by Celia Kyle
He’d managed to keep her focused on transporting Cole to Birch’s vacation cabin at the lake. The team usually used the space to unwind, but it was also a secret place for a team member to rest and recover. Quiet. Solitary. Disconnected from the public.
Grant sighed and ran a hand down his face, rubbing his palm against the whiskers that covered his cheeks. It’d been a rough twenty-four hours, and it didn’t seem like the pressure would let up anytime soon. Not until Cole woke. Not until they had James Walters back in their grasp once more.
Movement on the monitor tugged at his attention again—Stella rising to reach over Cole, brush a few strands of hair off his forehead. Then she leaned down, her head near his, and he figured she was doing one of those sweet girlfriend things. A kiss on the forehead or a sweet nuzzle. She retreated and lowered herself to her chair, her fingers clutching his while her unwavering attention remained on Cole’s face. They might have played house during the weekend, but at some point it’d turned into more.
Kinda like him and Lottie. A chance meeting. A meal. A kiss beneath the moonlight and…And not worth thinking about. They couldn’t have a relationship. He’d never have her sitting at his bedside. He’d never wake to her smile. He’d never taste her lips.
At least Cole would get some of that…As long as he wasn’t stupid enough to let Stella slip through his paws.
Grant’s wolf told him that he was stupid for letting Lottie get away. He’d tried to explain the situation to the animal—about Lottie being a human and her father…
It’d snapped and snarled at him, refusing to listen. It saw Lottie, loved the way she smelled, and wanted her. Full stop.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Grant could commiserate with the wolf, but that didn’t mean he’d do anything about his driving need for Lottie. Anything other than fanatically stare at his cell phone, that is. Lottie had his number and had promised to text. Not just about “official” business, either.
They’d already had their first exchange. Two words in total.
Him: Safe?
Her: Yes.
Now he stared at his cell phone, wishing she’d text him again. Something. Anything. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than his phone emitted a familiar tone, the default ping announcing a new text message.
Grant sprang forward and snatched his phone from the desk, quickly unlocking the device and tapping the text notification. Movement in his periphery drew his attention, and his eyes found Stella once again. She bolted to her feet and darted out of sight, the rapid patter of her feet on wood soon following. In less than ten seconds she slid to a stop in the doorway, hands clutching the doorframe to keep her from falling.
“Who is it? Is it news? Have they found him?” She fired off question after question, hardly breathing between each one.
He didn’t say a word. Just held up a finger and returned his attention to his phone. There, in black-and-white, was the proof that the weekend had been more than a fling to Lottie. It wasn’t an update on her location or a report on UH happenings after the op last night.
I already miss our cliff.
His fingers were poised to reply, but he had to deal with Stella before he could send his message. He didn’t need the she-cat getting all up in his business. The situation was fucked enough. He didn’t need a crazy jaguar making it worse.
“Grant?” She stepped into the office, bare feet hardly making a sound as she moved closer to him. “Is it done?”
He sighed and locked his phone, not wanting her to see the sender’s name. He’d listed Charlotte King as “Lottie” in his contact list, but he didn’t want to take the chance.
“No.” He shook his head and placed his phone facedown on his thigh. “Nothing yet.”
“But…”
Another ding and he internally winced. Excitement thrummed in his veins, but instead of the cause being the prospect of finding Walters, he was thrilled that it might be a text from Lottie.
She took another step closer. “Is that them? What did they say?”
“Nosy much?” He quirked a single brow.
Stella didn’t say a word at first. Then again, she didn’t have to. Her face paled, no hint of a pink flush in her cheeks. Her eyes widened, whites fully visible, and her mouth dropped open. The worst were her tears.
Fuck. He never had dealt with emotional women well. They should have sent Pike to babysit Cole and Stella. He was younger—a charmer. Instead she’d gotten Grant.
A guy who couldn’t stop thinking about another woman.
