by Eliza Gayle
If she wasn’t very, very careful, she’d become his prey before she even realized what had happened.
“Did she bother to tell you the circumstances surrounding her mate’s death?”
Chey felt every muscle in Malcolm’s body freeze. She racked her brain for something—anything to say that would stop the train that had just been derailed. Fucking cougars.
Chey met Malcolm’s gaze and winced at the hard edge of anger and suspicion in his eyes. For a few lingering seconds it was as if time stood still and they were the only two people in the room. She knew he was giving her a chance to say something but she couldn’t. If Ben was going to paint her as a murderess, might as well let Malcolm hear it now. Once he did then maybe the mate business between them would finally be settled. No man wanted a woman as cold as she’d been.
When she firmly clamped her mouth shut, awareness dawned in Malcolm’s eyes and he turned back to Ben.
“Excuse me?” Ice dripped from those two words, as if the room had gone dark and frigid.
For the second time in one short year, Chey was terrified. Obviously the cloud around John’s death had not been contained to neutral ground. Ben was about to reveal her darkest moments to the one man she’d never stopped loving. Tears burned in her eyes but refused to be shed. Every nightmare she’d endured would all be for nothing the moment he learned the truth. Images of that blood soaked night ripped through her mind, tearing once again at the frayed edges of her sanity. If she’d been the wife John deserved none of this would have ever happened.
The adrenalin coursing through her managed to break through some of the drugged stupor. She swung her arms and struggled against Malcom’s strength. Freedom. She had to have it now. “Let me go,” she whispered.
“Never.” His muted response shivered along her skin. “Tell me.”
She didn’t know whom he’d directed his demand to, but it was Ben who opened his mouth and spoke.
“It was her personal knife that we found buried in her mate’s chest. I doubt there’s a soul in any clan that doesn’t believe she didn’t do it. Unfortunately our council doesn’t have jurisdiction over non-clan members and her family refused to execute her based on what they termed circumstantial evidence. But…”
Oh God, where was he going with this? The sound of his voice had gone from smug to almost amused. Was he laughing at her situation?
“If she’s your mate now I believe that changes the rules.”
“Now hold on Ben. This isn’t about ancient history. We were sent here to clean up a recent murder, not rehash the past.”
Finally someone stood up for her. Even if Charlie rubbed her wrong and Chey wanted to slit her throat for drugging her.
“Your mate is dead?” For a second, Malcolm’s hold loosened and she slid to her knees with his hands grasping her arms.
A scream of fresh grief tore through her head at the simple question. She had no idea how to handle this. She sucked in gulps of air trying to breathe. Her fault. She did this. She had to pay for it. No matter how many times she begged for a second chance nothing ever changed. She woke up alone and broken day after day, guilt slowly eating her away.
“Chey! Answer me.” His fingers tightened on her arm as he gave her a firm shake.
“I warned Kane not to send me here. This wasn’t supposed to happen.” She clawed at his arms, desperate to pry him loose.
“Tell me damn it.” He dipped his head to her ear. “I’m not letting you out of here until you answer me. Is. Your. Mate. Dead?”
Chey stared into Malcolm’s face. She hated him as much as she loved him. John had known and didn’t care. He’d tried to give her everything and in the end she’d failed. Tears clouded her vision making it impossible for her to focus on Malcolm. Instead she breathed deeply of his scent. So much anger surrounded him and pain. Oh God. Her stomach heaved.
“Yes,” she cried, sure in the knowledge that he would never forgive her. What he’d done all those years ago paled in comparison. Mate or no mate, some things could never be forgiven. Her stomach wrenched painfully and she grabbed her waist mere seconds before throwing up all over his feet.
Chapter Eight
For the first time in too many years, Malcolm felt a sliver of hope. He had no idea what the hell was going on here or why they thought she’d killed her mate, but through the wild terror he scented from her he still felt hope.
Although something was seriously wrong here. What he sensed from Chey had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with guilt and pain. He had to get to the whole truth. First things first. He lifted her shivering frame into his arms and walked from the room. He vaguely heard voices in the background ordering him to stop, all of which he ignored. His mate needed him and for once in his life he wasn’t going to disappoint her.
He carried her down the hall and into his bedroom. With his foot he kicked the door shut behind him, confident that no one would dare follow him. The anger had boiled to the surface and one glance at the female had told him all he needed to know. Her fear at the sight of him meant one thing. His eyes glowed molten gold of the cougar, warning her. His skin itched and his bones ached. With the strength born of years of hard earned discipline he tightened the leash on the animal inside him and focused on Chey instead.
With slow, precise movements he entered the bathroom and gingerly stood her on her feet. “You okay to stand for a second?”
She nodded, the pain in her eyes tearing through his heart. Malcolm steadied her before reaching for the glass-enclosed shower. “I’m going to get you cleaned up and give you some time to pull it together. Then we’re going to talk.”
The glazed expression in her gaze didn’t change.
