Hunter's Alpha (gxg) ✓

7. Liar

"That dog sure can bite."

I catch a glimpse of Hunter's white teeth as she grins that familiar crooked grin. Her hair brushes over her face as she leans down, patting my cuts with alcohol and bandaging them.

We sit in what must be her apartment―a small but expensive-looking place in one of the sleek black buildings.

I am on the kitchen table. For some reason, there are no kitchen chairs because hers broke. Of course, this sounds . . . ridiculous, to say the least. But I don't question it.

She looks up at me, her brown eyes bright. "You're not hissing or grumbling or anything, I'm impressed. Alcohol stings like a bitch on open wounds."

I lift my shoulder in a shrug. "Tough skin, I guess."

If she saw the scars on my back, my ribs, my chest―she'd know the real reason I have such a high pain tolerance.

"So . . . what are you doing today?" she asks. "What brings you to the city?"

"What? Is it that obvious I'm not from here?"

She raises an eyebrow. "It's not obvious, but . . . the tanned skin. The clothes―speaking of, it's fall. And you're dressed like you're ready for a beach party."

My mouth drops open. I'm wearing a warm, long-sleeved red dress. "This isn't summer attire!"

"Have you been outside? It has to be below zero."

With that, she secures the last bandage over the deepest of the wounds. And the rest are good―I'm good.

I've wasted a lot of time here. I need to get going.

And yet . . . I hesitate.

My eyes flicker down to her lips.

"I'm looking for something," I blurt out, before I can think better. Why not ask her about the Wolves? About their mysterious leader?

Maybe she doesn't know. I'm hoping she doesn't know. Because I don't want her to be involved in this, whatever this is.

A light in her eyes go out, and I see it: the almost imperceptible shift into coldness. Her full lips harden into a line, and I want to trace the curve, feel the smoothness of her lower lip―

I shake myself. And ask, in a hesitant voice, "Do you know anyone called the . . . Wolves?" It sounds almost silly, saying it here in the daylight. As though the Wolves should be reserved for nightmares and stories after dark.

But although it's early in the day and she should know nothing about them, her eyes shutter. Darken. And she says, "What do you want to know?"

She knows.

She knows?

"Where they are," I say quickly. I don't want to think about what it means, that she knows who they are. "Their location."

She smiles again, but this time, it doesn't reach her eyes. "You'd be better off staying away."

"I can't," I whisper.