Blacke and Blue

by Fiona Blackthorne

  “Don’t tell me.”

  “I don’t have to. However, I want to warn you that while the manifestation of Perk’s shock at this sudden freedom was extreme, it would not surprise me to find that more of you were not affected in some way by this ‘lifting of the curse.’ I’m not the right person for the job, but there must be someone in Blue Moon who is a psychologist or social worker or something. Some kind of counselor. I would recommend that you all see this person. The end of chronic stress can be just as stressful as the condition itself. Healing from trauma and major life changes doesn’t come easy or instantly. You say you’re a band of brothers, well, watch out for each other like brothers.”

  “How?” Ger asked, the first feelings of relief beginning to warm his chilly soul since he’d realized the Butcher of Bangor was one of them.

  “Spend time together as humans. Talk to each other. Reach out to the guys you wouldn’t normally spend time with. I’m assuming Perk was a loner, right?”

  He nodded.

  “Don’t let your loners be lone wolfs. Heh. Sorry. Couldn’t resist that one.”

  He smiled and pulled Trisha into his arms, then easily into his lap where she fit perfectly and snuggled up against him.

  “You’re wrong in saying I don’t have a purpose in life now,” he murmured, nuzzling her ear with his lips.

  She looked up at him, and he took advantage of the moment to kiss her tenderly, hoping she understood exactly what his purpose in life now was.

  From the way she kissed him back, he thought she might have a pretty good idea.

  Chapter 29

  The company at the dinner table was quiet.

  Trisha found herself believing that Maria had been right in proclaiming good food was good medicine. The woman’s roasted chicken and sausage in a spicy tomato sauce with saffron rice and garlicky black beans had worked wonders on her tired body and tired spirit.

  It had been a very long day.

  She had forgotten that after one placed bodies in the ground, one had to shovel all the dirt back into the hole. The rhythmic chuffing and thumping of the shovels had imprinted a headache pattern in her brain. She didn’t want to remember having to scrub the floors with Perk’s stockpile of bleach.

  Trisha glanced at Dr. Nasir, who looked very old and tired even in the warm glow of the candles at the table. Grace seemed like she was fading into invisibility before Trisha’s eyes. Grace and Dr. Nasir had worked tirelessly in the old shed to analyze the remains of the bodies, and Grace still seemed bothered by it.

  Trisha watched with a soft amusement as Grace unconsciously would lean infinitesimally closer to Father Edlow, and the handsome priest would just as unconsciously draw himself upright and closer to Grace, as if to shield her. If one or the other said something in the quiet conversation that passed between dishes, they immediately seemed to pull away and back into their own personal space. Then, the whole process would begin again.

  Father Edlow’s young face looked strained, with sharp planes of jaw and cheekbones barely softened by the curve of skin. Watching him was like watching a Roman statue be imbued with soul and movement.

  Robert, Sean, Cole, and Preston wolfed down, pun fully intended, thought Trisha, all the food in front of them. Declan sat next to Marguerite, speaking very little to her, but watching carefully everything she ate.

  Trisha watched Marguerite’s behavior as well. There was more work to do there before she could truly close this case in her mind.

  “It’ll be good to sleep in our own bed tonight,” Ger said, leaning in and kissing Trisha’s temple.

  “Who said anything about sleeping?” Ian smirked.

  “I can’t believe you just used that line.” Trisha groaned. “That’s so cliché.”

  “I’m a man of action, not words.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Are you disrespecting a police officer?”

  “Probably.”

  “I warn you, I have handcuffs.”

  “You gonna read me my rights, too?”

  “You think you have rights in my bed?”

  “For the love of Christ!” Sean blurted out. “Would you two quit it? Or get a room? You’re making Edlow blush over here!”

  Trisha’s glance flickered over to Father Edlow, and she realized that he was indeed blushing. So was Grace. There was also just a hint of something dark and heated in Father Edlow’s gaze that made her wonder if he was as innocent as Sean jokingly portrayed him. The hint turned into a definite suspicion when she saw the involuntary, lightning-fast glance he gave Grace, who was staring determinedly at her plate.

