“Obviously, jeez. Don’t you know anything?”
“Tell me you’re kidding.” Because he didn’t want her to be beyond help.
“It’s common knowledge.”
“It’s not knowledge, it’s superstition—otherwise known as utter bullshit.”
She huffed. “You can be so irrational sometimes.”
“I’m irrational? I don’t have part of a dead animal on my keychain!”
“Maybe if you did, the ball wouldn’t have hit you!”
Struggling with a response, Ryan shook his head. “I can’t do this. I just can’t have this totally illogical conversation.”
A deep laugh burst out of the teenager behind them, who was struggling to sit upright. “You two are funny.”
Ryan exchanged a look with Makenna before frowning at Zac in the rearview mirror. “I’m never funny.” He sincerely doubted that the word had ever before been—and would ever again be—used to describe him.
“You are when you lose it with Makenna.”
Ryan’s frown deepened. “I never lose it.”
The kid held his hands up, smirking. “My mistake.”
But it wasn’t a mistake, Ryan begrudgingly admitted to himself. She had a way of getting under his skin. Yet, he still wanted nothing more than to take her home and fuck her to sleep. That just increased his frustration.
Ordinarily, Ryan was impervious to external distractions. But Makenna Wray was a walking, talking, and completely illogical distraction that drew him. Technically, she shouldn’t. She was whimsical and unpredictable, she asked unusual nonsensical questions, believed her rabbit’s foot charm warded away danger, and she seemed to genuinely enjoy provoking him. He was very good at analyzing people, but it was impossible to read someone who didn’t react normally.
In short, she made no sense to him. Ryan was all about logic and reason; he liked things to make sense in his world. Yet, he found himself a little fascinated by her. His wolf, too, found her intriguing; he was constantly hungry for the female with the mouthwatering scent and the wild spark in her eyes.
Quite frankly, it pissed Ryan off. He prided himself on being an extremely disciplined person. He didn’t have problems resisting temptation, he didn’t have cravings, and he didn’t obsess over anything. But Makenna . . . she made him fucking ache.
Finally, Ryan pulled up outside the shelter and parked just behind her Mustang. “Wait here.” Sliding out of the Chevy, he scanned his surroundings as he circled around to the other side of the car. Satisfied that there were no signs of Remy or his pack mates, he opened both passenger doors.
Zac hopped out with a smile. “Thanks for taking me to the game. It was pretty awesome. Except for the part where you hit your head.”
Ryan might have bought the kid’s sympathetic comment if laughter wasn’t gleaming in his eyes. So Ryan just stared at him, daring him to say more.
“And now I’m going to go.” Clamping his lips together to hold in a laugh, Zac jogged to the entrance.
Makenna waited until he was inside before she turned to Ryan. “He enjoyed himself. It was a productive day.” She wanted him to know that pushing past his comfort zone had paid off. “You did good.”
At her genuine compliment, Ryan’s irritation left him. She was hard to stay mad at. Especially when she was standing there looking pretty and approving, and smelling so damn good. That wild scent had kept his cock hard and heavy all day. “I can’t see Zac tomorrow.” He was meeting with Myles’s pack mates. “But I’ll arrange something for the day after.”
Makenna nodded. “Text him with the specifics when you have them.”
She turned away, and Ryan found that he couldn’t let her go yet. “Farrah Grove.”
Slowly twirling to face him, she searched her memory for the name and came up blank. “Should I know her?”
“She left her pack when she was twelve. Some say she vanished, some say she ran away. She fits your description.”
“Oh, I see.” He thought she could be Farrah. Nope. There were a lot of things Makenna didn’t know about her past, but she knew enough to be certain that she wasn’t Farrah Grove—particularly since she was younger than twelve when she left her pack. “You think I’m her?”
Actually, now that she was in front of him . . . no, Ryan didn’t. She didn’t look like a “Farrah.” She looked like . . . well, a “Makenna.” “If you’re not Farrah Grove, who are you?”
“There are these things—you might not have heard of them—they’re called ‘boundaries.’ That means that if there are things I don’t want to share, you need to respect that. And let’s not forget that it ain’t your business, White Fang.”
Before he knew it, his hand had shot out and fisted in her hair. Tugging her close, he said, “You are my business.” That she’d say differently . . . it offended some part of him. The same part of him was urging Ryan to taste and bite her mouth.