Page 33 of Relentless Touch

The first faint glow of sunrise touched the window, streaks of pink barely lighting the sky past the kitchen. He realized, suddenly, how tired he was.

“I should sleep,” Kevin said, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

Rio jerked his chin toward the hallway. “Go get some sleep.”

Kevin padded down the hall, every muscle twinged as he eased onto the mattress. The sheets were crisp, the pillows cool under his head. He stared at the ceiling until Rio sat on the edge of the bed.

He expected another round of questions, maybe an argument about going out into the parking lot.

Instead, Rio crawled in behind him, pressing his face into Kevin’s neck. “I’m just grounding myself with your scent. I’ve never been that terrified in my life, and I’m trying to figure out what to do with that fear.

Kevin slid his hand over Rio’s. “Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

Chapter Nine

Rio stuck to the shadows, Izan in his sights. The guy lived in a large home, just arriving moments earlier. The wolf was going down for backhanding Kevin but also because Ameer had been the guy’s enforcer. Rio couldn’t stomach it. Every time he pictured Kevin braced in that corner, wrists zip-tied and face torn up, his hands curled into fists that nearly snapped the steering wheel. Izan had to pay for what he’d done—not just to Kevin but to everyone he thought he could grind under his heel. Ameer had been the brute, but it was Izan pulling the strings. That stopped tonight.

Fog rolled low along the ground. Crimson Hollow’s side streets blurred past then vanished behind a thick patch of pines. Rio checked the address Zeppelin had texted one more time then followed the gravel drive as it wound up the hillside. Izan’s lair squatted at the end, a double-story house built like a cheap lodge, wood siding already splitting around the windows, the porch light blown out. Not welcoming. Not even fake-friendly. Someone had tried to rip the numbers off the mailbox and given up halfway.

No wolves loitered outside. No enforcers posted out front, just one battered pickup and Izan’s monstrous black SUV.

Rio killed the headlights and coasted to a stop. Rain slicked the drive and made every sound dampen. He got out slowly, taking a second to listen and smell. Cedar. Wet mulch. The faint acid reek of wolf even from here, but nothing moved inside the house.

He walked up the porch, his boots silent on the boards. Each step tensed his jaw. He wanted to look calm. Unbothered. He wanted to make sure Izan’s last memory was Rio’s face, cold and steady, staring him down as he bled out for the pack to find.

No knock. He shouldered the front door open and stepped into darkness.

Rio paused just inside. The living room was a joke of hideous plaid couches and a TV nailed to the wall. He spotted the fireplace, unused, and the stack of unpaid bills crammed behind a wooden bowl on the credenza. If this was meant to impress, Izan had failed.

Rio kept moving. Hardwood creaked underfoot. He moved toward the kitchen, blinking at the cheap fluorescent tube lighting. The fridge hummed. Izan stood at the kitchen island, mug in hand, posture weirdly relaxed.

No guards. No Jireh. Just Izan, all by himself.

Izan smirked. “You look lost. Cat get turned around in the rain?”

Rio ignored that and kept his hands loose at his sides.

Rain tapped at the window. Some wind rattled the glass, but the only other noise came from the fridge and the low, almost bored tone of Izan’s voice.

“Got guts, I’ll give you that,” Izan said, lifting the mug. “Not sure you got anything else, considering how you let my men walk straight into your restaurant and take your mate.” He sipped then smiled. “If it makes you feel any better, the impala was a pain in my ass, too.”

Rio didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He watched Izan for any flicker of a tell. The man liked to talk. That was a weakness. He never saw the real threat until it was in his lap.

“You here to trade threats or suck your thumb and hope I apologize?” Izan set the mug down with a tap.

“You’re finished.” Rio kept it simple.

Izan’s mouth twisted into something ugly. “Funny, doesn’t look like I’m the one with broken ribs and a black eye.”

“You lost.” Rio eyed the kitchen, checked the walls and corners. No traps. Nothing to tip him off except for the knife block behind Izan’s left elbow and the cheap .38 taped under the counter. He could spot both without looking.

Izan’s gaze narrowed. “You think you’re the first alpha who tried to walk in here and say that? Your little mate made a mistake getting mixed up with me, but it’s not too late to give him back.”

Rio’s eyes didn’t leave Izan. “He stays with me.”

Izan shrugged, loose as if he didn’t care. But his right hand hovered near the edge of the countertop.

“You got more backbone than most. If you’d been wolf, we could have done business. No room in my world for cats, though.” Izan’s voice oiled through the air, lazy and slow. “You’re outnumbered.”