  Very, very interesting.

  “I’m sorry to break this up,” Cole said. “But, we should probably be getting back before it gets much colder out on the water.”

  A jolt of terror stabbed Trisha in the stomach as she viscerally recalled the night on the water. Ian’s arm was around her before the poisonous panic could spread, and his warmth and silent strength gave her the strength to breathe through it.

  Bundled up and armed with life jackets and blankets, Trisha followed the others onto the dock and was somewhat reassured by the sturdy nature of the big boat. The men grouped themselves around her, Marguerite, and Grace in a way that reminded Trisha of pack behavior. They were tucked into the wheelhouse where there was some protection from the wind.

  “What are you going to do, Marguerite?” Grace asked softly as the three of them huddled by a small hot air vent.

  “I don’t know,” the young woman said numbly. “I can’t go back. But, I don’t have any money really, and I…I don’t know.”

  “You could stay here,” Grace offered. “We would help you.”

  “Why would you do that?” Marguerite asked, and the sheer bewilderment in her voice took away any petulant sting in her words.

  “Because we owe you that much,” Grace replied. “It was one of our own, our wolves, who put your life at risk.”

  “It was also your wolves that saved me,” she pointed out.

  “Yes,” Grace said with a smile. “And, that makes you one of our own, now, and Blue Moon takes care of its own.”

  “If you’re worried I would tell anybody about the guys changing into wolves, I wouldn’t. I promise.”

  “I believe you, and I’m not offering the town’s help because of that. Look, why don’t you stay the night with me, and tomorrow we can talk some more and figure things out.”

  “Sounds great because I’m dead tired,” Marguerite said around a yawn then jerked still at her words. “I mean, I’m really tired,” she corrected, flushing.

  “Don’t censor yourself,” Trisha said, wrapping the girl in her arms partly for comfort and partly for warmth. “Say what you think and what you mean. Watching your words is no way to heal.”

  Marguerite nodded and yawned, leaning into Trisha. Grace sidled up to Trisha as well, slipping her arm around Trisha’s waist and staying close.

  “You three make such a cute girlcicle.” Sean laughed, glancing over at them.

  A subdued yet relaxed laugh ran through the group on the boat. Trisha caught Ian and Ger’s gazes on her, and a very different kind of heat ran through her body. She lingered looking at Ian, memories of how close she had come to losing him just twenty-four hours earlier on this same water rising up in her like a bird in panic frantically beating its wings. She needed to be near him, to connect with him, to touch him.

  He nodded slightly at her, as if he understood her thoughts.

  How was she going to stay here? How was she going to leave? Marguerite was not the only one who needed to figure things out in the morning. Decisions had to be made, and it wasn’t fair to make them unilaterally by herself, but could her men be objective enough to do what was right for them all, and just what was right here?

  She ducked her head into Marguerite’s knit hat and prayed openly and honestly yet again. This was starting to become a habit.

  She prayed for guidance.

  She prayed for the right
decision.

  She prayed for strength.

  * * * *

  “Damn, it feels good to be home,” Ian said as he ushered both Ger and Trisha through the front door and flicked on the lights so the tiny entry was flooded with a warm glow.

  Ger tugged off Trisha’s mittens and hat before she could do anything, and Ian reached for her coat.

  “Guys, I can do this myself!” she protested with a laugh.

  “Not while I have my balls, baby,” Ian replied with a slap to her ass.

  “You’re our woman now,” Ger added. “Ours to respect, love, protect, and cherish, and if you hadn’t noticed, we’re pretty big on the cherish part around here.”

  “If you all weren’t so stupidly brave and honorable,” Trisha said, “you’d be bona fide Neanderthals, all clubs and caves and hair-pulling.”

  “A little hair-pulling never hurt anyone,” Ian said, leering playfully at her.

  “Tell that to any girl on a playground!”

  “We never got in trouble for pulling hair,” Ian replied. “In fact, Ger got into the most trouble as a kid.”