Automatically, he reached for the shower controls and turned the water and heat to full blast. He returned to her side and began to strip away her clothes. He curled his fingers around the bottom of her shirt and lifted it over her head and tossed it toward the laundry basket. His throat closed at the sight of her lush breasts only barely covered by a few scraps of silk and lace. As much as he ached to touch her—to get inside her, the haunted look in her eyes stopped him. After a deep and not so calming breath, he unzipped her pants and slid them from her legs.
The minute he’d learned her mated status wasn’t exactly as she’d presented, his brain had gone into overdrive. The cat clawed at his mind to take what belonged to him but the man hesitated. There was too much he didn’t know or understand yet.
“You’re dirty too,” she whispered.
“I know. But don’t worry about me.” He turned her away from him and eased her in the direction of the shower stall. Before he opened the door, he divested her of her bra. Next, he peeled the panties from her legs and she stepped out of them. Malcolm ground his teeth together as he fought to stay in control. If he touched her any more there were no guarantees he could stop himself from taking her.
His eyes narrowed on the delectable curves of her ass while the hunger ate him from the inside out. The lust raging through his body threatened his sanity as well as the logic he sought. She suddenly turned to him and stared into his eyes.
“Please don’t leave me.” Chey pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Not yet.”
Malcolm growled a response deep in his throat. Words deserted him. He lifted her into the shower and stepped in behind her fully clothed. Hot water splashed across her skin and made it glisten. She shifted in his embrace, attempting to turn around. His arms tightened, immobilizing her.
“Don’t. I only have so much control.”
Chey stilled. He inhaled deeply, imprinting her scent. His body went impossibly harder and he bit back a groan. He’d never get enough of her to satisfy the man or the animal. Malcolm reached for the soap and lathered his hands. He’d come this far, might as well go for broke. At the first touch of his hands to her bare back, Chey sucked in a sharp breath. He knew exactly how she felt. Dear God her skin felt like heaven under his touch.
She dipped her head und
er the spray and soaked her hair. That simple move revealed the mark he needed to avoid. The birthmark on her neck that marked her as a bond mate. The small scar in the middle of it burned in his gut. The mere thought of another man’s mouth on his mark threatened his sanity. His hands clenched into tight fists while he beat back the urge to take.
Bite her.
The animal inside taunted him.
Claim her now.
Malcolm clamped his jaw together tight. No. The last thing in the world he should do right now was tie her to him forever. If he died, and that possibility was growing stronger with each passing day, she would die as well.
The thought struck him like a dagger to the heart. He whipped Chey around. “You were bitten. Your mark claimed. If your mate is really dead, why are you still alive?”
She shrugged. The look in her eyes so pain-filled it nearly cut him to his knees. “I don’t think it works with just anyone,” she whispered, barely to be heard over the roar in his ears.
Malcolm mulled her response in his mind. If that were true then whomever she’d tried to mate with before had failed. They may have had feelings for each other but the mate bond had not been achieved. He looked into her large beautiful eyes, searching for something—anything to give him more hope. The instinctive need to take her ripped through his senses even harder. He wanted to be the one. The only one. His canines ached. It seemed the more he fought it the harder the cougar struggled.
He grabbed a handful of her hair and tipped her head back until the water sluiced over her once again. This position exposed her neck to his gaze, a fact she didn’t fight against. Yet, instead of taking what he was desperate for, the memory of her pain grabbed him by the balls. As much as he needed to be buried inside her wet heat, fucking until they both collapsed, he hesitated.
“It’s not safe for you to be with me,” he admitted.
She pressed her fingertips to the side of his face, the heat nearly burning him through. “I’m willing to take my chances.”
Malcolm groaned and leaned forward, his teeth grazing the column of her neck. “You smell so fucking good.”
She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him tight. “Take what you need.”
Oh fuck. He was so screwed. He’d fight it. She’d been drugged, simple as that. If she were in her right mind she wouldn’t even be allowing him near her. So he’d take…a little.
Malcolm fought the arousal until it simmered underneath the surface instead of boiling out of control. He brushed his cheek across hers, simply reveling in the heat of her touch. “If and when we ever go any further again, it will not be when you’re high on some drug or your judgment impaired in any other manner. If there is a next time, it will be because it’s what you want more than your next breath.” If she didn’t ache for it like he did it would kill him.
“Malcolm,” she purred, her hands tightening on his head.
His nostrils flared at the sudden and overwhelming scent of her desire filling the shower stall. His name on her sweet lips unraveled a little more of his control.
“No.” He whispered into her ear, his lips barely touching her. “Not like this.” Reluctantly, he pulled free of her embrace and did his level best not to look down. He reached for the shampoo and filled his palm with the strong scent of lavender. Anything to take his mind off Chey’s intoxicating musk. “Turn around.” The command came out far harsher than he’d intended.
Without another word she did as he asked, and with no ability to stop himself, he glanced down at the sweet heart shaped ass he coveted. God help him, he needed divine intervention to stop himself from bending her over in front of him and sinking balls deep no matter what he thought was best for them both. His body throbbed like a son of a bitch and the memories of their sex earlier that day filled his head like a movie set on automatic replay to torture him.
