Chapter 9
His lips were soft and gentle, his kiss tender as his hand delved into her hair. A soft light glowed around them, between them, and she had to close her eyes as the light grew in intensity.
She braced her hands against his chest to push him away. Oh, wow. For the first time her hands didn’t go right through him, but came into contact with warm, solid muscle. She smoothed her hands over him, feeling the soft cotton fabric of his singlet, the smooth glide of skin that was taught over muscle.
So much strength.
The muscles beneath her hand bunched as he raised his other hand to slide it around her waist and pull her closer. She sighed, and the kiss changed.
His tongue slid into her mouth, his hand tightening in her hair as he angled her head. His other hand slid up her back to cup her cheek. His thumb pressed lightly at the corner of her mouth, and she opened her mouth wider.
Heat. So much heat. From him, from the light enveloping them...
His tongue rubbed against hers as his hand slid through her hair, until both of his hands held on to her curls, and he controlled the kiss. Over and over, his lips moved against hers, his tongue delving deep inside.
God, he was such a fantastic kisser. Damp heat bloomed between her thighs, and her breasts swelled. She leaned into him, pressing her breasts against his chest.
He growled, a sound that was so deep in his throat it made his chest rumble against her breasts, and she shuddered. He slowly rose to a sitting position, and she had to tilt her head back to follow the movement. He dropped one hand down to her shoulder, and she held her breath as he then slid that hand down to the front zipper of her ski jacket.
The noise was so loud in the quiet rock chamber, the soft hiss as the zipper lowered an erotic counterpart to their heavy breathing. Her heart pounded in her chest, as though she was sprinting a one-mile race.
The garment relaxed around her shoulders as the jacket parted.
All the while, he kept kissing her, as though he was a starving man, and only she could satisfy his hunger. She could relate. She couldn’t get enough of him, either.
She moaned as his hand slid inside her jacket, and her nipples tightened into peaks as his hand cupped her breast. Wicked heat spread up from her core to flood her body, her breasts so sensitized she craved his touch.
“Uh, did it work?” Dave called out, and Vivianne jerked her head back, eyes wide.
Zane stared at her with a heavy-lidded gaze. It was him. Like, real, solid-mass him. She glanced around the cave to be certain. No more ghostly Zane.
A slight flash of something—disappointment—burst through her. He was gone. The man who had haunted her dreams and flitted on her periphery for so long, was gone. The man who had reluctantly kept her company, whose voice had pierced her mental shields to tease, chide and tempt, was now gone.
And yet, not.
She stared at the man who sat on the rock ledge in front of her. He was so familiar, yet so...different. Her gaze swept from the top of his head to the high forehead, the warm brown eyes that even now had hot shards of golden-green desire in his irises. His high cheekbones, and a jawline that looked strong beneath the dusting of a brown beard. His lips...oh, those lips. She swallowed. This was Zane, but he wasn’t an annoying ghost who could disappear in an inky black puff of wispy fog. He wasn’t the intangible vision who couldn’t be touched and who couldn’t touch her. No, this Zane was flesh and blood, muscle and mass, and sexy sensation. And she was still plastered to him. She withdrew her hands from his chest. Slowly. God, he felt good. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart.
He stirred something primal within her, something that was unfamiliar, yet so instinctive. It felt like—like something was awakening deep within her, something powerful and primal, and perhaps just a little out of her control.
“Vivianne? Did it work?”
“Uh, I’m not sure.” She glanced at Zane, who continued to meet her gaze with a calm curiosity. Wasn’t he supposed to pass on? Was he now going to die for real, right in front of her? That thought sent a hot arrow of pain in the vicinity she’d normally associate with her heart, but it had been so long since something had stirred there, she couldn’t be sure.
“You think—” Dave sighed brusquely and stepped inside the cave.
Vivianne tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then frowned when she felt the tangled locks at the back of her head. She hurriedly tried to smooth the hair down. Zane’s lips quirked when he noticed her unobtrusive attempts, and she shot him a quick frown.
He winked.
She blushed.
