Untamed (The Amoveo Legend 3)

by Sara Humphreys

  She tugged on her hand, attempting to free herself from his grip, but said nothing. He could see the wheels turning and knew her instinct was to fight him on the subject, but to his relief, she simply nodded and said, “Okay.”

  He suspected there was a good chance she was placating him, but he’d take it. For now.

  As the sun set, William put the last of the garbage bags outside in the shed and took a quick survey of the property. He uttered the ancient language and shifted into his gyrfalcon. Everything on the farm looked normal, but while soaring above the property, he sensed something else. He closed his eyes and tuned into the phantom energy signature that had been left behind from their intruder.

  It hummed, almost imperceptibly around the farm, as William strained to connect with the wispy trail. Eyes closed, he rode the air currents silently, and then he found it—a subtle stumble within the larger energy wave. There were two different patterns within the ghostly stream, one darker than the other.

  There had been two individuals here the night Rosie was attacked.

  William’s eyes snapped open, and fear gripped his heart. Why hadn’t he sensed it before? Had they returned? Panic swamped him as he searched for Layla’s sweet, bright signature.

  He shot down to the house like a bullet, shifted midair, and his feet barely hit the ground before he was running up the steps and into the house. The rational side of his brain knew that it was highly unlikely they’d come back. As irrational as it was, William had to see her, to know she was still safe. He barreled through the front door, and Layla looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

  “You’re alright?” he said through heavy breaths.

  William looked around the first floor and scanned the area. Much to his relief, the second signature was indeed only another ghost left behind. William stood in the front hall, a tad dumbfounded, and realized that for the first time in his life—he had overreacted.

  “What the hell happened out there?” she asked as she hung the last picture back on the wall. “You look like you’re ready to kill someone.”

  “Nothing.” William shut the front door securely and gave one last glance outside. Although the second signature was only a phantom, he was now absolutely certain there had been two people here the night Rosie was attacked. But he didn’t know who they were dealing with and wanted to get Malcolm and Dante’s opinion before he said anything to Layla.

  “I’m just eager to find out who did this. It’s easier to defeat your enemy once you know them.”

  “Okay.” She looked at him through weary eyes. “I’m not sure you’re being completely forthcoming with me, but I’m so freaking exhausted, I don’t have the energy to argue with you. I suspect you’re keeping something close to the vest until your friends get here.” She cocked her head and analyzed him with frightening accuracy. “Maybe you want to get their opinion on things before you share it with me?”

  William’s face heated with embarrassment. No one had ever seen through him, or read him so easily before now. He cleared his throat and avoided her gaze.

  “We’ve been working for hours, and I don’t think you’ve eaten anything since that horrid doughnut at the hospital.” He took her hand in his and led her into the family room. “Come with me.”

  She didn’t argue or press him for information, but she didn’t take her eyes off him. He picked up the large plaid blanket draped over the back of the sofa and gestured for her to sit. Layla smirked and flopped onto the couch with a contented sigh as he placed the blanket over her lap.

  “This is all very nice, but we can’t just sit here while Rosie is in the hospital.”

  “I beg to differ,” he said smoothly. “If Rosie were here, the first thing she would do is try to get you to eat something, probably a piece of her pie, and if I didn’t do it, she’d smack me in the back of my head.”

  “You’re right,” she said through a weak smile. “But I—”

  William placed one finger over her lips, silencing her.

  “Not another word. You are going to sit here and enjoy the fire while I gather something to eat.”

  Layla arched one eyebrow and glanced past him to the cold, empty fireplace. “What fire?”

  “This one,” he said.

  He uttered the ancient language, waved his hand, and within seconds a roaring fire blazed brightly in the stone hearth.

  “Not bad,” Layla said. She made a face of approval. “You’re a regular boy scout.”

  The look on his face must’ve been amusing, because she burst out laughing.

  “I am many things, but I was never a boy scout,” he said firmly.

  Layla rolled her eyes and chuckled. “I don’t doubt it.”

  William smiled in spite of himself. “Well, while you’re having a laugh at my expense, I’ll be getting us something to eat.”

  His stomach rumbled as he went into the kitchen and whipped up some food. After a little rifling around in the unfamiliar pantry, he put together a nice tray of cheese, crackers, and grapes, and even rustled up a good bottle of Shiraz. He grabbed a couple of wineglasses and carried their makeshift dinner into the family room, but when he turned the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks.

  Layla sat curled up on the couch and the flickering firelight that emanated from the hearth bathed her in an ethereal glow. She reminded him of fairies from the stories of his childhood, or what the fairies would have looked like, if he could’ve brought them to life.

  Beautiful.

  Elusive.

  Vibrant.

  Magical.

  She was the most spectacular creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

  The sun had all but gone down, and since she hadn’t turned on any lights in the room, the only light was coming from the fire—or maybe… it was coming from her. At the moment, he couldn’t separate one from the other. She looked peaceful and cozy, but he, better than anyone, knew that turmoil swirled beneath the surface. Her energy waves had been thick with grief, confusion, and anger all day, and things hadn’t improved now that she was reading Raife’s mother’s diary.