He jerked his fingers into her hair and began lathering the strands with shampoo. Why he insisted on making this more difficult for them both evaded him. But for whatever reason he could not take his hands off of her. He’d been at the opposite side of the house pacing when he’d sensed her acute distress. The scent of it had rammed him and sent him staggering for a few seconds before he regained a modicum of equilibrium.
He’d rushed toward the room they were using to interrogate her and come face to face with Ben. He’d growled for the other man to get out of his way to no avail. Since getting into a fight with another cougar would take away precious time, he’d ran through the house, using his knowledge of the layout to his advantage and beating Ben to the room by a mere few seconds.
Fuck. Even now the image of his mate on the floor grasping for control made him see blood red. In that moment, he’d wanted to pull the woman responsible limb from limb and then some. He’d had to fight the blood lust like never before in his life. If Chey hadn’t needed him so much in that moment, he’d have found himself facing a different sort of murder charge. One that would have left him without a leg to stand on in their current situation.
Her knife.
The remembered words sliced through him. There were always two sides to a story and it sickened him that the council assholes would use this tactic to drive a wedge between them. They were perfectly capable of doing that themselves, thank you very much. These tactics were getting old and something needed to be done. Malcolm sighed. Not that he should care. They’d turned their backs on him long ago.
“Ouch.”
Malcolm stared down at his fingers in her hair and relaxed his hold. “Sorry.”
He finished washing her hair and bent her forward to rinse the suds from the lush mane. He swallowed hard. He’d been crazy to get this close to her like this. His erection throbbed against his now soaking wet and increasingly tight pants.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she whispered.
“Why did you lie to me?” Malcolm blurted without thinking. His need to know overrode his intentions to wait for this conversation.
She froze, her body going rigid under his touch. He sensed her reluctance to get into this with him.
“I didn’t lie.”
“Semantics, Chey. Don’t even go there.” His hold on control weakened to the point his blood raged through his veins. As much as he hated to shatter their time together, he couldn’t stop himself.
She inhaled slowly. Likely buying time to decide what to tell him. At that moment he dared her to push back at him. With his desire for her ruling his thoughts and emotions, it wouldn’t take much to shatter the thin thread of control holding him together.
“I don’t want to have this conversation naked in the shower.”
He ached to see her eyes. To watch the emotions moving through her like they did him. But she was right. They were on extremely dangerous ground. Malcolm clenched his teeth and forced the animal back. His fingers ached and he expected any moment for his claws to break free.
“I’ll concede for now. But you need to understand that we will be discussing it and my patience is running thin.” She wasn’t going to run or hide from him again. He lowered his head, placing his mouth at the edge of her ear. “I can only hold the cougar back for so long, darling.”
A hard shudder raced over her. Satisfied that he’d gotten her attention, he turned off the water and pulled her from the stall. His pants squished and tightened around him as he moved. Neither of which did a damn thing to help the fact he was rock hard and ready. He grabbed one of the bath towels and began drying her skin. He took care to be gentle and not rough her up anymore than she already had been. As the water dried, the natural scent of her musk rose from the opened pores of her skin.
Not inhaling wasn’t an option. He couldn’t get enough of her. His balls drew tight against his skin and the blood raced through his veins until it pooled in his heavy shaft. Never in his entire life had a woman made him ache like this. Despite, or maybe because of, her failed mating, his instincts told him it would not be the case between them. If he bit her like he ached to the resul
ts would be final and permanent. And it took every ounce of discipline he possessed not to rob her of the choice.
She was his woman.
He quickly wrapped a thick robe around her nude form before the claws of need shredded him any further. Once covered, he spun her to face him. “You can’t hide from this. I won’t allow it.”
“I’m so tired, Malcolm. For a year I’ve wanted nothing but peace. It’s never coming is it?”
That familiar pain swam in her eyes. This time it offended him. He wanted to snarl and demand, take and consume. “Probably not.” This time he didn’t bother to hide the resentment he felt. Their situation had turned beyond fucked up and she’d learn to deal. He cupped her chin and forced her gaze to meet his. “We are in this together though. Bad or good, you’re stuck with me. I won’t allow any other choice.”
“Even if it means your death?”
Her question made no sense but his answer wouldn’t change. “I’m not that easy to kill, sweetheart, so don’t go getting any crazy ideas. And don’t do anything to push me to make a decision we’ll both regret.”
Before he lost complete control and did something crazy, he dropped his hand and turned away. “Unless you are looking for me to lay you out on the bathroom floor and fuck you until neither of us can move, I suggest you give me a few minutes to get cleaned up.”
She blinked, the surprise clearly etched on her face. A second later he could have sworn a challenge flared in her gaze before quickly being replaced with a carefully crafted blankness. “Don’t challenge me, Malcolm. You won’t like the results.” She whirled around and stalked from the room. Clearly the shower had helped clear her head. He laughed. Her spit and fire had returned. Good. Now they could get down to business.
He peeled the heavy fabric from his legs and tossed them in the sink. He took in his ragged appearance in the mirror above it and grimaced. Slowly, he grasped the aching flesh between his legs and squeezed to the point of pain. There was so much he needed from Cheyenne and it went so far beyond a simple fuck. Was she even aware of his darker desires? The ones where it meant her tied to a wall so he could have his way with her?