by Vonna Harper
She’d released his balls and started to replenish the moisture in her mouth when he grabbed her wrists and hauled her to her feet. Holding her arms over her head with one hand, he dispensed with her blouse buttons. Although he barely skimmed her bra, her breasts tightened, causing her to groan. He must have known what had caused the sound because, pushing aside her blouse, he ran a thumbnail over the part of her breasts the bra didn’t cover. Her legs went numb.
When he released her hands, she lowered her arms and fumbled with the bra fastening. Then she stripped herself naked to the waist.
She wanted to speak, wanted to say something, anything, but silence was easier; no wonder he’d wrapped himself in silence so many times. This way, neither of them had to address what would happen after they had sex.
Fucking. Sex.
But not making love, not thinking that dangerous thought!
She was still working at stripping the two words from her mind when he freed the button at her waist. Acting in unison, they dispensed with the zipper; together they pulled off her jeans and panties.
Naked. No turning back.
Breathing in the smell of both of them, she reached for him, but he again captured her wrists and hauled her arms upward, pushing her back at the same time. The couch stopped her. Robbed of her balance, she sprawled with her legs open and breasts jiggling.
Watching her with an intensity she guessed mirrored her earlier stare, he settled himself on his knees between her legs and pushed them even farther apart. With her arms over her head, she acknowledged her hungry pussy’s demands. Not long ago she’d been a civilized professional modern woman, but that female had been sacrificed to the primal. The insistent. Now, like Mato, she existed to obey needs as old as time.
Fine. Good. No hesitation or question. Only her hips lifting toward him and wet heat rolling out of her to coat her labia. Only sobbing and tearing at her hair while he lapped at that heat.
Don’t stop, don’t stop! Then, despite her silent command, she lowered her arms and raked his shoulders, nearly drawing blood. She told herself to stop, but his insistent tongue abusing her sensitive tissues was more than she could handle. And his teeth on her clit, oh, god! Squirming, she somehow kept herself from tunneling out from under him. Mini climax after mini climax reduced her to whimpering, pleading sounds.
Control fading, she clamped on to his shoulders and might have buried her nails in him if he hadn’t jerked upright, his mouth inches from hers. A moment ago he’d been drinking from her sex, and now, surely, he wanted to kiss her. But his eyes gave out inhuman messages; she’d never seen a human so tense, so ready for what, attack?
“Mato! Mato, talk to me. Say something.”
Nostrils flaring, he planted his hands on her knees and rocked forward, blanketing her body with his. His mouth remained open, and he seemed to be panting, but he gave no indication he’d heard her. The room started closing in again, pushing her against him and blocking out the world. Fire was threatening to turn them into one, to strip her down and force her to become something she couldn’t possibly comprehend. Yet even with those thoughts, her cunt wept and clenched.
A hiss, a growl, something, and suddenly he yanked her off the couch and onto the floor. Then he straddled her, his legs inside hers, his arms bracketing her shoulders, his gaze locked on her throat.
Terror grabbed her with powerful teeth, but before she drowned in the sensation, he covered her mouth with his. His inhuman strength faded, flowed from him, leaving a gentleness she’d hadn’t known he was capable of. How could a man’s lips be so soft, the touch seeping through her layers until every part of her was involved? Not fully believing what had happened, she nevertheless fully gave herself up to the exquisite moments. Hungry for him, she ran her tongue between her lips and then against his. How sweet he tasted, still wild but infused with the warmth of a spring morning.
As a child, she’d picked wildflowers and sucked nectar from them, letting the honeyed drops slide down her throat. She was doing the same thing now, and yet the taste was more deeply textured, filled with his messages. He was giving her everything he had, his every mood. Lightness and dark, civilized and primal all lived within the same body, sometimes at war with himself and sometimes perfectly blended.
That’s what it was right now—a completeness, layered and yet simple. His gift to her.
Taking the precious gift with every fiber in her, she opened her mouth and tasted even more deeply of him, shivering as his satin lips possessed hers. Unable to see clearly into his eyes, she could believe in his tender side. He had cast off the predator that was part of him and was giving himself up fully to the act of a man alone with the only woman in his life.
It might not be true; there might be other women or at least memories of them. But he had her now just as she had him, and she was naked and willing under him, and his mouth was open, inviting her in. Fully and perhaps unwisely accepting the invitation, she ran her tongue over his teeth and pressed it against his tongue, teasing, tasting, goose bumps prickling.
Not enough.
Filled with a need no kiss could satisfy, she reached between them and drew his cock to her opening. As she did, he lowered himself, his greater weight and size closing around and over her. Then he started to lift his head, so she closed her teeth around his lower lip, holding him in place. But even as she worked to rein him in, she wanted what he was offering. Needed what they both knew was coming. Releasing him, she offered her sex to him like some animal in heat.
And like the male of all species, he accepted.
Sleek against sleek, her wetness coating him and guiding him home. He stretched her, altered her, filled her, pushed her out into space.
And because this might be the last time, she surrendered fully, coming even before he’d settled fully inside her. Then coming again when his cock powered her inner channel and his hot, quick, hard breath seared her eyes.
