Ember

by Ophelia Sexton

  Her eyes widened at his words. He tried to pull his hand away, but her fingers tightened around his.

  "A Bronze Star? I'm pretty sure that they never hand those out by mistake," she said, her tone gently chiding.

  "I hate that thing," he said. "For one thing, there's no way in hell I deserved any kind of medal, and especially not that one. I failed." Daniel had never spoken to anyone about his medal other than Pete. Once he'd returned from his deployment, he had tucked it away at the bottom of his desk drawer, along with the citation of the reasons for the award, personally signed by the Commander-in-Chief.

  Margaret's dark brows rose in an inquiring look. But she didn't bother protesting or repeat any of the bullshit lines that other people used when they heard about his deployments. Instead, she asked in a gentle tone, "Can you tell me about it?"

  "I—" Daniel began. His throat felt dry, so he reached for the glass of excellent Sauvignon Blanc that Margaret had served with lunch, and took a deep swallow before continuing. "You gotta understand, I spent most of my time in the Marine Corps trying to hide my, uh, special abilities."

  Margaret nodded. As a fellow shifter, she probably knew all about the little judgment calls that Daniel made every day in a world where he was surrounded by Ordinaries.

  "We were out on patrol in Helmand Province when we were ambushed by someone. Maybe Taliban, maybe just the local drug lords trying to protect their poppy fields," he said, trying to keep his voice even as the smells of dust, cow shit, and the sharp, chemical odors of the rocket propellant rose in his memory. "It was...bad. Our LAV—armored vehicle—got hit with an RPG, flipped, and wrecked. We called for medevac, but the hostiles had anti-aircraft artillery. We were all wearing full battle rattle—uh, flak vests, Kevlar helmets, and all the other gear," Daniel explained, not sure how familiar Margaret was with the slang, "But one of my squad mates, Gunnery Sergeant Lamar Johnson, had his legs shredded by a grenade."

  Daniel stopped speaking as he remembered how helpless he had felt. Twenty-five miles of rocky dirt road between them and FOB Shukvani, and only one way to get there now that their LAV was toast.

  "What happened then?" Margaret asked, after a long pause.

  Daniel looked up with a start. He tried to smile. "We're Marines. Devil Dogs. We beat back the bad guys long enough to hoof it out of there and back to the FOB."

  God, it sounded so easy when he said it like that. Like some action movie with the good guys scoring an easy win. Not like fighting an enemy you could barely spot behind cover, with the sun beating down on you and air that made the inside of a pizza oven feel cool, and the smell of fresh blood mingling with the scent of gasoline and other fluids leaking from the damaged LAV.

  "You walked back to base?" Margaret asked incredulously.

  "Twenty-five miles. I volunteered to carry Johnson since he couldn't walk and I knew that I could get the job done. The other leathernecks in my squad covered my back all the way back to the FOB."

  "Did...did Johnson survive?"

  "Yeah," Daniel said. He added bitterly, "But he lost both of his legs because it took so long to get him evac'd to the CSH—uh, Combat Surgical Hospital." He shook his head. "Johnson was planning to become a professional firefighter in Chicago after his enlistment ended. Instead, ended up as a double amputee at the age of 24."

  "So, you carried your wounded comrade on a twenty-five-mile hike through enemy territory, and you wonder why they gave you a medal?" Margaret asked. She pursed her mouth as if thinking, and added, "Did anyone wonder how you managed to do that?"

  "Oh, hell yeah," Daniel said, wincing at the memory. "I thought for sure that I was going to out myself as not-an-Ordinary. You see, Johnson was still wearing his battle rattle when we walked into the FOB...and I was wearing mine. There were a lot of uncomfortable questions about how I'd managed to hike that distance with hundred pounds of gear on top of what Johnson weighed...and he was a pretty solidly built guy. I had to bullshit—pardon my language—my way through the debrief. I can't remember exactly how I explained it, but I used the word 'adrenaline' a lot." He shook his head. "When they gave me that damned medal, the citation had a lot of bullshit about 'conspicuous gallantry' and 'intrepidity in action.' I hate that fucking thing—excuse my language," he apologized again. "Every time I look at it, I see Johnson sitting in that hospital bed with both legs gone, telling me how he wanted to join the fire department, and wondering what the hell he was going to do now."

  "That part was not your fault," Margaret said. "It's awful that your friend was so badly injured, but thanks to you, he's alive. You helped him to the best of your ability. And I suspect that if you hadn't been there, Daniel, Lamar Johnson would be dead right now, instead of trying to figure out an alternate career." She paused. "That same is true of your nephew. You feel guilty because you couldn't do more, but I want to remind you that you did enough. Chris is outside right now, playing with my grand-nieces and grand-nephews, because of you."

  She was trying to make him feel better. But she didn't understand about the acid guilt that had been eating through his gut since he woke up. "Yeah, Chris and I are safe here, while the rest of my pride ended up like a bunch of sitting ducks. With Pete and the others in prison, we knew there'd be a change of leadership eventually, but not like this."

