Moonlight Kin 4: Tristan Read online

  Scratch that. Izzy knew exactly what would happen if they were trapped together for too long. It was the same thing that almost happened a minute ago.

  They might hate each other and themselves afterwards, but they’d eventually give in to the physical attraction simmering between them.

  Izzy thought about the hard ridge under that towel and felt her body moisten. He’d been so big and so beautifully formed. Such a waste.

  She closed her eyes and sent up a silent prayer that Stone found her before she and Tristan did something they’d both regret.

  * * * * *

  Tristan’s hands shook as he pulled on a shirt and a pair of shorts. He couldn’t believe how close he’d come to taking her. He decided to back off from his line of questioning, at least until he had himself together. Tristan walked into the small kitchenette and opened the cupboard.

  Cans of various items filled the shelves, along with flour and everything else needed for baking. He pulled items out and placed them on the small counter.

  “What are you doing?” Isabel asked as she came in from outside.

  “Making an early dinner,” he said.

  She frowned.

  “What?” Tristan asked.

  Isabel shrugged. “I just never imagined you in a kitchen cooking.”

  Tristan laughed. “Why? Because I’m a guy?”

  She came closer. “No, that’s not it. I just thought...”

  His brow arched. “Thought what?”

  “That you’d become fuzzy and go out and catch a rabbit or something,” she said.

  He balked and went back to organizing the gumbo ingredients to make sure he had everything he needed. “Would you prefer to eat rabbit?”

  His wolf rose in an instant, eager to get her what she wanted. Shocked by its behavior, Tristan shoved the beast back down.

  Isabel leaned against the table. “No.”

  Tristan went back to prepping. It bothered him that she had such bad impressions of his kind, of him. Sure, he hadn’t helped change her views, but given her experiences throughout life, she should’ve known better.

  He opened the refrigerator to find it fully stocked like the cabinets. Tristan pulled out chicken, green peppers, onions, and carrots, then found a cutting board. He made quick work of dicing the chicken.

  “Do you need any help?” Isabel asked.

  Tristan glanced at her but kept cutting. She thought he was such a wild beast that he’d simply shift into his other form and go catch fresh meat. Why should he let her help?

  Helping may loosen her tongue.

  “Do you know how to make biscuits?” he asked.

  Isabel shook her head. “I’m not really much of a cook,” she said.

  “Check the drawers to see if there’s a peeler. If you find one, then start in on the carrots,” he said.

  She did as he asked. A moment later, she found a peeler and picked up the bundle of carrots. Isabel grabbed a paper towel then went and sat at the table. There she peeled the carrots.

  Together they worked in silence until everything was prepared, then Isabel stepped back as Tristan browned the chicken in a pot. Once he finished, he tossed in the diced onion, peppers, and carrots. He found chicken broth and Cajun seasoning in the cupboard and added them to the mix.

  “This needs to cook for a while,” he said. “Thanks for your help.”

  He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. “Want one?” he asked. Thanks to his fast metabolism, Tristan couldn’t get drunk, but he did like the taste.

  Izzy nodded. A beer sounded good.

  Tristan grabbed another bottle and placed it on the table in front of her. Before she touched it, he twisted off the cap.

  “Thanks,” she said. This whole thing struck her as surreal, especially seeing him in a vintage rock T-shirt and shorts.

  Izzy had never imagined Tristan dressed so casually or cooking anything. The act was so...so...normal. It was another reminder of how little she knew about him. She picked up the beer and tipped it into her mouth. It wasn’t her beverage of choice, but at least it was cold and wet.

  “Where did you learn how to cook?” she asked when he took a seat across from her.

  Tristan stared at her.

  For a minute, Izzy didn’t think he was going to answer.

  He took a drink of his beer then set the bottle down. “Mom taught me and my brother, when we were young.”

  Why she was surprised that he had a mom and a brother, Izzy didn’t know. It wasn’t like monsters were hatched from eggs. She guessed she’d never given their origins much thought.

  “How old is your brother?” she asked.

  Tristan’s expression darkened. “Who were you speaking with earlier, Isabel?”

  The change in subject gave her mental whiplash. If Tristan didn’t want to talk about his family, then he shouldn’t have brought the subject up.

  “I told you. I was talking to myself,” she said and glanced away.

  “You’re a terrible liar,” he said. Before she responded, he added, “I have to stir the gumbo.”

  Izzy took another strong pull off her beer. This time the taste didn’t burn as bad. She waited for Tristan to return to the table, but he didn’t. Instead, he put the spoon down next to the pot and walked out the front door.

  She sighed. It was only late afternoon. There was no way they were going to make it all night if they kept going like this. Izzy pushed the chair back and followed him.

  She shouldered screen door and stepped out onto the porch. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Tristan didn’t look at her. “I’m making sure our location hasn’t been compromised.”

  Izzy tensed then forced herself to relax. “I doubt anyone could find us here. Wherever here is,” she said.

  His sharp gaze didn’t miss a thing. “Not without help anyway.”

  She put her bottle down, so he wouldn’t see her hands tremble. “Are you from around here?”