  In fact, it had only gotten worse.

  Steeling himself against the power of her emotions, William circled the couch, placed everything on the knotted pine coffee table, and sat next to his mate. He poured a glass of wine for each of them and held hers out, but lost in her thoughts and the hypnotic dancing light of the fire, she didn’t even notice.

  “Layla,” he said gently as he held the glass out. “I poured you some wine and got us something to eat.”

  “No, thank you,” she said softly.

  The sadness in her voice just about ripped his heart out and made him feel completely powerless. Put him in the heat of battle, in a courtroom, or in the sights of the Caedo, and no one could shake him, but put his brokenhearted mate in front of him, and he turned into a fumbling oaf without the slightest clue how to help her.

  “Any word from Raife about how Rosie’s doing?”

  “Yes,” she said without looking at him. “She’s still unconscious, but the doctors are a bit more optimistic. I wish she’d wake up,” she said in a quivering voice. “She can’t die, William. She just can’t.”

  Emotions. He really, really sucked at dealing with emotions—especially the sensitive kind. Anger, hatred, revenge—those were easy. Cold and calculated, that was his comfort zone, but love, loss, and sadness were not things he knew how to remedy. There was no case law to cite or Caedo to defeat. There was simply the heart of his mate to cradle, and he hadn’t the foggiest notion how to do it.

  Layla looked down at the worn brown leather diary in her hands, and William watched helplessly as one large teardrop rolled down her cheek. She sniffled and brushed it away, as if it was more annoying to her than anything else, and William could tell it bothered her to lose control of herself that way. She seemed almost as uncomfortable with it as he did—perhaps they had more in common than he previously thought.

  “I don’t think there’s much in here that
will help us,” she said tightly. “Raife’s mother doesn’t even divulge his father’s name or where he was from. She says he was part of the Timber Wolf Clan and that his own people killed him.” She glanced at him. “Amoveo may be hard to kill, but apparently, decapitation works just fine.” Layla shook her head as if trying to erase what she’d just read from her memories. “Most of it is just very sad.”

  She handed the timeworn diary to him before picking up the wineglass he had put out for her. William took it in his hands and hesitated to open it. Although Raife had given them permission, his gut told him that it was really only for Layla.

  “She was desperately in love with him… whoever he was.” She sipped the wine but kept her eyes focused on the fire. “The saddest entries are the ones she wrote after he was killed.”

  “Well, that makes sense, don’t you agree?” William meant it. He couldn’t imagine the grief he would feel if he lost Layla, and they weren’t officially mated yet. “She’d lost the love of her life.”

  “No.” Layla shook her head and shifted her body so she faced him. “It’s more than that. It was as if she died when he did. After his death, her words were hollow, and she became a ghost of herself without him.” Layla’s eyes were filled with fear. “Is that what happens?” The words came out in a rush, and her voice rose. “When people are mated, do the women completely lose themselves and become a mere extension of the men and just disappear?”

  “No,” William said quietly. He placed the diary on the table, leaned his elbow on the back of the couch, and took her face gently in his hand. “We do not absorb you… don’t you see?” he whispered.

  He brushed away the tear track on her cheek with the pad of his thumb, and she shivered under his touch. His eyes remained locked on hers as her energy waves fluttered faster through the room. His throat clogged with unfamiliar emotions, and he struggled to find the right words, worried that if he didn’t, she would slip away. He tangled her soft curls between his fingers and chose his words carefully.

  “You and I will become a part of each other in every way—physically, mentally, emotionally. We will complement and enhance one another. When Amoveo are mated, we become true life partners, and there is a give and take on both sides,” he assured her. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that since we’ve found one another, certain changes have occurred, but neither is dominant over the other.”

  “Is it because she was human?” She nibbled on her lip, and her large green eyes searched his for answers. “Is that why Raife and Tati’s mother got sick and died? Was she too weak to handle it?” Layla tore her gaze from his and looked down at the glass in her hand. “Like my mother,” she said in a barely audible whisper.

  “Is that what you believe?” he asked, his heart breaking for her. “You think that your mothers got sick and died because they were humans who had mated with Amoveo?”

  Layla nodded, pushed his hand away, shoved the blanket off her legs, and rose from the couch. As difficult as it was, William didn’t resist, but let her take the space that he knew she needed and watched her as she walked to the fireplace.

  “She was crazy, you know, and a drug addict.” Layla picked up another log and added it to the fire but kept her back to William as she spoke. “She didn’t find out what my father was until after they had been together for a while, and she was already pregnant with me. It sent her over the edge. Although I suspect she’d spent most of her life flirting with the edge of sanity.”

  She told her story as she looked into the dancing flames, too ashamed to look him in the face, while she divulged pieces of her past. William wanted nothing more than to scoop her up in his arms and tell her that none of that mattered, but he stayed where he was and allowed her to tell her story on her terms.

  “I didn’t spend an enormous amount of time with my mother. Child Services removed me from the home when I was just two or three. She tried to get herself clean now and then, and I would go back into her custody briefly, but it never lasted long,” she said with a shrug. “The drugs had a bigger hold on her than anything. She knew things too. She could tell me things about the different families that I’d been staying with, but I’m not exactly sure what her psychic ability was, or how she received her information. I don’t think it was through pictures like it is for me, but the sad truth is that I just don’t know.”