Oh. My. God. She turned to face Dave. She didn’t blush, yet the warmth flooded her cheeks, all the same. What the hell? She was a vampire. A nine-hundred-year-old vampire who had seen enough in her lifetime to make the devil blush, not her.
She lifted her chin. “He’s not passing on.”
Samantha and Nate stepped inside the cave, and both of them looked at her oddly before turning to Zane. She’d forgotten they were there. Had they seen...? She looked momentarily to the ceiling as more warmth—damn it—flooded her face.
“Zane,” Samantha breathed and crossed the floor of the cave to hug him. Nate also approached and pulled Zane into what could only be called a bear hug, thumping him on the back so hard Vivianne was surprised a rib didn’t break, and then just held him.
“It’s good to see you, bro.”
Vivianne looked away. Bro. They weren’t brothers by blood, but they obviously considered themselves close enough that blood didn’t matter. There was heartfelt relief in Nate’s face, along with something that went deeper than honest affection.
These lycans displayed emotions without fear of consequences, without the fear of being considered vulnerable. As though it wasn’t a weakness.
“He hasn’t passed on yet,” Vivianne said in a low voice to Dave. Something itchy burned in her eyes, and she had to rub it away. What, tears? Hell, when was the last time she’d cried?
There must be something in the Alpine den’s air. Blushing, weeping. Ugh. She didn’t do this touchy, weepy, huggy stuff. She had to fight hard not to let her eyes stray back to the man she’d gotten all touchy-huggy with. All those rippling muscles...
He seemed so alive, damn it. It would be painful to watch him die again.
“Is he—is he going to...?” Die. Just say the word, Viv. Die. Is Zane going to die now? Her mouth opened, but the word got stuck in her throat.
Dave shook his head. “No.”
Her eyebrows dipped as she stared at him, perplexed. “But you said this was how he would pass on.”
Dave grinned and shook his head. “No, I said that if you did this, he wouldn’t be haunting you as your ghostly sidekick for eternity.”
“What are you saying?” Zane asked, and she watched as he held up his hands and stared at them. “That I’m...alive?”
Dave leaned forward and slugged him in the arm.
“Ow,” Zane exclaimed, rubbing his arm.
Dave nodded. “Yep. You’re alive.”
“I don’t understand. Zane...died.” None of this made sense.
“We all saw that,” Nate said, his voice tinged with pain. He jerked his chin toward Vivianne. “Her brother drained him.”
Dave rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb. “I’m thinking he wasn’t quite dead. When I did that suspension spell on Vivianne, it must have suspended the last moment of Zane’s life, and Vivianne’s carried that last spark of life and has now given it back to him.”
“What, so he’s pressed reset?” Nate asked.
Dave nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Sounds good?” Samantha repeated. “You’re a witch, don’t you know for sure?”
Dave’s head tilted back, as though he was rolling his eyes behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. “I’m a witch, no
t God. I’m not all knowing. Sometimes I guess.”
She heard the rustle of clothing as Zane swung his legs down from the ledge, and she turned to face him as he rose to his feet. His knees shook, and his face showed surprise. Vivianne was by his side in a flash, ducking under his arm to catch him as he started to drop.
“Whoa,” Zane said, blinking. He tightened his arm around Vivianne.
Nate shot him an exasperated look. “Dude, you’ve been dead for almost a year. Take it easy.”
“I don’t want to take it easy.”
“Yeah, well, patience was never your strong suit.”
“Do you think you can walk back to the hall? I think there are a lot of people who’d like to welcome you back to the land of the living.”
“Is that lycan code for party time?” Dave enquired.
Nate grinned. “It is now.” He ducked under Zane’s other arm to give his friend some support. He looked around Zane’s shoulder to give Vivianne an enquiring gaze, and she tried to step away, now that Zane had a lycan’s help.
Zane’s arm was unrelenting, though, and he pulled her closer.
“Thank you,” he whispered into her ear. She trembled at the warm gust of breath against her skin.