  “Really?” Trisha turned to look at Ger, who had a hilariously embarrassed expression on his face.

  “Oh yeah,” Ian said, grinning. “In first grade, he got in trouble for sniffing a girl’s crotch.”

  “I was in wolf form!” he protested. “I was a cub! We didn’t know any better, and that’s how wolves, uh, say hello.”

  “And, then there was the time he chased Mrs. Edlow’s cat up a tree,” Ian continued gleefully, delighting in Trisha’s bright eyes and silent laughter. “Mr. Boots wouldn’t come down for two days after that. Not even for tuna.”

  “Mr. Boots was a mean-ass cat that got me and my friends more than once with a swipe of his paw.”

  “Mr. Boots was a badass cat living in a town of werewolves,” Ian countered.

  By this point, all three were laughing to point of either doubling over or leaning against a wall for support.

  “Should I tell Trisha about the way you used to balance a chocolate chip cookie on your snout for a trick?” Ian gasped between laughs.

  “That was just once,” Ger wheezed, shaking a finger at Ian. “And, I turned back to human—”

  “Naked on the playground,” Ian interjected.

  “Before eating it,” Ger finished.

  “Oh my God,” Trisha whined, wiping tears from her eyes. “This is the strangest thing ever. I’m laughing at baby werewolf stories. Fuck my life.”

  Ian closed in behind her, pulling her soft little back against his body, feeling everything in him tighten in anticipation and need. Ger came to wrap his arms around her from the front, and he kissed away her lingering giggles.

  “Go on upstairs with Ian, honey,” he said against her lips, and Ian could feel the shiver run through her body. He wrapped his arms around her ribs, letting one hand drift over a breast as Ger stepped back from them.

  “I’ll be up in a minute,” Ger said. “I’m going to call Mom and Dad and make sure they’re okay. I’ll let them know we’re back.”

  “I could use a hot shower,” Trisha said, looking up at Ian, and there was no missing the invitation in her eyes.

  Ian grinned wickedly down at her and without warning slung her slight weight over his shoulder. She shrieked in protest, and he slapped her ass again.

  “I thought you’d like a taste of caveman style,” he teased as he set her down on her feet in the bathroom.

  “I don’t see any big wooden club,” she taunted, her blue eyes going dark with desire.

  “You will.”

  The air became heavy around him, and dark lust filled up all the empty spaces in him. He dimmed the lights in the bathroom and started the shower going. The smile was gone from his lips as he saw Trisha standing against the wall, watching him with wide eyes, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

  He may not have been a wolf, but in that moment, he was the supreme predator, and she was his prey.

  “Strip,” he ordered, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “What?” she exclaimed.

  “Strip. Slowly. No more talking unless I say.”

  The flare of her nostrils and quick breath rising in her chest told him that as nervous as she was, this was turning her on. Big-time.

  With shaky fingers, she began to pull off her sweater and the shirt underneath it. Damn, that was a plain, ugly bra she had on. He was going to burn it. In the fireplace. With all of her other underwear. While he fucked her on the rug in front of the fire.

  Her eyes flickered down as she unbuttoned her jeans and slid them off. Damn, ugly panties, too. Well, she’d just have to go underwear-less for a few days until they got her new things.

  “Wh–what about you?” she asked, her voice painfully tight once she stood in only her underwear.

  “Did I say you could talk?” he reminded her gently, but putting a hint of steel in his voice, watching as her thighs tightened briefly at his words.

  “You’ll do that,” he added. “Once you’re done. Now, finish.”

  He forced himself to breathe through his nose to keep control as he watched her shyly slip off her bra and panties. Ger was right. Underneath the hard-as-nails exterior, Trisha was soft, feminine, and shy. The combination was potent, and he wanted to unleash some of that power she kept in reserve for her work and let it bleed into her passions. He wanted her to want this as much as he did, to fight submission before giving in with the sweetest, softest surrenders.

  “Look at me,” he ordered.

