When Darwin was done, he took a sharp breath, leaned forward and hissed into Jared's ear, "Fuck me."
It was all the invitation Jared needed.
With a pained groan from both of them, he sunk deep into Darwin's quivering hole, tightening his grip on his legs, pushing him against the car. Jared twitched with need, his breath hitching as he tried to get a grip on himself. The burning pain was sharp and short-lived, enough to make Darwin tighten up and squirm until it faded.
"I won't last," Darwin groaned.
Jared leaned forward to capture his lips and silence the wanton sounds coming from them. It was a good thing, too, because when Jared started moving, only his fierce kiss muffled the lustful screams boiling up from Darwin's chest.
'Making love' would have been an insulting term for their wild, quick copulation. Jared thrust hard and fast, his hands keeping Darwin from sliding or falling down as their unrestrained movement rocked the big car on its suspension. With every thrust and push, Darwin felt the raw power in Jared's body, the fear for his well-being and the relief of having him back rush through the Alpha's tense muscles. And just as he thought, the pleasure was short-lived. Jared came after just a more thrusts and they nearly tumbled to the ground with the sudden relaxation of both their bodies.
Somehow, Jared managed to slide them down to the ground in a more controlled fashion. Darwin hadn't come, but he didn't care. Jared's scent and the distinct aroma of his come flooded his mind and left him at utter peace, content with their reunion in a way he hadn't expected. His mate had re-claimed him, marked him with his scent, and they were home again, safe.
'Home.'
A rope of sand
Jared
"Again!"
The wooden floor looked very inviting from mere inches away. Jared didn't want to get up, knowing he would get thrown down again anyway, but a sliver of pride in him hadn't been throttled into submission, yet. It wasn't for a lack of trying on Hector's part, who looked outrageously unblemished.
"Come on, get up! You didn't even get a punch in," he taunted, sounding amused.
They had been sparring for two hours, one of which Hector used to beat Jared up to the point of near-unconsciousness to 'test his abilities', as the lithe man put it. Jared suspected Hector also tested his self-restraint again, gloves off this time around.
"I don't understand how you do that," he griped and painstakingly collected himself off the floor. Everything hurt at this point and he didn't bother hiding it anymore. "It's like you see my punches coming before I even decide to do them."
Hector grinned boyishly. "That's because I do. Your aura, for lack of a better word, tells me what you're planning to do, right before you act."
Jared threw him a befuddled glance. "Say what?"
"It's hard to describe if you haven't felt an aura before," Hector admitted, "but I'll try. Your aura stretches to where you plan to go before you make the move and I can feel it. I don't know what exactly you're going to do, but I sense I shouldn't be at that specific place when you do move. And I've been doing this kind of training for so long, I've learned to anticipate what kind of attack you most likely will try at this point."
Blinking, Jared tried to digest that information. He had never been one for the esoteric stuff, but Hector also didn't look like an incense sniffing crystal junkie. "So you see where a part of my body will be, I'll accept that. But the aura sensing stuff won't work with, say, bullets, right?"
"No, it won't," Hector agreed and easily dodged a punch Jared tried to sneak in. "Won't help with assassination attempts either, since you need to concentrate." He proceeded to sidestep and hooked Jared's leg with his own, moved forward and shoved him against the chest, sending him down to the ground for the umpteenth time. "You can't concentrate on what you don't perceive. If someone were to sneak up on you and stab you from behind, there would not be enough of a warning even with aura reading."
Once again lying on the ground, Jared rolled away and rubbed the spot Hector had hit. Another bruise in a sea of bruises Darwin would have to kiss better tonight. It was the one positive outcome about this failure of a day that came to his mind.
He grinned. "So, you're tossing me around to help me learn this aura thing, or is this a hobby of yours?"
This time, Hector leaned forward to help Jared up. "No," he said as he pulled him to his feet, patting his shoulder, "I tossed you around, as you call it, so you can find out for yourself I'm better than you."
