Rogue Wolf by Heather Long Page B

the counter. It rang again while she rinsed her hair, stopped, then began ringing while she finished rinsing the conditioner.
    Son of a bitch… Jerking the door open, she dripped over to the counter and picked up the phone. Mason’s name and number appeared on the screen. Answering it, she growled, “Yes?”
    “Are you alone?”
    “Yes.”
    “Can he hear me?”
    Margo tested her hearing against the pounding water in the shower. The low rumble of Salvatore’s voice was audible, but lacked any distinctive words. “I don’t think so.” Better to be cautious. Wolf hearing was sharp and, like most creatures, some had better hearing than others.
    “You and I need to talk.” The timbre of Mason’s voice brooked zero disagreements. “Alexis wants to see you.”
    No, she didn’t, but Margo understood the request layered within the order. Trusting he would interpret her response correctly, she replied, “I don’t have time for social pleasantries. I already made that clear to my parents. I have a job to do.”
    “Make time.” Then, as though in afterthought, he added in a lowered, almost sympathetic voice, “Are Will and Linda giving you grief again?”
    “You could say that.” She grabbed a towel and rubbed at her dripping hair.
    “But you’re not complaining about them.” The delicate balanced between Lone Wolf, Enforcer and pack wolf included the blurred lines of family. The law said Lone Wolves had no family, no pack, and had to maintain their isolation. Enforcers were given a moderate amount of latitude because their work took them in and out of pack territory. Reality, however, dictated some families crossed those blurred lines. A parent did not want to be separated from their child.
    “No,” she said. “Not at all.” Though they could be held at fault for trying to bully her, the bullying came from a well of love and affection. Wolves craved contact with each other and, despite her mother’s intentions to try and force Margo home, she loved seeing them. She also understood where the orders came from—love, not control.
    “I can talk to them.” The offer surprised her. Mason Clayborne nursed a grudge against her for years…
    “I appreciate the offer.” She did. “But I don’t feel it’s necessary.” The careful phrasing did what an outright rejection would not have succeeded in managing. “Thank you, Mason.”
    “You’re welcome, Margo. Come see Alexis before you leave.” Then, he shocked her again. “Meet Melissa.”
    The baby. Still toweling her hair, she considered the gravity of the invitation. Yes, he was using his mate as an excuse she could give Salvatore for why he could not go with her. Mason invited him into his territory, but the Alpha would not risk his mate and child to a stranger. Yet, at the same time, the infant wouldn’t be alive today had Margo not held her tongue when she learned the then very human Alexis was pregnant by Mason—a Lone Wolf. The violation of the law…Julian would be within his rights to execute her if he or any Enforcer learned of her part in it all.
    “I would love to meet her.” Blowing out a breath, she stuffed the emotional response away. The lack of sleep was playing havoc with her equilibrium. “If that’s all, I’d like to finish my shower.”
    Technically true, even if she was already done.
    “Of course, you may finish your shower.” The benevolence in his permission disrupted their otherwise pleasant conversation. Rather than thank him or bite his head off, she simply disconnected the call.
    Bastard. She’d almost thought asshole, but the word didn’t belong to Mason. Wrapping the towel around her midsection, she froze. Belong to Mason? Where the hell had that come from? Salvatore’s almost playful smile flashed across her mind and she growled.
    No .
    Not only no, but hell to the fuck no . After shutting the water off, she used the towel to rub herself dry. The speed and rasping force of the terrycloth against her skin burned.