Behind her now-closed lids, she cried.
23
Rolling off her, Mato sat up. Then, although Smokey tried to pull him back down, he stood and walked to the front window. Once more he seemed unaware of his nudity, which struck her as a vital message about the difference between them because even though they’d just had sex, she needed back the security and protection clothing provided. Bottom line, she was human, while he—what was he? Moving quietly so not to draw attention to herself, she yanked on her pants and shirt but stopped when she’d buttoned just three buttons.
What had happened? Sex, yes, kissing, oh, yes, a little fear, but even more wonder—that damnable darkness of his interspersed with a wonderful gentleness she’d hold on to for the rest of her life. She’d been working barefoot when he came home, but now, not allowing herself to ask why, she slipped into her tennis shoes. Then, because she had to do this, she walked over to where he stood.
Instead of the sensual heat that had flowed into her a few minutes ago, cold radiated from him. Shocked, she put her hand to her throat. He didn’t seem to be aware of her presence; instead something outside had his attention. All but positive she knew what it was, she forced herself to focus.
Rain slapped against the window and made it hard to see what was out there. Having no choice, she blinked repeatedly. Yes, there the damn bird was, perched on the branch he’d been on before. Yet even as she cursed it, she acknowledged the perfect body.
She was a stranger to this land, a newcomer. In contrast, Mato’s roots were deeply buried, as were those of his relatives, but none of them was as perfectly attuned to the earth as the creatures that made the forest and shore their home.
Let me know what you’re thinking, please, she begged the bird. You and Mato all but share the same mind. Can’t you at least give me a small piece of yourself? When you look at me, what do you see? What do you want from me?
Nothing.
Shocked and yet not, she forced herself to nod. At the same time she sensed that Mato was changing in indefinable and yet familiar ways, distancing himself f
rom her even though he hadn’t moved a muscle. You want all of him, don’t you? she demanded of his spirit. You want me gone so you can have him to yourself.
Yes.
Why? Needing action, she rubbed the condensation from the inside of the window.
You already know the answer.
About to retort that no way could she read a hawk’s mind, she clenched her teeth. Hawk Spirit’s simple yes had been in response to the first part of her comment. The spirit wanted her gone—dead. And the being saw Mato as the instrument for making that happen.
“I’m leaving,” she said aloud. “I have to go now.”
A ripple of tension ran through the man whose cum still rested inside her. Widening her stance in case he tried to jump her, she struggled not to respond to his presence, but how could she not? “Hawk Spirit’s waiting for you,” she continued. “And we both know what he wants.”
Another ripple, weaker this time, rolled over Mato, causing her to mourn his loss of freedom and self-determination. What would it be like to lose her will? To know that a powerful and compelling force could make her do whatever it wanted, especially to someone she loved?
No damn it, not love!
A fiery spark tore through her. To her shock she realized she’d rested her hand on Mato’s shoulder. Despite the unsettling heat, she couldn’t force herself to end the contact. “I want to borrow your truck, but if you won’t let me, I’ll walk.” She indicated the door to the bedroom. “I don’t care about my clothes, but I’m going to take my files with me. And my painting supplies…” Realization of how much she needed that half-finished hawk painting rocked her. “The longer I delay, the heavier it’s going to rain.”
Ah, hell, he was turning toward her, pulling himself free of Hawk Spirit’s gaze, resting his own beautiful and yet maybe deadly gaze on her, stripping away layers of her resolve and making her ache for what they could never have.
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he drew in a long breath. “I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have—”
“Now. Before it’s too late.”
Zoos held no appeal to her because she hated seeing wild animals forced to live behind bars, but she’d never expected to feel that way about a fellow human being. Not fighting her tears, she stroked the back of his hand. “I wish it was different for you.”
“So do I,” he muttered. Then the pain that had overtaken him fell away, to be replaced by a creature resigned to his life. “Hurry.”
The northwest storm buffeted Mato’s pickup as he jockeyed it along the gravel road. Neither of them had spoken while they’d placed her belongings on the seat between them. Now, though those possessions forced her to hug the passenger’s door, she was grateful that something separated her from Mato. It was still the middle of the day, but clouds the color of charcoal had stripped away most of the light. Even with the windshield wipers going full speed, she understood why Mato was leaning forward with his face close to the windshield. Making sure he stayed on the road was taking his full attention, thank goodness. Otherwise…otherwise what? They might talk?
Things were ending between them. As soon as he’d taken her to the cabin where her car was, hopefully he’d turn around and drive back to his world. Wiser than she’d ever thought she’d need to be, she’d throw her belongings into her trunk and plow north through the downpour until she’d put Storm Bay—and Mato—behind her.
And then? What was she going to do with her life?
“I have to write something,” she said around the mass in her throat.
“I know.”
“If I don’t…My readers are expecting…my editor…I’ve never been able to turn my back on a story. If it’s within my ability to explore the truth, I’ll do it.”
“I know.”
