by Amy Pennza
For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. Reflex kicked in and he put a hand on his nape. “I, ah, have something to show you.”
A small smile teased at her mouth. “Besides the granola bars?”
She sought to lighten the mood, and it nearly broke his heart.
Without realized it at first, he rubbed at his sternum. Her gaze dipped there, and he caught himself and lowered his hand. Coughed into his fist. “Ah, yeah. It’s nothing special, really. I just thought you might like it.”
Skepticism played over her features, but she nodded. “Okay.”
The tingling on his nape intensified. Then it hit him.
He was nervous.
Fool. His subconscious taunted him. He ignored it, motioning for her to follow him. “Again, watch your step.” If she tripped and lost that blanket, he wasn’t sure he could keep his hands off her. As it was, images of her sitting nude before the fire flashed in his mind, her long legs tucked under her, golden skin kissed by the flames.
And those luscious breasts. Jesus, he could still taste them.
He clenched his jaw as he moved through the rows of flowers toward the back of the conservatory. The flowers grew thicker and wilder here, the blooms so large and heavy they drooped on their stems. Vines ran over and around everything, in some places so thick he had to push them aside so he and Haley could pass.
At last they reached the back wall, which was dominated by a single stained glass window with a red rose in the center. It cast pinkish light over everything, bathing the far end of the conservatory in a soft, peachy glow.
Haley stopped, an admiring gaze on the window. “It’s lovely.”
He took a moment to appreciate the striking sight she made with her head tilted back, her sky blue eyes surrounded by thick lashes and her full lips curved in a sweet smile. The blanket trailed behind her like a gown, the train snagged by thorns bearing roses. Her light brown curls rippled down her back, and the flush in her cheeks matched the window. He had to blink to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. She was a woodland goddess come to life. For a moment, he felt like a weary human who stumbled across an otherworldly court or a Faerie bower soaked in magic.
But of course he was no human. And magic didn’t live in glass conservatories full of light and roses. It lived in the darkness, in forgotten corners and blood-soaked shadows.
She turned to him. “I can see why you wanted to show me this.”
“That’s not what I wanted to show you.” As a question appeared in her eyes, he parted a thick swath of vines and gestured for her to step through.
She gave him a quizzical look but complied, ducking her head and passing under his arm.
He followed and let the vines shiver back into place behind him.
She sucked in a breath. “Is that a—”
“Sunken bath,” he finished. It was a ten foot by ten foot square in the Roman style, the whole thing lined in tile imported from Italy. Steam rose from the surface and drifted like smoke toward the glass roof high overhead.
Haley met his gaze. “You said there’s no electricity. How is it hot?”
He pointed at the slate under their feet. “Pipes under the floor. The conservatory is a greenhouse. Solar panels on the roof capture heat and power the pump so the water never gets stagnant.”
She turned back to the bath. “It’s amazing.”
“I thought you might like to use it.”
She swung her head around again, her eyes wide.
“Alone,” he said, his damn neck prickling again. “We’re stuck here for the night and maybe tomorrow. I thought you might like a chance to get clean.”
She said nothing. Just stared.
He was an idiot.
It was an idiot suggestion.
Borderline insulting, even.
He should apologize. Except he owed her so many apologies he didn’t even know where to begin.
He took a breath.
“You don’t—”
“I want—”
They stopped, having spoken over each other. They both fell silent, and a certain bashfulness hovered in the air.
He gestured for her to speak.
A hint of something—mischief maybe—sparked in her eyes, and she tipped her head to the side. “All right. Turn around.”
“What?”
She made a swirly motion with her finger. “Turn.”
Slowly, he faced away. Somehow, he’d lost control of the situation and now Haley Michaels was in charge. She’d flown right under his radar, stripping his defenses.
The knowledge landed so hard he almost swayed on his feet. All his life he was taught the most dangerous opponents were those with sharper fangs or longer claws. The fast wolves. The wolves with superior Gifts.
Water splashed behind him.
His breath caught.
Yeah, his training had been dead wrong. The most dangerous opponents weren’t the strong ones.
They were the ones you never saw coming.
Haley’s voice reached him. “You can turn around now.”
Just as slowly, he faced her again. He thought he was dreaming before. Now he was certain.
Her blanket lay abandoned on the ground, and she was in the center of the bath, the tops of her breasts visible above the water. She’d piled her hair on top of her head, and a few damp tendrils caressed her neck. As he watched, she cupped water in her hands and splashed it over her face. It trailed down her neck and dribbled over her breasts.
And, damn, but he was suddenly jealous of water.
She swiped water from her eyes. “Do you want to come in?”
More than any fucking thing in this world. He shook his head and gave his left thigh a pat. “Best not to take this off.”
Concern entered her gaze. “Are you hurting?”
“Not right now.” That would change, though. It always did. He didn’t unleash his full power too often, so when he did it sustained him over a long period of time, letting him carry her from the forest and force her Turn when she was too weak to do it herself.