Hector turned around and walked across the small gym hall they were using for their sparring. Jared watched with a puzzled expression on his face as his self-proclaimed teacher picked up a long piece of black cloth.
"That's a self-glorifying thing to say," he said at last, still staring suspiciously at Hector's hands and the piece of cloth as he walked closer again.
Hector stopped in front of Jared, bending back his head to look up at the taller man. He was much shorter, thinner, more lithe, and still didn't look threatening in any way. He should have sat in a cafe instead of slapping big, hunky werewolves around, as far as his looks were concerned.
"It is the truth. If I hadn't shown you I could beat you hands down in a fair setting, anything I would have done after blindfolding you with this," he held up the cloth, "would have meant nothing to you. You would have denied I'm simply better than you and I understand. It is a hard thing to swallow, getting beaten up by a runt."
Hector's grin reminded Jared of a hyena but he kept his thoughts to himself. One thing was true about Hector; he could beat Jared with his pinky finger, one hand tied behind his back. And Jared would have never believed him without the two-hour-demonstration Hector had staged.
Sighing deeply, he leaned forward until his head was in Hector's reach. As the man blindfolded him, he continued with his explanation. "We could do this without a blindfold but that takes much longer and you don't have that kind of time. The longer your pack stays around, the more agitated we all get. It would be easier if you'd just agree to send them away another twenty or thirty more miles, but I guess you're still dead-set on them staying close?"
The idea itself made Jared growl anxiously. Hector sighed.
"Fine, but don't come whining to me when you start to buckle beneath the pressure. I warned you and you didn't listen."
In the forced darkness, Jared heard Hector step away and then stop. His voice sounded so much clearer, now that Jared couldn't focus his eyes on him. The sensory deprivation sent nervous shivers down his back.
"Now we can start for real. For today, our goal is for you to touch me by instinct alone. Don't bother trying to hear me, just... feel."
That sounded easy enough, but it didn't take Jared long to discover exactly how little experience with sensing stuff he actually had and how hard it was to do the simplest tasks when 'blind'. Something close to paranoia set in after a few heartbeats of fruitlessly fumbling through the air in front of him. Hector actually swore he wasn't moving away when Jared was close to him, but he somehow still ended up a few inches short whenever he tried to grab him.
Jared couldn't tell how long the session went on like this, but when Hector finally tapped his shoulder and announced this would be enough for a day, the sun sat quite low on the horizon.
The gym hall stank of sweat and frustration, most of all his own. Exhaustion and tiredness flooded him, both having nothing to do with physical exertion; his mind, his consciousness, had expended all energy and was now howling for sleep. And all this for nothing to show. He threw a puzzled glance at Hector.
"Am I that untalented? I didn't manage to touch you once," he asked, trying not to sound too insecure. He felt like a failure.
Hector shrugged and walked over to the door to switch off the lights. With the flip of a switch, the gym hall was shrouded in gray-ish twilight. "No. You did well and I told you before: I'm trying to rush you through this as fast as I can. You're progressing neither too slow nor especially fast. Don't worry."
Jared followed him out grudgi
ngly. Easier said than done.
George
Having another person around twenty-four—seven was both nice and necessary, but some days George could have gladly strangled Mary. This was one of those days. Had he not been wheelchair-bound and susceptible to falls, he would have fled the house the minute his housekeeper brought up Darwin.
"You know, Carl is furious," Mary commented and the oatmeal instantly turned to ashes in George's mouth. They were sitting in the sun room, or breakfast-nook, whatever architects nowadays called the niche George had paid a fortune for to make his late wife happy, and outside, birds were chirping in the cool morning air as the sun streamed through the ceiling-high windows. George had gleaned all about how Darwin and his boyfriend had gotten away, but he still experienced dread whenever he thought too hard about his son.