  Tristan slowly pulled his gaze away from her and went back to scanning the woods. “No, but I come here often enough to be familiar with the area.”

  “Pierre called you an Enforcer,” she said. “What does that mean exactly?”

  Tristan’s shoulders tensed. “I’m sort of like a cop,” he said. “I hunt people who break the law.”

  “Hunt?” she asked. “Like a bounty hunter?”

  He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “But there are no bounties involved.”

  “So you take them to jail?” she asked. Izzy didn’t know werewolves had a prison.

  This time Tristan did look at her, and he slowly shook his head. “No jail.”

  “Then what—” Izzy’s eyes widened. “You kill them? All of them?”

  “I am an Enforcer for my people. It is my job to protect them from exposure and threats,” he said. “I am very good at my job.”

  He’d insinuated that he was going to kill the Darkling, but Izzy hadn’t really believed him. Deep down she didn’t want to because that would mean that the person she was attracted to was a heartless killer.

  “It sounds like you’re an assassin, not a cop,” she said quietly. Please let her have misunderstood.

  “There is not a distinction between the two with the Moonlight Kin,” he said, then turned his back on her.

  Tristan hated seeing that disappointed look in her eyes. He’d never lied to Isabel about what he was. She’d known from the start he hunted the Darkling. But seeing the disbelief, the disillusionment, then eventual acceptance of the truth shattered something inside him.

  He wasn’t ashamed of what he did. His job was important, even if she didn’t fully understand their ways. Tristan stared at the woods, unseeing. He still smelled her, but her sweet, delicious aroma had soured.

  It’s for the best, he told himself.

  Tristan surveyed the area one last time then walked past her. He didn’t look at Isabel. He couldn’t. Tristan didn’t need to in order to know what she thought. To her, he was, and alw
ays would be, an uncaring, unfeeling monster.

  * * * * *

  They ate dinner in tense silence. The second she finished her bowl, Isabel jumped to her feet. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”

  She took her bowl to the sink and rushed off to the bathroom before Tristan could respond. A moment later, he heard the shower come on.

  Tristan finished his meal then walked into the kitchen to clean up. As he washed the dishes and put the leftover gumbo in the fridge, he heard splashing.

  Despite his best efforts, Tristan couldn’t help but picture Isabel standing naked under the spray. Her firm breasts and supple thighs covered in water. Her wild blond hair with purple highlights slicked back. Would her skin still hold the warm musky scent that perfumed the air every time he drew near?

  Tristan felt his body harden again. It had been doing that a lot around her. He needed to figure out a way to stop it, especially after their last conversation. Isabel would never understand him or his people. She was too human.

  Another sound came from the bathroom. His ears perked. Was she singing?

  Before he knew what he was doing, Tristan moved closer to the bathroom door. He listened to the off-key warbling and couldn’t help but smile.

  Did Isabel always sing in the shower? He’d like to think that she did. He pictured her using her hand as a microphone as she wailed out the latest pop song. It was...cute.

  The singing stopped and the shower ended. Tristan hurried back over to the sink. He wasn’t about to be caught lurking outside the bathroom door. Even he knew that was creepy. He went back to cleaning the last of the dishes.

  Five minutes later, the bathroom door opened and a cloud of steam came out. Isabel followed, wearing nothing but a long T-shirt. The shirt left her firm thighs and pink painted toes visible. It also left little to his already strained imagination. As he watched, her nipples crinkled. He could see the rosy outline through the front of her white shirt.

  He’d been right when he’d guessed that the baggy clothes she wore hid some serious curves. Isabel was built like a wet dream. She was soft where she needed to be soft and full where it counted.

  The plate in his hand cracked under the force of his grip. “You aren’t going to wear that, are you?”

  Isabel glanced down at the front of her shirt, then back at him. “Everything is covered.”

  Not everything. Not nearly enough.

  “Don’t you have sweats or something you can put on?” he asked.

  She put her hand on her hip, which only emphasized her trim waist. “Don’t know if you noticed, but there’s no air-conditioning here. It’s too hot to wear sweats,” she said. “If you don’t like what I’m wearing, you don’t have to look.”

  Oh, but he did. That was the problem. Tristan couldn’t help but stare at her. There was too much bare skin visible for him to ignore. He tossed the broken plate in the trash and turned in time to see Isabel stop at the foot of the bed. Her shoulders stiffened, and her sweet scent curdled.

  “What’s wrong?” He scanned the bed to make sure a spider hadn’t crawled onto it.

  “Um...” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “We need to talk about the sleeping arrangements.”

  Tristan hadn’t thought about there only being one bed. Pierre had conveniently forgotten to mention the fact. He’d have to have a word with the Alpha before he left town. The lumpy couch was too short for his large frame, but he couldn’t exactly make her sleep there.

  “I’ll take the couch,” he heard himself say.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eight

  Tristan knew it was going to be a long night as he listened to Isabel toss and turn, trying to get comfortable.

  He wondered, not for the first time, if she had trouble sleeping because he was so nearby. He certainly was having trouble, and it only got worse, when he pictured Isabel in that sheer T-shirt.