He’d pay for it later. His damaged body was a poor conduit, and that kind of power strained every muscle and tendon. He just had to hope he and Haley could make it back to his place before that happened.
She smoothed a hand down her arm, washing off the dirt from the forest.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. He didn’t wait for her answer as he retrieved the box of granola bars and bottled waters he’d found in the pantry. He went to the side of the bath and set everything down, then crouched and opened the box. “These are actually protein bars. They aren’t the best tasting thing in the world but they have a long shelf life.”
“That’s okay.” She waded to the edge, and he held his breath as her breasts bobbed in the water. Light from the stained glass window slanted over her, making her skin appear to shimmer and turning her nipples an even deeper pink.
He knew what was under the water, too. That her sex was smooth and bare, her intimate lips plump and pouty. He’d caught a glimpse when she Turned, and the image was seared into his brain.
Did she know how she affected him? Probably, she didn’t think about it. Werewolves weren’t prudish about nudity. Everyone saw each other in the buff on a regular basis.
But his body seemed to have forgotten that. His heart pounded, and sweat dampened his back. He rested his good knee on the ground and busied himself arranging the protein bars in a neat row. He placed the waters next to it, everything laid out just so. It was overkill, but it gave him an excuse to look down. Even so, her form filled the edge of his vision, offering tantalizing glimpses of water-slick skin and smooth limbs.
She took a bar and tore it open. Then she took a bite and closed her eyes on a sigh, murmuring, “Processed chocolate never tasted so good.”
He opened two more and handed them to her.
She accepted without comment, her mouth too full to speak.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, the only sounds the gentle
lapping of the water and her crunching the protein bars. She ate like she was ravenous—which she almost certainly was. Shifter metabolism demanded a lot of calories. When he worked long shifts at the hospital he locked himself in the attending physician’s overnight room so he could eat without anyone noticing he consumed six or seven meals a day.
She polished off the third bar and placed the wrapper on the side of the bath. “You should eat, too.”
He shook his head. “Not right now.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, voice low, she said, “The old wolf who died. Was he a friend?”
“His name was Joel. And, yes, he was a friend.”
She put a hand on the edge of the bath, her fingers inches from his knee. “I’m very sorry.” She hesitated, and when she spoke again she seemed to choose her words carefully, like she didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “Max always says Alphas feel loss differently than others. That losing one of his wolves is like losing a family member.”
“There is truth to that.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to remove a few layers of fatigue. “Mostly, I despise the waste of it all.”
“What do you mean?”
“Latency. No one knows why it happens.” He shrugged. “It’s a weakness in our genes, and I guess there’s wisdom in accepting that. But I struggle to feel wise when I have to snap a fourteen year old’s neck.”
She touched his knee, her slim fingers firm against his jeans-clad leg. “You did what you had to do. What no one else could do. That’s not wisdom, Bard. It’s bravery.” Her voice was urgent and fierce, and he got the sense she would champion him no matter what.
She had no way of knowing he didn’t deserve it.
In the same careful tone as before, she said, “You were able to calm him in the forest.”
He nodded. “I can do that when my power is up. Just as I forced your Turn.”
“What did you tell him? Before . . .”
“That I would make sure his parents knew he didn’t suffer.”
Tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Bard.”
It took him a second to speak but when he did words spilled from him. He found himself telling her things he never told anyone else. “It’s the hardest thing I do, telling the family. It never feels right. Probably because I’m the one who does the killing.”
Now she gripped his hand, her fingers tight around his. Water soaked through his jeans, but he barely noticed.
“I’m a Healer,” he said. “It’s in my DNA to help, not hurt.”
She squeezed his hand. “That’s why you’re a doctor.”
“It’s part of it.” He ran a thumb down the scar that bisected his cheek. “I got this when I was twenty years old. I won my challenge but I lost my vision and my leg. And I spent the next ten years feeling sorry for myself. It was Joel who finally knocked some sense into me.” Memories surfaced, and Bard smiled as the old wolf’s lecture rang in his ears. “He told me I was wasting my gifts. At first I thought he was talking about Healing, but he meant it in a broader sense. I couldn’t hunt or run anymore, but I could walk. I had two good hands.”
Haley’s eyes sparkled. “So you went to medical school.”
“College first. I was thirty years old and a fish out of water.”
She laughed, and a dimple appeared in her cheek.
His stomach did a funny little flip. How had he never noticed that dimple? Then realization swept him. She’s never laughed like that before. At least not around him.
Her laughter died down, but her smile stayed. She had beautiful teeth, straight and white. He never noticed that before, either. Studying her now was like discovering a new country.
Their gazes held, and he found himself saying, “We should get you out of the water before you wrinkle.”
“All right.” She gave an easy agreement, her gaze direct and somehow knowing.
He got to his feet without breaking eye contact. “I’ll get your blanket.” As he reached for it, she put her palms on the edge of the bath and pushed herself up, exiting with the wolf’s ease and grace. Then she stood before him, water sluicing off her sleek body.
“Aphrodite rising from the foam,” he heard himself say.
She shivered as water puddled around her feet.