  Margaret said nothing, but he remembered her question from last night. It was the same one he kept asking himself.

  Why didn't you step up to the plate? Did Lizbeth and the others die because you quit the steering committee after all the fuss about the restaurant? Was being a hotshot chef really that important?

  "Maybe I should have taken the job as Pride First," he said. "But you can't lead a sabertooth pride without being willing to kill for the job. I promised myself that I wouldn't kill anyone again after I finished up that last tour of duty."

  He found he couldn't sit a moment longer. He released her hand, instantly regretting the loss of contact. He shoved his chair back and stood, picking up his plate and the wine glass.

  "Do you think I'm a coward?" he asked, walking into the kitchen so that he wouldn't have to see her expression.

  I care what she thinks of me. I want her respect.

  Margaret rose to her feet and followed him over to the sink with her own plate and glass in her hands.

  "No, she said, and a tension he hadn't been aware of loosened inside him. "I think you're a brave man who's just had enough of war and fighting."

  * * *

  Daniel stood next to the sink, gazing down at her. His expression was still somber. "You understand. Thank you."

  She touched him then, her hand rising of its own volition, and pressed her palm over his heart. She felt the warmth of his skin through the cotton of his t-shirt, and felt the pulse of his heartbeat travel up her arm. "Some wounds are invisible, but that doesn't mean you don't bleed inside."

  She saw the moment when his beast rose inside him, a tide of gold sweeping across his green eyes. He stepped close, pushing her against the cool, unyielding edge of the countertop. His lean, muscular body pressed against her from belly to breasts. His scarred hands cupped her face firmly, his palms and fingers feverishly hot against her cheeks and jaw.

  Daniel growled low in his throat, and the sound sent a thrill of anticipation through her as he bent his head. But instead of the savage kiss she was expecting—maybe even hoping for—his mouth was gentle as it closed over hers, his lips almost chaste as they lingered against hers in a warm caress.

  But the fire that his mouth kindled deep in her belly was anything but chaste. It raced through her, starting a hot, insistent throbbing between her legs.

  Almost before it began, the kiss was over.

  Margaret blinked as Daniel pulled back and released her as abruptly as if she'd just burned him. Her lips tingled and she could still feel the shape of his mouth imprinted on hers.

  He looked down at her, his eyes still hazed with gold and his expression troubled.

  "I'm sorry," he said, his v
oice rough. "I didn't mean—"

  "You did. And I'm glad." Margaret didn't want an apology. She wanted to kiss him some more.

  So, she snaked her arms around his neck and drew him down for another, deeper kiss.

  Daniel growled low in his throat, the vibration against her lips sending a thrill down her spine. Then his arms came around her, sliding up her back to cradle the back of her head as he hungrily returned her kiss. She opened her mouth to his, and felt his tongue caress hers.

  It had been such a long, long time since she'd been kissed like this, since she'd felt anything this good. She loved the taste of him, the feel of him, the scent of him. She wanted more.

  After a timeless interval, Daniel's mouth moved to her throat. He nibbled his way down the sensitive skin to her collarbones. When his sharp teeth scraped lightly against sensitive skin, it felt like lightning shooting straight down to the pit of her belly.

  Margaret made a noise of pure need deep in her throat and arched against him, feeling the hard ridge of his erection through the thick denim of his jeans.

  He chuckled softly, a puff of warm breath against the side of her neck. "Hey, so you liked that?"

  She made an inarticulate noise of assent, and he bit the side of her neck again, a little harder this time.

  It felt wild and utterly wonderful, and she needed more now.

  She drew his face up to hers and kissed his mouth. Her fingers scrabbled frantically at the waist of his jeans as she tried to pull his t-shirt up. She relished the feeling of his bare, warm skin, taut and warm over hard muscle. Her hands wandered lower, and she cupped his firm, tight ass through his jeans.

  Daniel's breaths grew harsh. His earlier gentleness vanished, replaced by a hard, sensual assault on her mouth. He pulled her close against him, his hands hot against the small of her back as he pulled up her shirt in return.

  His fingers slid over her waist, then went higher, exploring the length of her spine as his tongue plundered her mouth. Margaret arched, pressing herself against him. She felt breathless, her pulse drumming in her ears and throbbing with a sweet, urgent ache of desire between her legs.

  How did I survive so long without this? She asked herself dizzily. She had almost forgotten the wild, sweet pleasure of exchanging urgent kisses while hands roamed and caressed frantically.

  She wanted more from him. She needed more.

  "Daniel," she gasped, pulling just far enough away from his sweet, hot mouth to speak. "Let's go upst—"

  Then the pounding of feet on the porch outside announced the return of Chris and his new friends.

  Daniel and Margaret sprang apart like two guilty teenagers.

  Her front door banged open, and Matt's voice called, "Auntie Margaret? Can we have some cookies now?"

  Her skin hot and her pulse racing with interrupted desire, Margaret glanced up at Daniel. His handsome features were flushed as he tugged at the hem of his t-shirt, pulling back it down.