  He punched his pillow and turned over toward the window. If he sat up, he’d have a good view out to the front of the cabin. Not that he needed it. His incredible hearing had already picked up the gators sloshing around in the water and a few deer passing through.

  Tristan closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep. He needed to get some rest. He’d just dozed off when Isabel whimpered. Tristan shot to his feet, prepared to face whatever had disturbed her, but he found the room empty.

  He glanced over at Isabel. She thrashed against the covers, her limbs tangling in the sheets. A thin layer of sweat glistened on her pale skin. She whimpered again then let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  Tristan leapt across the room, landing next to the bed. Isabel bolted upright and stared out the window. Her eyes were wide, but her gaze remained unfocused. His beast rose and he scanned the darkness, but didn’t spot anything.

  He watched helplessly as tears streamed down her cheeks. Tristan didn’t know what to do.

  “It’s okay,” he said awkwardly. “I’m here. You’re safe. I’ll be right back.”

  He bolted outside and quickly circled the house to ensure there wasn’t a threat. When Tristan was sure they were alone, he went back in.

  Isabel glanced his way, and her brow furrowed in confusion. “Did you find it?” she asked.

  “Find what?” he asked.

  “The monster,” she whispered, then glanced out the window and screamed again.

  Tristan rushed to her side and pulled her into his arms. There wasn’t anything there, but he searched again to ease her fears.

  “Please don’t let it get me,” she begged.

  “Shh... You’re safe,” he said, lowering his voice. “I won’t let anything harm you.”

  Isabel fought his hold for a minute then slowly relaxed. She blinked a couple times, and her eyes cleared. A moment later, she frowned. “Tristan?”

  “I’m right here,” he said, gently rocking her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “You were having a bad dream,” he said. At least he hoped that’s all it was. Tristan glanced back out at the darkness and felt his wolf pace restlessly inside of him.

  Isabel ducked her head, but not before he saw her face blossom with color. “Sorry I woke you,” she said. “I should’ve warned you that I have a lot of nightmares.”

  “It’s okay.” Tristan wished he could go into her dreams and slay the monsters plaguing her, even if they looked exactly like him. “You all right now?”

  She nodded.

  Tristan slowly released her and rose off the bed. Before he took a step back, Isabel grabbed his wrist.

  “Don’t go,” she said, her panicked gaze searching the darkness. “Not yet.”

  Tristan hesitated. She was awake now and aware of her surroundings. He should just go back to the couch. “I’ll be right over there.” He pointed.

  “Please,” she added. “Can you just stay for a little while?”

  He sighed and put his knee back onto the bed, then sank down beside her. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Instead of turning her back to Tristan, she cuddled up next to him. Isabel’s body fit perfectly against his larger frame. He felt every curve, every indent beneath that thin T-shirt.

  Tristan tried to relax, but it was impossible lying next her. He remained rigid as she snuggled even closer and her breathing evened out. He had no idea how much time had passed. Tristan was about to slip off the bed and return to the couch when he felt tears hit his forearm.

  Had he somehow woken her? It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of Isabel’s blotchy face that he realized she was crying in her sleep.

  A crack formed in his icy exterior as her tears fell. Tristan brushed her tangled hair back and made soothing sounds. The kind of sounds he hadn’t made since childhood.

  He couldn’t bear to see Isabel like this. He wanted her fighting, yelling at him, anything but scared. Until this moment, Tristan had no idea she was in so much pain.

  More and more of him thawed as the minutes t
icked by. He continued to coo until her tears dried. As he stared at her, Tristan’s control wavered.

  He shouldn’t touch her. It would only complicate things. Isabel didn’t really want to be comforted by him, but that didn’t stop him from pulling her into his arms. She snuffled, let out a long sigh, and relaxed.

  Tristan held her tighter as something inside him broke. The wave of emotion that struck would’ve knocked him off his feet had he been standing. The emotion wasn’t anything as superficial as lust. Though he definitely felt that, too. This was deeper and more profound.

  Isabel’s warm scent tickled his nostrils. Tristan waited for her breathing to even out, then he buried his nose in her hair. There it was again. Honeysuckle. Just like the night they’d met.

  He would never admit it, but Tristan loved the scent. Loved that she smelled like summer and blooming flowers. It reminded him of his childhood. His grip on her tightened, as he wondered if she smelled like that everywhere.

  He forced himself to relax. He didn’t want to accidentally hurt her. Isabel nestled closer, and her hand brushed his shaft. Every muscle in Tristan’s body tensed, and he groaned. She made it difficult to remain detached.

  Despite his resolve, Tristan felt a bond forming between them. A bond that shouldn’t exist and would only get in the way of his mission. His gaze shifted to the window. The Darkling was hiding somewhere out there.

  Isabel was a distraction he could not afford. Tristan would need all his wits if he were going to defeat his enemy.

  * * * * *

  It had taken hours, but he’d eventually picked up on the Sighted-One’s scent. The small cabin sat in the middle of the swamp like a fat toad on a log. There was no light shining from any of the windows, but she was in there.

  They both were.

  The wolf’s stench clogged his nostrils, filling him with disgust. There was no way to get to her without going through him.