by Kati Wilde
Tentatively, she reaches out. Gently I catch her wrist. She freezes, her pulse thundering beneath my fingers.
I tap my claw near her thumb ring and hold her gaze, shaking my head.
Her eyes widen. “Oh, yeah.”
Yeah.
She switches her mug to the other hand. I hold myself absolutely still as her fingers slip over my shoulder. With me crouching, we’re almost the same height.
A soft sigh escapes her. Her expression rapt with fascination, she ruffles her hand up over the thicker fur that guards my neck. But she’s not even watching her hand. Instead she keeps her gaze on mine. “Your eyes are the same. And you…look at me the same way.”
Because there’s no other way to look at her.
Her fingers lightly smooth down the length of my muzzle. “I know you’re trying not to scare me, but I think I’m more settled now. Show me your teeth again?”
Her breath hitches slightly when I do, then the fascination returns. Her fingers slip down over my lip, then she abruptly freezes with her hand hovering near my mouth.
“Wait. If I cut myself on your teeth, does it curse me?”
I shake my head and lightly snap my teeth together to serve as the answer.
“Only a bite?” At my nod, she grins and says, “Your not being able to speak like this explains a lot about the way you are. You don’t usually say much but you’re good at saying a lot without words.”
And she’s good at doing a lot to me without words. With one fingertip, she strokes down the ivory length of a fang, a touch that brings me to the brink of desperate need.
“Holy shit,” she breathes.
Because I’m made to rip and tear. Yet she doesn’t even realize that I’m helpless right here before her. Claws and fangs can’t protect me from Makena Laine.
She skims her fingers over the edge of my bottom teeth and I can’t fucking help myself. I flick my tongue against her fingertips for a quick taste. Her flavor bursts through me and I can’t stop my soft, hungry growl.
Makena freezes.
Not in fear this time. Instead the scent that blooms is hotter, sweeter. Arousal.
Conflicted emotions follow it. Her shock and denial—but beneath it all, that honeyed scent of desire.
Jerkily she pulls her hand away. Her breath shudders and she looks everywhere but at my eyes as she says, “So, um, how do you get around? On all fours or upright or…?”
Slowly, I stand.
She stares up at me, her expression slack for a long, endless moment. But there’s still no fear. “I…” She trails off. Swallowing hard, she tries again. “You’re not just big. You’re huge.”
This time when I grin, she answers with a shaky laugh. Then her gaze drops, quickly, as if she’s telling herself she shouldn’t but can’t deny her curiosity…and she’s wondering what else is huge.
The towel’s still covering everything it should be, but it’s not hiding a damn thing. My cock’s too big and too hard, and there’s nothing else that could be jutting beneath the terrycloth like it is.
She freezes, and her breath shudders, then she averts her gaze. That curiosity flares hot with her arousal again, but she ignores it, just gulps more coffee before saying, “Okay. I’m ready for you to change back.”
Which makes me a bit smaller all over but no less hard. I pull the ends of the towel tighter around my hips. “You all right?”
“Yeah.” It sounds tremulous, but what’s coming off her scent backs up the words. Her fragrance isn’t full of terror anymore. She’s just a bit shaken. “Thank you.”
“For showing off my best parts?” I drawl lightly. “I’m always happy to.”
Her laugh lifts up everything in me to a brighter, sweeter place. Because she’s seen me—both sides of me—and isn’t running. Instead she’s eyeing me curiously again.
“What did you mean last night when you said my smell drew you in?”
Oh shit.
As if I’d said that aloud, her face closes up. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I just… I’m trying to make sense of it.”
“You and me both.” I join her at the porch rail, partially to be closer to her and partially because standing right up against it makes hiding my damn cock a bit easier. “All I know is that, three years ago, I was passing through Fortune City and picked up a scent that appealed to me like nothing ever has before. There are things that smell irresistibly good, but this wasn’t even like a smell. It was more like a rope that lassoed me and dragged me toward it.”
“So I smell…different?”
“No. That’s the thing. Everyone has their own smell, but they aren’t really that different. There’s broad scents that tell me what something is—like human or horses or grass—and the specific things that help separate them. Those horses in the barn smell almost exactly the same as each other, probably because they eat and live in the same place. But if I smell close, there’s still differences—especially if one’s a stallion and the other a mare.”
“Hormones or something affecting the scent?”
That’s probably as good an explanation as any. “With people, it’s similar. Except with different diets and different soaps and different things in their houses that all influence how they smell, and I could tell you what all of those things are. But their base scent, that individual scent that tells me they’re human and a woman or whatever—it’s different enough that I can tell, but not so different that I could explain what the difference is. And you…there’s not a damn thing about your scent that seems more different. You smell like a woman to me. And that’s it. Yet…”
Closing my eyes, I drag in a deep breath now and hold it. Sheer pleasure. And more. That gut-pulling need and hope that seems wrapped right up around my heart, and every breath just winds it tighter.
A note of self-consciousness slips into her voice. “So…do I smell like cows?”