  Caught in the act, he mouthed silently, waggling his brows at her in a comic leer.

  Despite her frustration, she began laughing.

  Chapter Twelve – Unexpected Revelation

  Oh my God, woman, Margaret chided herself as she poured glasses of milk for the horde of children that had cheerfully invaded her home. What's gotten into you? You climbed that poor man like a tree and practically dragged him up to your bedroom.

  In a flash, her frustrated arousal turned into deep mortification. She couldn't bear to make eye contact with Daniel as he gently took over the task of baking up the cookies. He stood at her counter, calmly scooping balls of refrigerated dough from the large bowl and placing them in neat rows onto her cookie sheets while her oven heated.

  He liked it, her bear stated confidently.

  He's a guest under my roof! And I've known him for less than a day, Margaret protested. What if I made him uncomfortable?

  It had certainly made her uncomfortable, now that the inexplicable hormonal surge had passed. She hadn't even kissed a man on the lips since Ryan's death...and ten minutes ago, she'd been more than ready to welcome a near-stranger into her bed.

  And still was, if truth be told. That kiss had been amazing. And it had been intoxicating to feel Daniel's hands on her bare skin, and to know that in the moment, at least, he'd wanted her as badly as she wanted him.

  Does he look uncomfortable? asked her bear.

  Daniel subtly nudged her hip with his own as she passed him to get to her fridge, without missing a beat in his conversation with Chris and the others.

  It was a quick, affectionate gesture, and it helped to dissipate the gathering clouds of anxiety.

  We like him, her bear all-but-purred. He smells good, he feels good, and he tastes good.

  It was the same assessment that her bear had given Ryan when she met him at Elle's engagement party.

  Margaret froze in front of the open fridge door, and stared, unseeing, into its depths.

  No. Oh, no. I can't. And most especially not with Pete Langlais' brother.

  She shuddered at the thought of the firestorm that would ignite in her family.

  They had more-or-less gotten over their blanket prejudice against sabertooth shifters since Justin and Cassie had married into the family...but taking a Langlais as a mate would probably be a different story.

  Wait a second...have I really gone from one single kiss—it was spectacular, but really!—to thinking about mating Daniel Langlais? Margaret asked herself. You just met him last night!

  Her mortification returned.

  The oven chimed a signal that pre-heating was completed. She sneaked a look over at Daniel as he opened the oven door, and slid the cookie sheets in.

  He was smiling as he joked with Chris and the other kids crowded around the kitchen island, asking Matt and Sophie questions about the rules for shifter soccer, and listening to their replies. He looked like he belonged here.

  A wave of heat swept over her at the thought of seeing him in her kitchen—and in other places in her house—on a regular basis.

  What if he goes away? Could I really bring myself to leave my home here and follow him to Albuquerque? Assuming that he even wants to be followed?

  She didn't doubt her bear's assessment that Daniel had been caught up in the same crazy moment of desire as she had. Shifter senses didn't lie. The heat and intensity of that kiss had been mutual.

  But Margaret was old enough to know that physical chemistry alone didn't make for a successful relationship. And even if Daniel did want more than just a kiss from her, would he be willing to relocate to Bearpaw Ridge permanently? If not, could she leave her family behind?

  She scanned the group of her great-nieces and great-nephews crowded around her kitchen island and imagined moving far enough away from them that she might only see them a few times a year.

  She knew what that was like. Her son Patrick was married and living in Alaska with his Ordinary wife Jessica and their daughter Olivia. She only saw them for the holidays, since Jessica's medical practice and Patrick's academic career as a paleontologist at the University of Alaska in Anchorage kept them both busy.

  And then there were her daughters Kayla and Hannah, both still unmated. And Elle, who was not only her older sister but her business partner and best friend. Could she leave them, too?

  Whoa, way to jump the gun, Maggie, she chided herself. One kiss and you're already planning a wedding and a happily ever after. You need to get yourself under control and stop acting like a teenager with her first crush. A shifter male who's still unmated at his age is probably only interested in a fling.

  And even if he wants more than just a fling...do I?

  * * *

  "Hey," said Daniel, propping his elbows on the island's countertop. "Since it looks like we might be here for a while, can I ask you where I can go shopping? Toiletries, some warmer clothes, raincoats—stuff like that? I've heard that it gets a lot colder here than in Albuquerque."

  Matt and other kids had left a short tim
e ago. They'd taken Chris with them, inviting him over to play their Uncle Ash's newest video game release.

  "My Dad's famous in the gaming world," Margaret heard seven-year-old Young Mitya telling Chris on the way out of the house. "And he lets me play all of his games first. He says I'm his pre-alpha tester."

  "It does get pretty nippy here," Margaret said now in response to Daniel's comment. "There's a drugstore on Main Street for toothpaste and things like that. For anything else, try Wallace's Ranch & Home Supply. They're a block off Main Street, not too far from the gas station. They should be easy to find. And they carry everything you could possibly want, from clothing to pet food to barbed wire."