The words quickened his pulse. "Is he, now?" he muttered half-heartedly, trying his best to hide his emotions. His hunger was gone but if he didn't eat, Mary would try to shove something much worse down his throat to keep him ticking. A healthy, balanced diet was key to his prolonged life, the doctors said so on many occasions, and Mary usually was having none of his theatrics when it came to nourishment.
"Now that you mention it, I can't remember the last time Carl was in a good mood, but that may be because he excluded me from any and all pack business. I wouldn't know what mood he's been in the last few days."
Mary clicked her tongue chidingly. "Don't whine at me, George, we are all but married in the flesh but I'm not your mother. You already endangered Carmen by having her snoop around for you, it's enough suspense to make me worry about my niece and your health. She'll be coming by tomorrow afternoon, that has got to be soon enough."
Throwing her a moody glance, George poked around in his oatmeal. He hated having to use Carmen to do his fact-search as much as Mary did and would much rather have gone himself, but his body prevented that very effectively. Other reasons added to his mood, though, and Mary was one of them.
George raised his gaze from his breakfast and stared at her. "Why didn't you tell me Darwin had problems with Carl before... this?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and only barely succeeding.
"Why didn't you notice it yourself?" Mary shot back angrily, but her eyes flinched. "I haven't known him for long, I thought he always acted strange after pack meetings, and you didn't react to it. How was I supposed to know?"
Yes, why hadn't he caught on? George slumped in his wheelchair and let go of the spoon. It clattered over the brim of the bowl and onto the table, loud enough to make both of them jump a little, but for a few moments, the ensuing silence stretched on. Now that he looked back, it was all too obvious not to.
A few years ago, Carl had started asking a lot of questions about Darwin's behavior, about signs for dominance or submission, about his friends, about everything, but George had taken it as a sign of caring from his Alpha. After he had gotten sick and missed months of pack meetings, things had taken an even more puzzling turn. Darwin had gotten into a lot of fights, which wasn't unusual for a young dominant trying to find his place, but nobody seemed to have any idea with whom Darwin fought so hard he left blood stains on his bed sheets and missed a few days of school here and there. Darwin hadn't wanted to give away names, telling George it would leave a bad impression if his wheelchair-bound father interfered on his behalf, and as soon as Darwin had started going to college, the fighting had mostly stopped.
"You know," George said as realization hit him, "now that I think of it, if Darwin has always been a submissive like they are claiming now, who did he fight with all through high school? Submissives don't fight for ranks, but there he was, week after week, bloody and beat up, and he never told me who did it. And he always was nervous before pack meetings and hid for hours after he came home. After those long talks with Carl, he always kept to himself, saying he had gotten into some kind of disagreement with another dominant."
Mary stopped eating and stared at him wide eyed for a few moments, her own food forgotten. She blinked a few times, then she shook her head adamantly. "No. No, you don't think Carl— No, he wouldn't do such a thing. I mean, why should Carl of all people beat on a submissive—"
Mary paused and blanched at her own words. "You don't think all those disappeared submissives might..."
Pulse in his tongue, George swallowed and tried to think around the fluttering pangs in his chest. "Darwin knew how much I think— thought— of Carl and you know how he is. Puts everyone's best interests ahead of his own and then he stops as soon as everyone else is taken care of."
They stared at each other, too horrified by their own words to move, afraid of looking away and breaking the fragile balance between uncertainty and panic. George was as pale and shivery as Mary looked, but his heart was still beating, his breath still flowing in and out and nothing hurt. Maybe he had to spell it out aloud to feel the full impact?
"So Carl made dozens of people, all the submissives of our pack, flee or disappear and Darwin was only safe as long as Carl thought he was dominant," George said with a voice void of emotions. "He found someone who loves him and through that he was forced to reveal the one secret that might endanger him." The admission left his lips numb.
"Oh my god," Mary suddenly gasped, clenching the collar of her blouse tightly as she stared wide-eyed at the table, "George, what about those other incidents? Your mother, Giselle, Carl's wife, do you think..."