“Not like cows. You smell so damn good, Makena.” It’s a soft growl, roughened by that need. “But I can’t tell you why.”
She seems to accept that, cupping that mug in both hands and gazing out over the river. “But that’s what brought you down the road that night?”
“It is. I figured after three years of fighting it, I’d just go see who was pulling at me.”
A little frown creases her forehead. “Fighting it?”
“Well, if something roped me in…I might not keep looking for whoever killed my family. Though considering the answers I’ve gotten so far, maybe I should have listened to that instinct instead of fighting it. Because your uncle gave me more info than I’ve gotten in eleven years of looking.” But that’s not all he said. “And he said you might know something from your father’s research notes that tells you why that scent drew me in.”
She looks at me in surprise. “His notes? I don’t think so. Maybe? I can read through again. I probably will anyway, now that I know…”
That it was all real. And thinking about the lasso reminds me of something else he said last night, though I was occupied with the agony tearing through me and the knife at my throat at the time. “What was he asking about a gold chain?”
“Oh.” Suddenly she’s all but hiding behind that mug but she can’t conceal the yearning that filters through her scent. “That has nothing to do with you. Only the ones who are cursed.”
Maybe. But that yearning makes me real curious. “Indulge me anyway.”
Her gaze flicks to mine and away. That yearning deepens a bit as she says, “There’s a cure for the curse…kind of.”
Not that I’ve ever heard of before. “Kind of?”
“Because it doesn’t make them fully human again. They’re still werewolves. But they have more control. Even during the full moon.” She cast an assessing look at me. “So they’re more like the ones who are born.”
If there was a cure, then neither of my ancestors ever found it. I still remember my grandmother talking about how she had to lock up her grandmother every full moon. I assume th
e same happened on the other side of the family, too. “What cures them?”
“Love.” Her color deepens again and she looks out over the river. “If the beast and the human love the same person, and that person accepts them both…it heals the internal rift between man and beast.”
“You’re bullshitting me.”
She laughs but shakes her head. “Not a bit. Not that I know whether it’s true. But it’s what I’ve read. You don’t believe love can do that?”
I believe in a lot of things that seem impossible. And I’ve got no trouble accepting that I can turn into a werewolf. It’s just that I’ve seen those.
“Love tames the beast, then? So how does a gold chain play into it?”
“The chain keeps them connected while the decision is made to accept the beast…or not. And if the beast—or the man—is rejected, they both die.”
Christ. “Falling in love sounds dangerous as hell.”
She laughs again. “If you’re cursed, yeah. It kills you or it saves you. And that decision lies in someone else’s hands—someone who has to see them at their worst yet still love them. So aside from the part where there’s an infinitely stretchable golden chain…”
She trails off, a frown flickering over her face.
“Makena?”
“Just déjà vu. Talking about this just reminded me of something my dad told me about…” She shakes her head. “But it’s gone for now. I really need to go over all his notes again. And this time, pay more attention to any mentions of hunters.”
For me. “I’d appreciate it.”
She nods, then wavers uncertainly before saying, “So are we okay? Can we start over?”
Because she still feels like what she did last night needs forgiving. That doesn’t seem necessary to me, but if it’s something she needs, I’ll give it. “Does starting over mean that you’ll forgive me for lying when I came asking about a job?”
She blinks, as if she’d forgotten all about that. “I guess I will. I certainly understand better why you did, considering that you’re a werewolf and probably didn’t want to explain that part.”
“And I understand why you attacked me, considering I held your uncle up by his throat and probably looked like I’d tear his gut open.”
Her laugh this time is short and breathless. “You did look like that.”
I know I did. And starting over sounds real damn good, except for the part where it means I’ve never kissed her. “So, starting over—this is a complete reset?”
“That’s impossible, isn’t it? We can’t just undo mistakes or forget them. But maybe, going forward…I’ll work harder to see where you’re coming from, and hopefully you’ll be able to trust that I won’t, you know, freak out again when you show me these other parts of yourself. I know it must be a big ask. If you felt safe showing who you are to people, you’d probably do it more often.”
It’s not my own safety I think of; I just don’t like scaring the shit out of people, because it’s in my nature to protect them.
But that’s not the only thing she’s got all wrong.
“It’s not a big ask,” I tell her. “But I think that you probably ought to fire me.”
Her face goes still, her eyes dark and hurt stabbing through her scent. “You want to leave?”
“No. That’s not what I meant.” I’ll have to leave, eventually. But I don’t want to. And I wouldn’t go now even if she sent me away. “But if we’re going forward without any concealment, then there’s two problems with me being in your employ. The first is that it’s just a continuation of a lie—because I never came here for a job, Makena. I came here to help you. You don’t need to hire me and pay me for that.”
She stares at me like I’ve said something stupid. “I do need to pay you, Ethan. If you still intend to work around here—”
“I do.”
“Then not paying you is against the law,” she says with clear exasperation.
“And a waste of money. Just call me a volunteer.”
