Brotherhood of Cain (Werewolf/Mafia)

Chapter Four: Is It Legal? *

His rough face looked forward. Black as coal hair hung across his shoulders, hiding part of his face from my view. His skin, the color of coffee with lots of cream, had worn since the last time I saw him. He had a once-handsome face, now marred by scars. His nose bent in the middle from one too many hits.

That surprised me, his enhanced blood should've healed any mark that touched him. Though a slim pink scar cut across his lips, leaving the appearance he was constantly snarling. A few smaller, slicker scars were carved out of his cheek, resting along the high ridge of his cheekbones, thick eyelashes shadowing them.

His eyes—my God, his eyes—they were a pale blue. A blue that had lightened since the last time I saw him. His eyes were robbed from any color other than a smattering of azure dust. His irises constituted as irrelevant dots of ink inside that dead abyss. His eyes robbed every intelligent thought I had. They were changed, twisted by the wolf inside him.

Tycho, picking up on my mood, peeled his lips back and let out a protective growl. His large body brushed against the side of mine. I ran a hand over his back and he slowly calmed enough to stop growling under my assured touch. The feel of his sleek coat under my fingers calmed me, allowed a rational thought to escape.

"Drive," I breathed out. Draven's eyes were locked on the road, but he had yet to move.

"Dump that shit." His eyes flicked over my body and he inhaled, locking onto my chest. I would've told him to mind his eyes if I didn't know what he was talking about.

"I paid fifty bucks for it. There's no way I can throw it." Finally, fire entered my voice. I paid the last of my food money for Mrs. Counting's goods. I couldn't throw this. As it was, I'd have to go to the soup kitchen later and beg for any scraps, that was if they even had anything left by the time I got there.

"Now!"

The lights behind us became brighter and alarms rang in my ears.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

The window to my left rolled down. I quickly stuffed a hand down my bra, tossing the bag. When it hit the ground, Draven hit the gas. The Land Rover lurched forward, firing down the street. I leant my body back against the plush seat, smashing my head into it. I had the urge to kick my feet into Draven's seat and dirty it. The part of my brain still working said that would be a bad move. Right now, he was the only thing between me and the police.

That didn't mean I still wasn't an idiot. A brain-dead, hungry idiot. Of all the dumb shit—

"Tell me what that's about?" Draven rumbled from up front.

"You've screwed me completely and utterly is what that's about." I couldn't open my eyes, and kept rubbing my hand down Tycho's sleek fur. His head lowered on my lap, as if to tell me, I'm sorry you're fucked, can we get a bone later?

"How'd I manage that?"

"That bag made sure I didn't spend tonight on the street's."

"Better than inside a cell," Draven commented. His coarse hands whipped the steering wheel to the left, checking the side mirrors. The cop's lights began to fade.

"Sure." I snorted. "What are you doing down here?"

"None of your fuckin' business," he cursed back at me in a ridiculously high-pitched voice. He was imitating me from that night all those years ago.

"Ha ha. You're a real comedian. Though I have to know, are you following me?" I queried. It would be just my luck to end up in the same car as my stalker. I hadn't seen Draven since that night, but his name sure did spread like wildfire. Since that night he had claimed all of Citadel as Brotherhood of Cain's. Everyone had BOC's name printed on their ass if they lived in Citadel.