She didn't finish. George made a wailing sound, too soft for a scream, too loud for a whisper, and wiped his bowl of oatmeal off the table with enough force to send it clattering against the wall and roll a few feet until the dish settled. Thick clumps of sticky goo stuck to the wall and the floor, leaving a trail similar to blood splatter.
Mary was off her seat before the bowl came to a stop, but George's fist slamming down on the table stopped her before she finished reaching out to him. He had never been so furious in his life, and although he hadn't been able to shift shape for years, he felt the familiar, burning tingle crawl over his back.
"I will not let this man ruin my family anymore!" he shouted, eyes bloodshot with his speeding pulse. "I do not care anymore, I have nothing to lose left if my boy dies, but I'll be damned if I sit by and watch, not knowing what really is going on in this pack!"
In the middle of his impotent outbreak, the phone rang.
Darwin
The sign next to the road was big, hand-painted, and old enough to be seamed by a growth of lichen. 'Renton Welcomes You!' it read, a loopy, pastel hued font sitting amidst trees and something that probably was meant to resemble a pond. Darwin sat behind the wheel of Jared's car, staring at the sign, the road side ditch, and the battered phone booth a little off to the side. The more he scanned the small patch of earth, the more his head canted to the side. His yaw hurt from the steady tension in his facial muscles and he realized he must have started squinting, too, because now black spots danced in his vision.
The sun was still up and the road went straight for miles, offering a wide view of the surroundings. The deserted surroundings. Still, he couldn't get himself to leave the car, as if someone or something might jump him as soon as his toes touched the asphalt. At first he had tried to convince himself all this tension was because of that kidnapping attemt three days ago, but somewhere along the thirty minutes of weighing his options with the phone booth, he realized he was simply too chicken to call his father. After all, that was the reason why he had come here instead of watching Jared sleep, uh-gain, wasn't it?
It wasn't. Well, it was one of the very good reasons he had found to leave the cabin hurriedly, but not the only one.
Two nights had come and gone since that day at the shopping center, and everything had fallen into a daily routine. Jared left the cabin at sunrise to head for Canada and train with that Hector guy he always talked about. Harry and Darwin took turns cooking breakfast and Rayne came back from his patrol, staying long enough to scarf down some food and then fall into bed. Darla spent her
days glaring at Darwin and following him around like a stalker whenever she had a free moment. Darwin was sure she slacked off on her duties for the sake of shadowing him, because he somehow always caught her watching him and 'accidentally' showing up wherever he went, but he couldn't— wouldn't— say anything, not even to Jared. Harry spent his days pining for Rayne, cooking or cleaning obsessively and giving Darwin the silent treatment, and when Jared came home either late in the afternoon or sometimes late at night, he'd barely have enough energy to gulp down some food and promptly fall asleep fully clothed.
So many unspoken accusations hung around that cabin, so many unclear feelings and so much baggage, Darwin felt like choking on it all. And to top it off, he had nobody to talk to. He had wronged every single one of them. Each of them had their reasons for hating him or at least staying away. He couldn't talk to Harry about Darla or Rayne and Jared hadn't managed a single sentence since last morning.
When he had told Darla— who had been on watch— what he planned to do, she hadn't even shrugged, she had just stared at him with opaque eyes. Darwin knew Rayne would be furious with her for letting him go out all by himself, but he was relieved she hadn't tried to stop him or come with him.
Oh, yes, there were so many reasons for the tension in his jaw and shoulders and for the increasingly tight knot in his stomach. And there were very good reasons why Darwin had decided to call his father, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to tell the whole truth. If he could bring himself to leave the car—
Someone knocked at the window right next to his face. Darwin twitched and turned his head, trying to breathe through his suddenly tight throat and the metallic taste in his mouth as he stared at Darla's expressionless face. What was she doing here? Had she followed him? Oh god, is she finally going to murder me?
Unwilling: a shifter romance Page 24