“Sorry.” He rubbed his cheek and pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing a sigh. “I’m really sorry. I’m…” He dropped his hand and shook his head. “You’re a civilian, and you’re dealing with Cole being injured. I know me being an ass isn’t making it better.”
She sniffled and squeezed her eyes shut, running the back of her hand across her face. “It’s fine.” She coughed and cleared her throat before looking at him again. “I’m fine. I just…”
“Want Walters to be found. Want Cole to be okay. We want the same things, Stella. I’m being a dick.” Though he was sure his teammates would have used stronger language. “Cole will be just fine. That tiger has lived through worse.” He scoffed. “A stab and a couple bullets are nothing. As for the other…”
Grant twirled his phone in his hands, the text message notification filling the screen. Lottie’s name was there, bright and bold. He sensed Stella’s unease, her fear, and her bone-deep need for vengeance. He’d been listening through Cole’s com all weekend, so he’d heard Stella explain why Walters deserved her wrath. Grant agreed with the jaguar.
“We have an inside track on the location for the UH higher-ups.” And that was all he’d say about that.
“Inside track? If you have that, why don’t you have them in custody?” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them up and together. If his mind weren’t obsessed with Lottie, he’d appreciate the cleavage Stella sported.
“Sometimes things are hit or miss.” Or they don’t get a location update and simply receive a sweet note.
“Then your ‘inside track’”—she made air quotes—“is useless.”
His wolf snarled at Stella’s words. Lottie wasn’t useless. “No. There are times that things change without warning, which can result in a less-than-ideal situation.”
“Maybe it’s not useless. Maybe they’re lying to you. You’re going one way and Walters and the rest of UH are going the other because—”
“Stella.” He snapped out her name, silencing her before his wolf leapt over the edge. Disparaging Lottie was on his beast’s “never, ever do” list. He rolled his head, cracking his neck and embracing the release of tension. “I need you to trust me.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I want this settled just as much as anyone else. I trust my contact. She—”
“She?” Stella pounced on that slip, and Grant moaned.
He dropped his head forward with a sigh, eyes closed while he spoke to himself. Can’t just shut the fuck up, can you? Nooo, you gotta try and smooth shit over. That damned lion has it right. You can’t get in trouble if you don’t talk.
“Grant? She?”
Grant lifted his head and focused on the jaguar. “Pull up a seat.”
Stella stepped toward a chair, but she kept glancing at the door, lower lip caught between her teeth. She was still worrying about Cole.
He reached over and nudged one of the monitors, changing the angle so they could both see that Cole was still out of it in bed. “You can see him here.”
She lowered herself to a heavily cushioned chair, curling up in the seat. “Thanks. So, she?”
“Like a damned dog with a bone.” He shook his head. “Yeah, ‘she.’ I met someone who is well known within the organization but not a participant herself. She agreed to feed me information.”
“How is she not a participant? How do you know she’s not feeding you bullshit so you guys can just walk into a trap?”
“I…” He wasn’t sure how to put it into words. He finally settled for meeting Stella’s stare, not hiding behind the blank mask most men used when trying to disguise their feelings. “Have you ever met someone—looked in their eyes—and just…known? It doesn’t make sense. It’s stupid and irrational and crazy, but…”
“But it feels right,” she finished for him.
“Yeah,” he whispered. “That’s it.”
“And that’s how you felt—feel—about your ‘she’?”
He nodded. “Yeah. It sucks and it’s inconvenient as hell. She’s who she is and I’m who I am. What kind of fucked-up shit is that? But there’s no stopping it, and she’s as determined to put an end to things as I am.”
They were both quiet for a moment, and Grant almost slumped in his chair in relief. If that was the worst of their arguments until Cole woke, he’d count himself lucky. Though just as a hint of happiness emerged, Stella had to stomp all over it.
“You’ll let me know when you hear something from her? I don’t want to leave Cole, but…” She swallowed hard. “I need to be there. I need to watch Walters be brought in.”