He rushed forward and wrapped the blanket around her but kept the two ends in his hands. For some reason, he couldn’t let go. Not just yet. The result was that he held her in something of a cocoon, her body swaddled against his.
“What does that mean?” she asked, her gaze searching his. “What you said about the foam?”
Faint surprise rippled through him. “Aphrodite? Goddess of . . .” He swallowed. Their conversation was going in a dangerous direction. “Well, goddess of a lot of things.”
Pink stained her cheeks. She ducked her head, and for the first time he sensed she was embarrassed. “I feel like I should have known that. Unlike you, I never went to college.”
A fist squeezed his heart. Of course she hadn’t. She’d been a latent and a foster. In their world, she’d had no future. Why waste college on someone who wasn’t going to live long enough to use their degree?
“You could still go,” he said. “You’re young.”
She lifted her head, her smile faded but still visible. “I don’t know what I would study.” She lowered her voice, as though she confided a secret and someone might overhear. “I was something of a bad student.”
A laugh caught in his throat. “I don’t doubt it. You have a serious problem with authority.”
She rolled her eyes. “Only when overbearing Alphas are involved.”
“You think I’m overbearing?”
“Not at all.”
He gave a nod. “That’s what I—”
“I know you’re overbearing.”
He threw back his head and laughed.
After a second, she joined in. For a few moments, their laughter echoed off the glass walls and ceiling. When he caught his breath, he lowered his head and found her smiling up at him.
“Ah,” he said. “There it is.”
She tilted her head. “What?”
Still clasping the blanket, he lifted a hand and brushed a gentle knuckle over her cheek. “The light in your eyes.”
Now her breath caught. She shivered again.
“Here.” He loosened the blanket, then rubbed it over her shoulders and arms, blotting the leftover water. She stood docile until he got to her elbows, when she winced and sucked in a breath.
He stopped. “What is it?”
“Nothing. Probably just a few scrapes from the forest.”
“Let me see.”
“It’s fine.”
“Doctor’s orders.”
She gave him a look but angled her body sideways.
He lowered the blanket, exposing her left side down to her hip. Sure enough, there were several cuts and scratches. He touched a fingertip to the unblemished skin above a raw-looking spot near her elbow. “You have several abrasions here and”—he followed a line of scrapes that trailed from her arm to her upper back—“here.” He turned her a little more, then smoothed a palm down her spine. As he did, he lost his grip on the blanket.
It dropped to her feet, revealing her pert backside and slender legs. Several curls had escaped her bun and clung to her damp back. Her skin was golden perfection, her spine a long, graceful arch. Her ass was round and firm, the curves plump despite her slender frame. They begged a male to cup them . . . maybe even dip his fingers between them.
Suddenly, it was difficult to breathe. Difficult to do anything but stare at the bounty before him.
She turned her head just enough to meet his gaze over her shoulder. And what he saw in her eyes was unmistakable.
Blatant invitation.
Somehow, against all odds, he hadn’t quite managed to fuck everything up. By some miracle, she was giving him another shot.
Ordinarily, he didn’t believe in miracles. But he was damn sure on his way to becoming a
convert.
Moving slowly, he put a hand on her shoulder and turned her around. She let him, facing forward with her chin up, her arms at her sides. Her breasts stood out proudly from her chest, her nipples hardened to tight points.
He touched a dark pink tip, and she bit her lip, her blue eyes going heavy-lidded.
She made a low, unintelligible sound and tipped her head back. Her hands twitched at her sides, as though electricity ran through her body. She pushed her chest out more, inviting his touch.
Invitation accepted. He cupped a breast in each hand, reveling in how the generous swells overfilled his palms. There was enough for two males and it was all his.
And just like that, he became a greedy bastard.
He used his thumbs to flick and caress her nipples, teasing the peaks until they grew impossibly hard. She trembled under his touch, her heart thundering so hard he could see the pulse in her neck.
There were so many things he wanted to do, and he had such a short amount of time. His power wouldn’t last much longer. It was as if he stood at the gates of paradise and he could only slip inside for a brief moment.
As he wavered, loss and frustration swirling in a toxic mix in his mind, Haley rose on her toes and leaned into him, her breasts brushing his chest. She put her mouth next to his ear and whispered, “What are you waiting for?”
All his restraints snapped. He hoisted her in his arms and walked to a wall of bright pink flowers that lined the bath. He deposited her on one of the stone slabs, then pressed her back into the blooms.
She stiffened. “Thorns.”
“Not these.” He buried his face in her neck, planting soft kisses along the vein where her pulse throbbed. He spaced his words between kisses. “They’re Zephirine Drouhin.”
“What?” She turned her head to the side, giving him more access.
“No thorns.”
That answer must have satisfied her, because she settled more deeply into the flowers. Vines rustled, and the heady scent of roses lifted all around them.
She clutched his head against her neck, her breaths coming in little pants. And when he pulled back, she made a soft sound of protest.
But he had to pull back. Because he had to see her.
He wasn’t disappointed.