Her lips tighten. “Are you working as charity, then? Because if you are, just shove that right up your—”
“Not charity.” Christ, her temper is something. Just watching her blood fire gets mine going even hotter. “But you want to go forward without me concealing who I am, yeah?”
“Yes,” she says, suddenly wary again.
“Who I am is real bossy. Which creates a problem when I’m an employee, because that means you’re always my boss. That won’t always work so well.”
Her eyebrows arch high in sheer disbelief. “So you’re going to tell me how to run my ranch?”
“Not a bit. Where I figure there might be a conflict is when I want to taste your pussy, so I order you to spread your legs. Or when I’ve got my mouth between your thighs and you’re pushing at me and squirming, but I’ll be too damn stubborn to go anywhere else. Or when I’m inside you, fucking you real good and hard, doing things that nobody should to doing to their employer. Because I get real bossy in bed and I don’t want some workplace politics shit to be a problem between us.”
She stares at me, those full lips parted, her arousal in full bloom. “That’s…not happening. We already agreed.”
“And now we’re in a reset. You said you need help around here, not someone in your bed. But I’m capable of both, Makena.”
Her gaze flicks down as if checking out how capable I am, then she looks out across the yard, blindly staring. “What I said was that I’m not interesting in a fling.”
“You know damn well that nothing between us would ever be a fling.”
She closes her eyes. “But you’re leaving.”
“I will. After your trouble is over.” No use lying. “I’ve got even more reason to now, because these hunters are likely looking for me—and if they find me here, that’ll bring danger to you and yours. Maybe more than just killing me, if they realize who you and your uncle are.”
Her gaze flies to mine. “You think they’d hurt us?”
“I think if your parents took something they thought was valuable, they’ll want it back.” I step closer to her. “But now I’ve got more ways of hunting them, too. And maybe in those notebooks, we’ll learn more about this silver.”
She nods jerkily. “So you can protect yourself.”
I don’t give a shit about that. “And protect you. I’ll find them. I’ll end them. And then, Makena…I’ll come back. Because the other part that I’m not going to conceal is that I’m fucking crazy about you. But you’ve probably already seen that anyway.”
Her breath shudders again, longing tearing across her expression before she closes her eyes. “They’ve killed so many wolfkin already. If we start a relationship here, and you go… I can’t lose any more people I care about. I can’t.”
“And I can’t let them take any more people I care about.”
Her gaze meets mine, her scent a torn and conflicted mess of hope and fear.
But fear’s winning out.
“You’re not going to fire me, are you?” I say resignedly.
“No,” she whispers, and we both know this doesn’t really have a thing to do with employment, but whether she’ll take the risk of loving and losing.
She’s not afraid of me anymore. But still afraid. And I can’t fucking blame her. I don’t know what I’ll be up against or what my chances are against these hunters. Only that they’ve taken everything else.
And maybe they will kill me. It’d be a real shame if I never kiss her again before they do.
“What if I give you reason?” I ask her.
“Reason?”
“To fire me.”
“You can’t just quit?”
“No,” I say seriously. “That would make it my decision, not yours.”
“So instead you’re going to make me want to fire you?” Amusement suddenly flares in her smile. “Like you’ll go tip a cow and after I’ve finished yelling at you, we’ll jump into bed?”
“That doesn’t sound too bad. But I
was thinking of a reason more like this.”
I move in quick. And if instinct guides her unthinking reactions like it does mine, then her gut must be saying to kiss me back. There’s no hesitation in her, just her soft mouth opening beneath a possessive thrust of my tongue.
Pleasure surges straight through me, sheer hunger nearly driving me to my knees. But I fucked up so bad last time I kissed her. Just the way I touched her made her walk away. Because she didn’t think a man who was leaving should kiss like I do.
This time I kiss her like a man who wants to stay. A man who’ll do everything he can to come back to her.
Makena whimpers low in her throat, pushing up against me, trying to get closer. Her head falls back as she breaks the kiss to drag in a ragged breath, but doesn’t pull away. Instead the exposed column of her throat looks like an invitation.
I can’t stop myself from accepting. I kiss the corner of her jaw, suckle lightly over the throbbing point of her pulse, where the perfume of her skin nearly sends me into a lightheaded spin.
“Your smell, your taste,” I growl between soft licks, the length of her neck like an incredible buffet. “I don’t know how I’ll ever go.”
She stiffens in my arms, trembling, before pulling away.
Damn my mouth for reminding her that I intend to leave. But maybe it’s for the best. There’s no getting around the fact that I’ll go—or that I might not be coming back when I do. And it ought to be dealt with before we can really move forward. “You all right?”
She nods, then pinches the bridge of her nose like she’s pressing back a headache or holding back tears. Her voice is raw when she says, “I just…need a little time.”
Then she’ll get time. I’ll give her anything she needs.
Even if it kills me.
13
Makena
“You need any help with cider press?” Uncle Jonas calls out loud enough for me to hear through the bumping grind playing in my ears.