  Her blue eyes snapped up to his, and pink burned in her pale, cold cheeks. He let his eyes wander where he wouldn’t let his hands go yet, down her slender throat, tracing the lines of her breasts and brushing over the hard rosy nipples, over the smooth curve of her belly, dipping between the red curls between her legs, and down her lean legs to her adorable little feet.

  “Undress me,” he said, fighting to keep his voice from shaking with the need that was swelling his cock already.

  He focused on smelling her, inhaling her essence. There was a whiff of smoke, a salty tang of sweat, the musk of her arousal, and the faint flavor of sweet shampoo. Her hair looked soft but messy from her hat and the ocean wind.

  Memories of her hair darkened and lank with icy saltwater, of her lying cold and still in the bottom of the raft, rose up and made him clench his jaw. There was no way he could ever let her go now. Not her body, not her soul, not her heart.

  She made quick work of his shirt and pants, and he kicked off his own boots and socks. She rested her little hands against his chest, and he felt the cold coming off them through his T-shirt. He was ready for that hot shower, and he knew she was, too.

  The cold of her fingers tickled as she pulled off his shirt, and she paused at his boxers.

  “Everything, babe,” he reminded her, and let out a sigh of relief as she yanked them down and freed his now painful erection.

  He stepped over to the shower and pulled open the glass door. Steam emerged in welcome warm puffs.

  “Inside,” he ordered.

  She stepped into the corner away from the spray, cautiously testing it with her hand. Apparently, it was warm enough for her, and she immediately hogged all the water. He chuckled and stepped in after her, shutting the door. He didn’t mind being behind her, but he had other plans in mind.

  “I’m going to wash you now,” he said, pouring out body wash into his hands. “Then, you’ll wash me.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he quirked his eyebrow and she stayed silent. He chuckled and quickly but thoroughly scrubbed her from hair to toes, enjoying just a few little tantalizing slips and touches. He was rewarded with her little jumps and shakes, and he could tell she was wanting more already. Well, she had no idea just how much more she was going to want before he finally let her get what she wanted.

  Once he was done, she just as quickly, thoroughly, and accidentally returned the favor with her own scrubbing and touches. The l
ittle minx had flicked his nipples and spent an inordinate amount of time lathering up his shaft, but she had looked up and seen the message he was clearly sending her, and she had finished her task.

  He found himself practically licking his chops in anticipation as he felt they were finally ready. She was clean and warm and more comfortable now, and so was he.

  By way of running his fingers over her hair and dragging more clean water through it, he took it all in one of his fists, and with a mild jerk, he twisted his wrist so that her head was yanked back, exposing her neck and thrusting her breasts up into his face.

  “The cavemen knew a thing or two about what women want,” he murmured, flicking her left nipple and running his tongue over her breast and up her neck to end with a nibble on her earlobe.

  Trisha kept her lips pressed closed but a whine escaped her as he softly thumbed her other nipple to a stand. He slipped his hand to under her arm and stepped back, using his leverage with her hair to gently bring her to her knees before his cock.

  “Suck me,” he said, roughness of held-back desire sandpapering his voice.

  She looked up at him, then took him into her soft, warm mouth. He held tight to her hair and set a slightly more aggressive pace than she had started with. He could feel some resistance in her movement, so he let up, only to find she kept up the rhythm on her own and even tried to go harder. She shook her head in a way that signaled to him she wanted him to control her movements again, and he was happy to oblige.

  Her hands rested on his thighs, and he let himself go enough to experience the full amazingness of her mouth and talented little tongue as she worked more and more of him into her. God, he was close.

  He yanked her head back, panting and looking down into her own gasping expression, only to see a sly little smile spread across her face.

  He matched her, smile for smile.

  He forcefully pulled her to her feet, releasing her hair and wrapping his arm around her waist, drawing her back tight against his body. He braced himself against the shower wall and ground his cock against her ass cheeks, groaning quietly at the soft, stimulating pressure around him. She rolled her hips, and her frustrated whine told him that as much as she was trying to tease him, she was torturing herself as well.