“An op really isn’t the place for an untrained shifter.”
“I was on that island all weekend with Cole while he was on an op,” she countered, and he couldn’t call her a liar. “And, before any of this began, Cole agreed to let me see this through to the end.”
Right. He wasn’t sure she was telling the truth. Or she’d misinterpreted Cole’s words. Because he’d known Cole for many years, and he wasn’t about to tell her that the protective-as-hell tiger wouldn’t allow her within a hundred feet of danger. Period.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Cole was pretty damned sure he’d been run over by a truck. A dually, maybe. Or a semi! Something with a fuck-ton of wheels that had rolled over him from head to toe. His bones ached, his muscles throbbed, and even his blood pricked him with sharp zaps of pain. Sure, blood hurting wasn’t a biological possibility, but he was past logic.
He tensed his muscles, ache increasing in his shoulder and along his ribs. One of his hips throbbed, and he must have taken a kick to the thigh, because it practically screamed in protest with movement. It all hurt—body and mind and soul…
Soul. The single word reminded him of something. Of…of Stella. Just thinking her name pulled memories forward. Memories of Serene Isle, of James Walters and Richard King. Thoughts about his attempt to rescue her only to end up needing to be rescued himself. He’d been stabbed and shot.
Stella had gotten him out. Or at least she’d gotten him to the team, who’d gotten him off the island, but what happened to Stella?
His tiger snarled and roared, furious that he didn’t know the answer to that question. How could he have lost track of her? He tried to remind the beast that he’d been unconscious, but the cat didn’t want to listen to excuses. It wanted results.
Cole took a deep breath and released it slowly, suppressing the pain and gradually clearing his mind. He forced his eyes to open, then squinted against the glaring sunlight. The bright rays filled the room, burning his eyes, and he quickly took in his surroundings. Wood walls. Wood floors. Hell, wood furniture. Country quilts and a rocking chair. Large woven area rug. Tall pines visible through the massive window.
“Aw, shit,” he grumbled under his breath, his eyes fluttering closed. He relaxed against his pillow and let the soft surface cradle him. “Shit.”
Cole hadn’t just gotten hurt. He’d been injured bad enough to be taken off active duty. They’d hauled him to Birch’s vacation home for recovery, but he knew he wasn’t alone. The team wouldn’t have just dropped Cole off before going back to work. He had a babysitter somewhere in the house. A babysitter who knew more than him. A babysitter who could probably tell him what the hell had happened to Stella.
He tugged on the quilt that’d been tucked around him, the blanket practically swaddling him like a damned baby. He yanked a little harder, pressure constant as he unraveled himself. Cool air soon reached his skin, and he sighed in relief with the drop in temperature. He got a hand beneath himself, using it to push his upper body off the mattress, then swung his legs over the side of the bed. He paused for a moment, fighting for breath while pain surged.
Maybe finding the babysitter wasn’t such a good idea.
Then his tiger caught a scent. One that made it purr and roll around on the ground as if it’d found the source of all catnip in existence. The beast crouched and rubbed its head on his paws, chuffing and begging for attention from the owner of that smell.
Stella…Her name echoed in his mind, rolling across his thoughts in time with his tiger’s purrs.
Stella…That was the scent he’d caught, the sweet muskiness that could belong only to her. And it seemed so close. As if she’d been standing beside him moments ago. But there was no way Birch would have let a civvy invade their space. Right? Logically, that made sense. But sometimes hope wasn’t logical, and Cole had a whole lot of hope that he’d find her somewhere in the cabin. Even if he’d never given her a reason to be with him. Even if he’d never given her a reason to stay.
Cole reached for the bedside table and gripped the edge, using it to maintain his balance as he stood. He wavered for a moment, swaying in place until his head cleared of disabling fog. His steps were slow and close together, more a shuffle than a steady walk, but those small strides got the job done. He made his way to the door, pausing to get his bearings before continuing.
