She drove the speed limit the entire way. Seventy-five miles per hour for six hours straight. He was almost too amazed to be annoyed and thought that Charles would enjoy driving with her. After two semis passed them, he set the cruise control and turned up the radio, refusing to think about his reaction to her or trying to guess what had happened to her since he'd last seen her. Some things, though, he knew and didn't have to guess at, at all.
They stopped for dinner at a McDonald's with a truly magnificent Play Place. Little Bran, along with a few other children ran and slid and jumped through the tunnels, reminding Bran of drugged up gerbils in a Habitrail.
He and Eanid didn't talk much and the things they did speak of were deliberately kept to the here and now. Mostly, Bran watched her. Physically, she was just as he remembered her. Which wasn't a surprise but still intrigued him. It had been a very long time since he'd seen or even thought of her and he enjoyed reacquainting himself with her. She was short, eight or nine inches shy of his own six feet. Rich, dark brown eyes, long, thick black hair that seemed to take on a life of its own in the humidity and a classic Mediterranean complexion. And a shape that was so full of curves his eyes were continually drawn back to her. The jeans and t-shirt she wore show-casing every jiggle and arc of her feminine form.
He'd noticed how she had taken charge of meal; the table they sat at as far from others as possible. That when he'd set the tray down, she'd waited for him to choose his food first before taking her own and the boy's. The awareness she had of little Bran. All of it so distinctively lupine in nature. Eanid was far from the girl who sang and told stories with him, who only played at being a woman. Her life, whatever it had been like, and her wolf made her into a unique and confident female. Sure of her place in the world and the decisions she'd made.
Her wolf, he thought, and wondered what she looked like in that form. His wolf was intent on her as he was; he liked her smell, liked her touch. The more time he spent with her the more he demanded to come out. The wolf was a very fundamental creature. She has no mate, no pack. It felt very wrong to both of them. And the wolf demanded he do something about it now.
It's not your choice brother-wolf, it's mine. And maybe, a little, hers.
He knew she was a dominant but not overly aggressive. His finger absently caressed his thumb where she had licked him. She had the usual desire for physical contact that all wolves did, he wondered how she managed to live comfortably as a lone wolf.
When it was time to leave and she was bent at the waist, practically having to crawl inside the ball cage to get the boy out. Bran saw he wasn't the only one to notice how well the casual clothes complimented her shape. An employee, a boy in his teens, holding a spray bottle in one hand while he blindly swiped at a table with the rag he held in the other, was enjoying the view a little too much in Bran's opinion. He snatched the child's sneakers off the seat next to him went to stand behind Eanid; blocking his view with his body and fighting the urge to bare his teeth at him.
***
They finished the last leg of the trip just after 8:00 when they pulled into the parking lot of a hotel in Jackson Hole. Eanid must have called ahead because just as she was getting out of the van a couple opened the lobby doors and hurried outside to greet them.
Bran stayed where he was while they unloaded the luggage and the father handed the lax, sleeping body of his son into the waiting arms of his wife. All the while, they chatted softly and closed the doors gently in an obvious attempt to keep from waking the child.
While the mother stood holding the little boy, the father and Eanid started gathering the suitcases and backpacks, Bran decided it was time to introduce himself. As he grabbed the small duffle bag that held everything he'd need for an overnight stay he wondered what Eanid would tell them about him, wondered if he would go along with whatever it was. He got out of his SUV, closed and locked the door and walked over.
"Hello, " he said, nodding to the women and putting his hand out to shake the man's hand. "I'm Bran Cornick."
He knew what he they saw when they looked at him, a young man with a slight build and unremarkable features. His light brown hair was cut a little long; his smile disingenuous. He looked more like a computer geek than anything else, he'd been told and his mirror told him it was nothing but the truth.
"Mark Crowther," the man said, returning Bran's handshake, "this is my wife, Liz. Eanid says you're on your way back to the University of Montana and you're going to show her around the campus while we're at Yellowstone?" His tone made it a question and not knowing what else Eanid had said he wasn't sure how to answer.
"How about we go inside and get this little guy tucked into bed. Then we can visit," Liz said, with a smile before Bran could think of a reply. "He feels about twenty pounds heavier when he's asleep," she explained, and without waiting for anyone else, turned to go back inside the hotel. The moment they hit the bright lights of the lobby, though, the child woke and greeted his parents with a host of whines and complaints he must have been saving up just for them.
Mark smiled a little ruefully at his son and said, "Maybe we'll have to put off the visit until tomorrow. Eanid, we got a room for you, the clerk will give you the key." He fixed Bran with hard look, "He said there are a lot of rooms available since it's the middle of the week. So you won't have any trouble getting one for yourself."
"That's good to know," Bran replied, agreeably, "I'll take care of that right now."
"Good," said Mark; his ruffled feathers soothed now, he smiled. He was Brans's height, and was probably usually as unassuming and pleasant as he looked. With his brown hair and wire frame glasses he didn't seem the type to play the fierce protector of maidenly virtue. But there was a core of steel in the man and he protected those in his care. Bran found himself both approving of and liking the young man.