“Don’t mention it.” She smiled briefly, then met his gaze. “Like, seriously, this did not happen. It would be hard to explain why I resurrected a lycan.” Her father would freak. John, her P.R. manager, would have whatever ammunition he needed to try and usurp her. Her colony would never forgive her for helping a werewolf.
“’Cause I’m awesome.”
“Just because you keep saying it, doesn’t make it so,” she told him, but couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips.
Zane was alive.
* * *
Zane watched from across the hall as Samantha and Vivianne sat talking quietly in a dim corner. Samantha and Nate had insisted he go shower and change before meeting folks in the hall, so he was refreshed, if still just the slightest bit shaky on his feet—but that was slowly dissipating. He’d returned to the hall to find Samantha and Vivianne deep in conversation, and Dave Carter in a corner painting some of his intricate tattoo designs on the young women who didn’t seem to mind the fact he was a witch. Then he’d almost been swallowed up by his packmates—shaking hands, hugs, sharing greetings, stories and jokes. Nearly two hours later, he’d finally managed to dodge the spotlight and sit in a dim little alcove of the hall, just to get his bearings, take a breath, and generally get used to being alive again and the shock that came with that.
He was alive. His hands grasped the armrest of the sofa he was sitting on. No more fuzzy little electric shocks, he could touch, feel, smell, taste...everything.
He eyed the two women. Okay, Vivianne. He was eyeing Vivianne, and Samantha just also happened to be in his line of sight. They’d started off sitting with straight backs, but three shots of Dietrich’s moonshine later and they both leaned forward, elbows on the table between them, fingers waving as they spoke to each other. But it wasn’t a finger-wagging discussion of blame. No, it looked like...chatting. The two women had to lean closer occasionally, to hear each other over the impromptu band that had set up when he’d walked into the main hall.
“What the hell do you think those two have in common?” Nate came up beside him, his gaze on his alpha prime. Nate had stationed three guardians a respectable distance away from Samantha. Respectable in that the women had enough space for a private discussion, but close enough that they could rip the vamp to shreds if she so much as flashed her fangs.
“No idea.”
Nate tugged the mug of beer out of Zane’s hand. “You’re recuperating. You shouldn’t be drinking this.”
Zane’s lips quirked as his friend drained the glass, but didn’t argue. He’d have to do some conditioning to build up his strength and stamina, and alcohol wouldn’t help.
Nate wiped the beer from his lips with the back of his hand. “The things I do for you.”
“I appreciate your sacrifice,” Zane said. Honestly, he wasn’t that interested in beer. Sure, he wanted to celebrate. Hell, he wanted to climb to the top of Mount Clawface and yell at the top of his lungs while he beat his chest. But no, at the moment he felt a little unsettled. Maybe it was waking up alive after so long feeling like a shadow. Maybe it just took time to adjust. Whatever it was, there was a gnawing in the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t quite figure out. He’d eaten so damn much—and yet still didn’t quite feel satiated. He supposed it would take a little time to fuel the hole left by almost a year in—what? A coma? That didn’t sound right. Suspension? Whatever.
Nate sat on the arm of the sofa and let himself slide down into the cushions. Zane shook his head as he shifted to make room for his friend. It was a habit that Nate had developed as a kid. For some reason, he liked sitting on the end, right next to the armrest, and would wriggle his way in every time, no matter who was sitting where. If it was a sofa, the space near the armrest had Nate’s name on it.
“Matthias appreciated your sacrifice,” Nate said quietly.
Zane’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I did my job.”
“You did it spectacularly.” Nate closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “When you died—or whatever the hell it was that you did—God, we all went through hell.”
“Funny. I didn’t see you there.”
Nate grinned and dug his elbow in Zane’s ribs. “You know what I mean.”
Zane nodded. “I do. I went through the same thing. Not being anywhere near you guys, not being able to communicate with anyone except Vivianne...”
“Damn, that must have been torture.”
Zane smiled. “It was...interesting.”
“What was it like? Really?” Nate asked, his head lolling along the back of the sofa until he could meet Zane’s gaze.
“It was a version of hell,” Zane admitted. “I could see things, hear things, but when I talked—yelled, screamed, whatever—nobody could hear me.”
