There was too much, and he’d done too little. The stalker had come too close.
Exiting the freeway thirty minutes later, Logan drove quickly through the neighborhood, watching for signs of being followed. There was no one there, nothing out of the ordinary. He pulled into the alley behind his house, pressed the garage door opener, and drove inside. After the stalker had let himself into Veronica’s house and invaded her personal space, there was no way Logan was taking her back there. Besides, he had a better chance at protecting her on his turf.
She was going to have a ton of questions when she woke up. What happened at the wedding? Why didn’t he tell her that he was a werewolf? Why did her sister and Jake keep the truth from her, too? (They’d have to answer for themselves on that one.)
Logan lifted Veronica from the car and carried her inside. Clamoring to get through the door, Fang barked and jumped. Logan kneed him gently, urging him down, as he walked Veronica into his bedroom.
“Don’t be mad that I brought you here,” he said, lying her down on his bed. She wasn’t awake and couldn’t hear him, but talking calmed him down. He covered her with the sheet and drew the curtains closed. “At least give me the chance to explain.”
He knelt beside the bed and took her hand. She was so soft and delicate. The Big Guy upstairs must’ve been laughing his ass off when he decided Veronica should be Logan’s Luminary—his soul mate and fated lover. Even if Logan wanted to be with Veronica for the next thousand years, she was human and would have to be bitten by a werewolf in two different pulse points to become a turned wolf and join their pack.
Born werewolves, like Logan and the majority of his packmates, shifted at whim, usually when they got angry. Turned wolves, however, shifted at the full moon. They were different, yet shared the same traits. Two wolves from different breeds. If Veronica was bitten and turned, like what happened to her sister, Logan and Veronica could be together and she could be accepted into the Seattle Wolf Pack.
But he was getting ahead of himself, wasn’t he? Veronica hated wolves. She wouldn’t want to be with him.
In her eyes, he was a monster. She’d already said as much.
“I promise to tell you everything.” He lowered his head to her hand, touching his forehead to her knuckles. “I think I can handle it if you decide to walk away at the end of all this,” he whispered. “All I ask is that you don’t hate me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Dog breath. There was a seriously bad, gagging amount of dog breath fanning over her face.
Peeling her eyes open, Veronica shrieked and jerked away from the golden retriever staring at her from the edge of the bed. The dog’s disgusting tongue was lolling out of its mouth, hanging mere inches over the mattress. Its breath was rancid. As if it’d been eating dead fish and took second helpings.
“Go!” Veronica cringed. “Shoo!”
The dog clamped its mouth shut and made a cute little meeping noise. Kinking its head to the side, staring at her with sweet brown eyes.
“Okay, so you’re kinda cute,” she said. “But you’re drooling. Go!”
She fanned it away and shrank deeper into the bed. It barked, and Veronica covered her now-busted eardrums.
Wait…
Logan’s dog. Logan’s…bed?
Clutching the covers to her chest, Veronica glanced around, half expecting to see leashes, dog bones, and rubbery chew toys lying around. Okay, so she’d hadn’t ever seen a werewolf with any of those things, but she hadn’t seen someone in wolf form before last night, so who knew what they enjoyed in the privacy of their own homes?
She was pleasantly surprised to find none of those things. The king-size bed was in the center of the room, and two dressers flanked an open door that led to a bathroom with an oversized mirror hanging above a single sink. The walls were painted a cool shade of gray, and a black-and-white picture of Seattle’s skyline hung over the bed in a chunky black frame. It was surprisingly…nice.
“Veronica?” Logan knocked on the door and started opening before she answered. “I’m coming in.”
She sat up quickly, her dress from the wedding catching on her backside. She yanked it up and checked her neckline as Logan pushed the door open wide.
“What am I doing here?” she asked. “What happened after…?”
She couldn’t finish. God, she couldn’t even say what she really wanted to say. What if she made him angry? Would he lose control and turn into a werewolf? She was in his house, on his territory. She needed out.
Logan leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms over his chest. “It kills me to say it, but he got away.”
“So he’s still out there.” She brushed her hands up and down her arms.
“Not for long. I swear to you I’ll find him.”
He’d use his super wolfie senses, no doubt about it.
“It sucks that he got away, but I shouldn’t be here.” The dog whimpered and licked for her hand. Its tongue caught the edge of her pinky and slimed her up. She swiped her hand across the sheet. “Could you take him out?”
“Fang?”
The dog turned around.
“Outside.” Logan patted his leg one time. The dog flew past him. Deep in the house, a dog door flapped opened and closed.
“Your dog’s name is Fang?”
“What would you have named him? Old Yeller?”
Aww. She’d cried her eyes out when that poor dog was put down. Now that Logan mentioned it, his dog did resemble the one from the film. “Can you speak canine? Is that why he listens so well to you?”
“No.” Logan smirked. “Dogs bark, werewolves howl. Two different languages. He listens because I paid a shit-ton of money to take him to dog training classes. He finished top in his class.”
She didn’t have time for this, but she had to tread carefully. “Listen, that’s great and all, but why did you bring me here?”
“You passed out.”
“I live across the street.” She squelched the anger rising in her belly. She needed to keep calm, so that he would keep calm. “Why didn’t you take me home and put me in my own bed?”
“I wanted to be able to watch over you,” he said simply. “Believe it or not, I care about your safety.”
“Believe it or not,” she mimicked.
“I made you a reservation at Hotel Monaco in the Financial District.”
“Fancy.”
“It’s under my name,” he said, “so if anyone calls to see if you’ve checked in, your name won’t pop up. They already have my card on file. All you have to do is show them your ID and request a key.”
“You’re not paying for my room.” Veronica popped out of bed, dragging the sheets with her. She kicked them aside and brushed past him. “I need to get out of here so I can think straight.”
“So that’s it?” he said, following her out the front door. “You’re not going to say anything?”
“What’s there to say?” As Veronica walked across his lawn, Fang started barking from somewhere behind his house. “You’re clearly a…dog person. And I’m clearly not. That’s all there is to it.”
Glad to be putting space between them, Veronica marched across the street, spotted her car parked in her driveway, and stopped. “Where’s my stuff? My purse, keys?” She whirled around and found him right behind her. “What happened to the Sanchez wedding? I wasn’t there to close everything down and to—”
His hands found her shoulders. “I took care of everything. Heather and Susan broke everything down and made sure the hall was cleaned up before they left. I checked in with Susan about an hour ago. The bride and groom had no idea what went down outside. Susan said things are good.”