  She glanced at him briefly over her shoulder. “I was only eight when she died from a drug overdose, and the only thing I’m certain of is that she was too weak to handle everything that had been thrust upon her, and my father, whoever he is, wasn’t around to pick up the pieces,” she said in a voice edged in bitterness.

  Unable to keep his distance, William rose from the couch and moved around the other side of the coffee table to stand beside her. They stood there for a moment, side by side in front of the roaring fire, neither saying a word.

  There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t even know where to begin, and since he thought that nothing he could possibly say would be right, he simply reached over, linked his arm around her waist, and pulled her into the shelter of his body. To his great delight, she buried her face in his shirt with a sigh and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “I’m sorry, Layla,” he whispered against her hair as he rocked her slowly. “It sounds like your mother struggled with her own psychic ability long before she met your father. As for Raife and Tati’s mother, I can’t imagine the grief she suffered after losing her mate so violently.” He leaned back so she could look him in the eye, and the pained expression on her face made his throat tighten. “I am Amoveo,” he said gruffly. “But if I lost you, there would be no measure of time long enough to heal, and death would be a welcome relief.”

  “What if I can’t handle it?” Layla’s large green eyes searched his as they flickered and shifted to the glittering eyes of her clan. “I’m only a hybrid.”

  “Layla.” William took her face in his hands as his eyes shifted to their clan form. “You are exactly what you are supposed to be,” he murmured. “You… are perfect.”

  The heat in the room thickened as their energy waves mingled, and William fleetingly wondered if the roaring fire had anything to do with it.

  Not likely.

  Looking down at that flawlessly beautiful face, he was held captive by the assault of his own emotions. Terrified for her safety, saddened by her lost childhood, incensed that someone was intent on hurting her, and most terrifying of all… he was irrevocably in love with her.

  Cradling her face in his hands, lost in the seemingly limitless depths of her eyes, he wrestled with his desire to claim her, but when she wiggled that tight little body up against him, and those delicious pink lips curled into a wickedly inviting smile… the last shred of William’s restraint shattered.

  He captured her mouth with his on a curse or a prayer—he wasn’t sure which. Pleasure flooded him as Layla opened her soft lips and stroked her tongue seductively along his. He angled her head and delved deeper, savoring the wild, sweet taste, and doubted he would ever get enough of her.

  Layla responded eagerly and moaned as she wrapped her arms tighter around him, untucked his shirt, and slipped her delicate hands beneath the waistband of his jeans. When those devilish little fingers slid along the skin at the top of his ass, sizzling streaks of pleasure shot straight to his crotch. A growl rumbled deep in his throat amid the explosion of lust, and he knew he couldn’t wait another minute to have more of that ivory skin pressed against his.

  He grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt, and in one swift movement, whipped it over her head, revealing the most immaculate bare breasts he’d laid eyes on. No bra. He couldn’t have stopped the look of surprise on his face if he’d wanted to. His startled gaze met her smile—her desired effect had been achieved.

  When they got back to the house, she’d changed into her favorite, ratty old sweatshirt and jeans… but apparently, nothing else. Minx.

  She looked at him seductively through heavy-lidded eyes as
she unsnapped the fly of her jeans and wiggled those slim hips. The jeans gratefully fell to the floor, revealing the sexiest legs he’d ever seen. William swallowed hard and let his heated gaze travel back up her gorgeous form.

  The fading light of the fire flickered over her naked body, and it was all he could do to keep from licking his lips. Their connected energy signatures thrummed through the room in thick, pulsing waves. His fingers itched to touch her again, but he knew she wanted to retain control, and for the first time in his life, he was happy to let someone else take the wheel.

  Layla inched her gloriously nude body closer to his and released the buttons on his shirt one at a time. “Like what you see?” she asked through heavy breaths without taking her gaze from his. “I know I do.”

  Layla undid the last button, pushed the shirt off his shoulders, and he barely noticed when it fell to the floor. She ran her hands tantalizingly over the muscles of his chest and flicked his nipple with her tongue as her pert breasts scraped along his hypersensitive skin. His fingers clenched and unclenched at his side, and a low growl rumbled in the back of his throat as she stood on her tiptoes and rasped her tongue along the scar on his chest. “You taste like snow,” she whispered against his heated flesh.

  William’s eyes fluttered closed as he allowed himself to experience the exquisite effect of her touch. He shuddered with pleasure as her nimble fingers wandered along his rib cage, and she ran her nails down his sides. He was hard as a rock—everywhere—and if she kept this up, he might just lose control, and this whole thing would be over before it even got going.

  Not yet, counselor. That sexy voice floated into his mind with the same seductive caress that her fingers gave to his flesh. We’re just getting started.

  William opened his eyes to find Layla smiling at him—she looked like the cat that ate the canary. He arched one eyebrow and reached for her, but she stepped back, shook her head, and wagged her finger at him. “Ah-ah-ah,” she scolded like a teacher from his dirtiest fantasies.