shrugged off as my imagination gone wild. I was nine years old when I figured out two things: First, being able to “feel” the emotions of others was not something everyone could do. Second, people didn’t appreciate it when you dug around their emotional landscape and talked about their unsightly weeds.
    So, yeah, very early on, I learned to keep myself to myself.
    A low, mournful howl lurched into my thoughts.
    I blinked and sat up. For a crazy second, I had a dream-within-a-dream moment, like maybe I hadn’t actually woken up from the weird forest and the talking wolf, but instead had fallen into this space that looked like my bedroom, but wasn’t.
    The howl echoed again.
    What the hell?
    I stood up and looked around trying to get my bearings. I wasn’t in Wonderland. I was awake. Probably. I pinched my arm and yelped. Oh, yeah. Definitely awake.
    My apartment was at the end of the facility’s east wing. In fact, my living quarters were the only thing at this end of the second floor. The place was huge and luxurious, filled with marble counters, hardwood floors, silk fabrics, oversized furniture, and an impossible array of polished knickknacks. I mostly stayed tucked into my bedroom, which had its own fireplace, big-screen television, and mini-fridge. The rest of the place felt too much like a museum (or like my mother’s own haughty abode) for me to feel comfortable within it.
    Another howl reverberated, much louder this time. Whatever creature was making that racket was in this part of the facility. Did Oklahoma have wolves? I didn’t think so, but getting the skinny on the state’s known wildlife had never been a goal of mine. Of course, I dismissed the idea of a patient causing the ruckus because none had ever displayed animalistic tendencies.
    Except … well, Damian.
    I