“Nobody except Vivianne Marchetta. And she didn’t mention it to a soul.” Nate’s lips twisted as he returned his gaze to the spot where Vivianne sat talking with Samantha.
“She had no idea, at first,” Zane told him. “It wasn’t like she was trying to hide me. Every now and then, she’d hear me, or see a shadow. She thought she was going crazy.”
“Really?” Nate said, eyeing the vampire prime with new interest.
Zane understood what his friend was doing. He was assessing the enemy, looking for vulnerability, a pressure point. Zane knew he should be doing the same, but for some reason, he just couldn’t see Vivianne as his enemy. She’d risked so much for him.
“She’s not as bad as they say.” From what he’d seen, she knowingly cultivated her reputation, but he’d seen the woman who wanted the best for her colony, the daughter who tried to please her father...
“Are you defending a vamp?”
Zane frowned. No, not...really. “I’m just saying there’s more to her than her reputation,” he said simply.
“Well, you were getting to know her pretty damn well in the mortuary.”
Zane shrugged. “I woke up to a beautiful woman kissing me. I’m not going to apologize for going along with it. You know my motto—if it feels good, go with it.”
“Dude. It’s Vivianne Marchetta,” Nate groaned.
“Trust me, I know.”
Nate looked at him intently. “I’m getting the sense that there are feelings there.”
Zane glanced about, relieved nobody was close enough to hear them. “Oh, there are feelings. She can be damn infuriating.”
“Yeah, I don’t think it was fury that I saw in that cave.”
Zane looked away. He wasn’t going to think about it. He wasn’t going to dwell on how damn good she’d felt in his arms, how alive he’d felt with her lips on his, her
hands touching him, or how he’d wanted more.
“She’s a vamp.” Period. Even thinking about it was so...weird. He’d lost sight of Vivianne the vampire prime and had focused on Vivianne, the voluptuous woman. But he was back in reality, now, and vampires and werewolves didn’t mix. Didn’t date. Didn’t kiss or do anything more. Ever.
“I don’t know how you managed to survive being hitched to a vamp for so long without losing your sanity.”
Zane snagged a footstool that stood in front of a nearby armchair with his toe and dragged it closer, then rested his feet on it. “It was touch and go, for a while. I remember screaming so long, hoping someone—anyone—would hear me. See me. I kept thinking about you, and Samantha, wondering about the baby...the rest of the pack. I almost went stray.”
“Damn,” Nate said and took a swig of beer.
Strays were werewolves without a pack. Homeless, no association or loyalty to any pack, they drifted, constantly looking for shelter, food and companionship...a home. Sadly, though, without the connection to pack, strays eventually went feral. They had a shorter life expectancy than most, as without a pack, the lonely wolf was preyed upon, or starved—either from lack of food or lack of love. Going feral was the beginning of the end.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Nate said quietly.
“I’m glad to be back.” Glad was actually a pretty pathetic word choice. He was ecstatic. Thrilled.
Samantha laughed, a long, vibrant chuckle, and Zane looked over in time to see Samantha high-five Vivianne. His eyebrows rose. That was unexpected. His curiosity got the better of him, and he rose, tugging the now-empty mug of beer out of Nate’s hand.
“I’m getting a refill.” He drifted slowly toward the spot where the women were seated. Along the way members of his pack stopped him to give him a hug, or slap him on the back, or just greet him. The guardians saw him and smiled, then turned back to watching the visiting vampire like a hawk.
“...I’m their alpha. They don’t see me as a woman.” Zane arrived in time to hear Samantha’s comment.
“You’ve just had a baby—how can they not see you as a woman?” Vivianne’s tone was curious, with more than a hint of awe as she gazed down at the sleeping baby in her arms, despite the raucous revelry in the hall. Zane occupied himself with filling his mug with beer he had no inclination to drink. He was hungry—starving, actually, yet nothing here seemed to appetize him. He shifted his focus back to the conversation he was trying to appear oblivious to.
Wolf Undaunted Page 10