He wasn’t looking at her; even with her gaze resolute on the smeared window, she knew that. Sanity, to say nothing of self-preservation, warned her to shut the hell up so she wouldn’t risk pushing him over the edge, and yet she couldn’t let everything end like this. Telling herself she wasn’t crying—not yet, by hell—she sucked in damp air. “He really is dead, isn’t he? Castetter.”
“Yes.”
Another breath. “I know I asked this before, but I’m doing it again. Did you do it?”
Silence. Long seconds of it. Her heart hurting.
“No.”
Thank you, thank you. “But you know who did, don’t you?”
“Yes.” He flicked her a look filled with warning and regret. “No more questions because I’m not going to answer them.”
“I didn’t think you would.” Trapped by her heavy heart, she pulled silence over herself until she realized she couldn’t end things like this. “I have to say the same thing you just did. Don’t ask me if I’m going to quote what you just told me, because I don’t know.”
“If you do, I’m not the only one who’ll wind up between bars.”
Him, in prison for refusing to cooperate with authorities, and someone precious to him in that same prison because that person wouldn’t allow him or herself to hide behind Mato’s silence. She’d never hated her job more, and yet no story had ever excited her like this. “I wish it didn’t have to come to this. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Castetter isn’t the only mystery,” she continued. “The deaths I’ve uncovered—and maybe more—the spirits and their, what, their human hosts are responsible, aren’t they? How far does it go back?”
Before he could respond, if he was going to, he hit a pothole, causing her to grab the dashboard to keep from being thrown about. The jarring distracted her from her inner turmoil, but then she heard the tires’ muffled crunch, and her turmoil all came back.
This man would live inside her for the rest of her life, but not just because of his passionate commitment and the heat of his body. Her world had changed because of the incredible and too-short time they’d spent together. She’d thought that diving headfirst into whatever story she was working on, only to put it behind her so she could embrace the next one, was the way she wanted to live her life, but she’d been wrong, so incredibly wrong.
How could she have turned her back on people and situations as if they were yesterday’s newspaper? Pieces about a child in need of a transplant; a couple who’d turned their home into a haven for abandoned dogs; a man who’d finally found his birth mother only to have her beg him to forget her; a cancer survivor embracing life by spearheading construction of a nature trail in the foothills around her own—they’d brought her into their lives and hearts only to have her walk away when she’d mined them for what she needed to fulfill her job requirements.
It would be different this time. There’d be no turning her back on Mato Hawk.
Sex, that’s what she wanted. Only sex and no thinking—heat and cries of release and bodies churning, maybe a little laughter.
What did Mato’s laughter sound like?
“What’s going to happen?” she asked because the question demanded life. “To you and the other Storm Bay residents?”
“You have to ask?”
“Yeah, I do.” But maybe she already knew.
His knuckles turning white, he shrugged. “Castetter’s absence won’t change anything. The spirits believed it would, but they don’t understand man’s complexity. Man’s greed. Before…”
“Before NewDirections’s people discovered this area and made their plans, all the spirits had to deal with were solitary poachers, a handful of rogue timber fallers, some idiot with a match.”
“Yeah.” Mato drew out the word, and if she hadn’t been concentrating on him, the rain might have swallowed the powerful word. “The world’s becoming more complex.” His sigh held a ragged edge. “Maybe the only thing to do is give up.”
“You or the spirits?” Don’t cry, not yet! Not so he can see.
“Both.”
Arguments backed up inside her, but when she tried to open her mouth, her jaw remained loc
ked. She lived in a city complete with modern conveniences and ways and endless distractions while Storm Bay stayed true to something primitive and simple and precious. And this man, this incredibly complex man’s heart, had been woven into the land.
Seeing the highway just ahead took her by surprise. Although the only other vehicle in sight was a school bus, it served as inescapable proof that she and Mato had reentered the world beyond his home. After letting the bus pass, he pressed on the gas, and though she wanted to beg him to turn around, she didn’t, because sooner or later they’d have to go their separate ways. Besides, hadn’t he warned her that he didn’t trust his ability to remain civilized?
Hawk Spirit was with them; she felt the spirit’s presence and its hold on Mato. Nothing she said or did, even offering her body to him again, would change that.
“The spirits don’t understand something like the Northwest Fisheries Council,” Mato said as the city-limit sign came into view. “They have no comprehension of how such things work.”
“But you do.”
“Yes.” He claimed her with another glance. “My spirit has given me one set of weapons—talons—but that isn’t enough.”
Talons. Becoming a predator. “No,” she had to admit, “it isn’t. Laws, regulations—”
“The council will rule in favor of NewDirections.” Mato’s somber tone caused her eyes to burn. “Castetter’s fate won’t make a difference in their decision. If anything, it might tip the voting toward NewDirections. The poor bastard, losing his life to his cause.”
Will his body ever be found?
“Do you really think the council members are that simple?”
“No, of course not. But NewDirections has the goddamn law on their side. Zoning regulations—believe me, I’ve studied it every way there is for something to be studied. Interpretation of those regulations is supposed to be objective, or at least it could be, but you heard that man, Jacobs.”