"Well then," said Mark, "we'll see you in the morning. We'll all probably want to sleep in so we'll give you call when were up and dressed."
"Sounds good to me," Eanid agreed, and gave his arm a light squeeze. Mark nodded, then took his struggling son from his wife.
"I'm going to take him up to our room. He's not getting any happier. See you in a few minutes, hon."
Eanid gave the other woman a hug, "Don't worry about us, you guys sleep as late as Bran'll let you"
Bran left her side and walked over to the front desk. They were the only ones in the lobby so when he pulled his wallet out he was immediately waited on by the clerk. While he went through the rituals of registering, though, he listened to Eanid's conversation. Deciding it was best to know whatever story she came up with for her employer about their relationship.
Relationship, what was their relationship? The last time he'd seen her their relationship had been pretty damn intense.
"Eanid," Liz asked, sounding a little worried, "how well do you know this Bran? I don't remember you ever mentioning him before. There are two queen size beds in our room, you can share one with Bran if you want." She stopped talking and then hurriedly clarified, "Little Bran, I mean."
Both women laughed. "Thanks for the offer, Eanid said, "but he's really a good guy and I've known him forever. I just haven't seen him in a really long time. He moved away years ago and we lost touch."
"His is kinda cute," Liz replied, Bran could feel both women watching him as he handed his credit card to the clerk.
"I'm not surprised you think so," Eanid's voice was layered with meaning. And by the sound of Liz's startled laughter she must have figured out what she meant.
"Well if you're sure you're fine, I'm going to head off to the room. I'm beat. We drove almost as far as you did today," Liz said. She stopped and picked up her son's suitcase and Spiderman backpack on her way to the elevator.
He heard Eanid walking toward him. The flat sandals she wore making almost no sound at all. She's probably as off-balance as I am. And Bran could smell how tired she was, they both were. Fatigue and confusion were a bad combination for their wolves.
The phone behind the desk rang and clerk excused himself to answer it. As Bran put his card away and waited for the man to finish the call he wondered why he was even here. What he expected to happen between him and Eanid.
Of course he wanted to talk with her, find out about her life. He'd cared for her a long time ago and was happy to find her again. He wanted to hear her story, how and why she'd become a werewolf. But he didn't lie to himself, he'd been acting on instinct since he saw her. It was the unprotected way she was living that was riling his emotions. He thought, was sure, he'd be able to tamp down his aggression once he knew she was safely part of a pack. As much as he disliked Eanid's lone wolf status he had no right to force her to join his pack. He always let his wolves live where they were most comfortable as long as they didn't endanger their community.
My pack.
No. He was her friend as well as the Marrok, she hadn't threatened him or any of his wolves it should not be so difficult to show her consideration. But it was, and Bran wondered at the struggle. He breathed in again and the scent of lilies filled him. As cool and refreshing as the woman who wore it.
He hoped with everything in him this emotional roller coaster he was riding wouldn't trigger his rage because it seemed he wasn't going to be able to back off. Man and wolf were both caught up in the hunt. And Bran Cornick had no taste for losing his prey.
He turned to face her as she got closer. Their eyes locked, not in a dominance play but a much more human searching. His wolf was again reacting to her packless status. It is wrong to be without a pack, but he was glad. She has to have an Alpha. Would submit herself to him as her Alpha.
He looked at the car keys she held in her hand. Was reminded how she had avoided telling him where she was going when she left here. She was acting as though she had the right to leave him. His wolf was as dominant and possessive as the man and they didn't like that.
She stopped moving and he breathed again, imprinting her on his every sense.
Nervousness; excitement. Because of me? Her body was soft and in some indefinable way reaching out to him. Oh yeah, because of me. He made her heart beat fast, her breathing rapid. Was she remembering their time together in Gwent? When he first realized who she was he thought he had forgot. Now he remembered everything. She was breathing with her mouth open just a little, tasting him in the air. Yes, she was remembering, too. Good.
She wasn't going to be alone in her room. He would stay with her. If he had to, he'd sleep on the floor. She would be protected.
She wanted to run. Run from him. Away from him. She might try it. Yes, let her run. It won't matter because she can't run fast enough. I can find her. I can smell her, the scent of her body, of her fear. I am stronger, she has to come when I call. And when she submits herself, when I have her blood in my mouth and mine is in hers I will . . .
"Excuse me, sir," the clerk said. Bran's eyes were unfocused and he was swaying a little. A growl was building at the back of his throat and he whipped around to face him.
"Here's your key, sir, your room is right across the hall from your brother's," the man's voice was barely a whisper and he refused to look up from the polished oak of the front desk. Even the human was aware of the predator in front of him.
"My brother?" Bran repeated dumbly. His mind totally and utterly blank.
Within the space of a breath Eanid was next to him holding out her hand for his key and asking for her own.
***
Eanid had been so caught up in Bran's struggle with his wolf she hadn't been able to move. The need to change and run and hide from him had overwhelmed her. She'd definitely wanted to runaway from him. But her wolf was more honest. Change, she'd urged. Make him chase us.
She had wanted that, too. All of it. To run, to hide . . . to get caught.