The hallway stretched on to his right, long pale planks of wood forming the floor and leading him onward. He eased into the corridor, one hand skimming the wall while he kept moving. He followed that scent, searching for the source so he could appease his cat. Appease his human half, too.
Cole approached one of the other doorways along the hall, his steps growing firmer with every stride. The pain remained, but his tiger pushed past the aches and focused on the one they sought. Stella’s scent strengthened the farther he went, and his cat purred with the thought that he’d have her in his arms soon.
Or was it all in his mind?
He shook his head. No, Stella’s flavors were too rich, too alluring, for it to be fake. Stella was here. Or she’d been here recently.
He rubbed his forehead and cursed the injuries he’d sustained on that damned island. Fuck James Walters and fuck Unified Humanity. The rhythmic rolling thump of wheels on wood reached him a split second before a familiar face appeared from inside one of the rooms.
Grant stuck his head out, goofy smile in place. “What’s up, slacker?”
Cole lifted his middle finger and flipped off Grant.
“Nice. I see that naptime hasn’t improved your mood. Are you done being a burden to society or…?”
Cole raised his other hand, flipping him off with both middle fingers.
“I get no respect. I’ve been sitting here with this bedside-vigil crap, and you’re still being a dick.” Grant sniffed.
Cole rolled his eyes and shuffled closer to his fellow teammate, not stopping until he gripped the doorframe to Grant’s room. He peeked into the space, noted the camera and computer setup the wolf had installed.
“How long have we been here?”
The werewolf shrugged. “About—”
Grant was cut off by the rapid thud of bare feet on wood, someone racing toward them as if their life depended on it.
“Who else is—”
Then she swung around the corner, sliding on a thick rug until she nearly lost her balance. She clung to a decorative table, sending knickknacks tumbling to the ground. Thank God Birch had learned his lesson and made sure all of the decorations were plastic. She quickly righted herself and straightened the table before stepping away, and that was when he got her attention.
“Stella.” He breathed out her name.
“Cole, you’re…”
“You…”
Stella didn’t let him say anything else. She raced toward him, and Cole propped himself agai
nst the doorframe. One minute his arms were empty and the next he had the gorgeous Stella all over him. Her mouth pressed firmly to his, her tongue lapping at the seam of his lips. He happily opened for her, granting her entrance while he rediscovered her flavors. She clung to his shirt, fingers fisting the material, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even closer. Lush curves cushioned his hard muscles, cradling him in her sweetness and warmth.
So perfect. So beautiful. So…his? Fuck, if only he was so lucky. Stella was the perfect pretty little spotted package.
Cole shifted his hold to her hair, one hand delving into the strands and fisting the mass. He carefully tugged and turned her, tilting her head just right so he had the access he craved. Now he was the hunter, the fierce beast that took what he desired.
Their tongues tangled, swirling and lapping at each other while they reconnected. He’d woken alone, but now he was filled with her scent just as his arms were filled with her.
Cole groaned against her mouth, savoring every snippet of her he gathered. He pulled back the slightest bit, a hint of space between their lips that allowed him to murmur, “Stella.”
Grant chose that moment to interrupt. “Ew. Gag.”
Sometimes it was good to be a shifter—a cat in particular. Situational awareness was an awesome perk as a SHOC agent. It was also pretty kick-ass for a guy who felt the urge to slug his friend.
Cole reached out, his mouth still on Stella’s, while his fist connected with Grant in a solid punch. Knuckles met the wolf’s jaw, an audible crack splitting through the air, immediately followed by a yelp and the clatter of Grant’s chair sliding across the wood.
Stella laughed and pulled away, her smiling lips still so close—within reach. “Did you just…?”
“Punch Grant?” he murmured. “Yes.”
And he wasn’t going to apologize for it, either. He didn’t care if Grant had a sore jaw. Cole had something much more important to focus on—he had Stella in his arms.
Chapter Twenty-eight