"I thought—well, I'd hoped that the attack on Shelby and Rachel had been one of opportunity," she said. "The selection of the human victims seemed random. I knew a demon should have been able to tell your sister and her friend were something other than human, but I thought maybe it hadn't realized that. Or maybe it was just so worked up that it didn't care who it attacked. But it knew, Walker. It chose Shelby and Rachel deliberately."
"What do you mean?"
She took a deep breath. "You know how I get energy from when we touch? Well, it's possible for me to get energy from touching other folks, too, as long as there's some kind of connection between us. It isn't as good, because the connection isn't as strong, so for me it's not really worth it and I don't bother. Do you follow me?"
He growled. "So long as you follow that if you try touching anyone else for energy, I'll break every bone in their body."
She choked back a laugh, knowing it came from tension more than humor. "Yes, well, anyway, demons work on a twisted version of the same principle. You know they feed on the hearts of their victims? That's because the heart contains the life force of just about every creature you can think of. Humans, Fae, shifters, almost everything."
Walker nodded, looking impatient.
"The difference between all those different kinds of folks is the quality and the quantity of the life force. Traditionally, demons have fed on human hearts because humans make pretty easy pickings for demons. They're small, they're weak, and most of them don't have any idea of how to use magic to defend themselves. But I imagine it's kind of like living on a vegetarian diet. It will keep you alive, but if you're not on it by choice, you're going to snap up a steak the first time you get a chance at one. Others are the steak."
Walker swore and Annie made a sound of distress. Adam just looked really uncomfortable.
"The life force of an Other is much… richer than the life force of a human. And the force of a Fae is richer still. That's why the Fae became demon hunters, and why we fought so long and hard to win the Wars. We were fighting for our lives." She paused and gathered her strength to move on to the bad news. "So when a demon takes the heart of an Other, like Shelby, it gets a much bigger magical charge than it would have gotten out of the humans it killed. That's why it attacked her and Rachel. It was looking for more energy, and it knew it wouldn't be able to get it from a human. It wanted steak."
"Why the sudden change?"
"Because it's tired of doing the summoner's bidding," Fiona said, her voice betraying the sick feeling of dread that had crept over her. "It's trying to break the hold of its summoner, and when it does, I'm not sure if anything but a Fae army will be able to stop it."
They went immediately to Vircolac to inform Graham and Rafe of what Fiona had discovered, but they didn't stay long. Walker wasn't in the mood to socialize and Fiona didn't want to waste time. She needed to try to contact Squick to see if he'd been able to discover anything that might help them track down the demons or the sorcerer who had summoned them.
As they walked out the door, Tess pressed a small cloth pouch into Fiona's hand and smiled encouragingly. "It's glass from the explosion," she explained. "I checked it out, and it's safe. The spell that made the glass shatter was a one-shot deal. It didn't leave anything behind for you to worry about. If you're going to try and contact your friends from Faerie, I thought it might help. It's a link between the worlds that you can focus on."
Fiona held the pouch in her hand, worrying it back and forth between her fingers on the trip back home. She'd stopped thinking of it reflexively as "Walker's apartment" and no longer had any trouble picturing herself there with him. She tried not to think about what that meant, but that pretty much equated to what an ostrich was trying to do when it buried its head in the sand.
She stood in the middle of the living room with the little packet of glass in her hand and a frown on her face while Walker flipped the locks and turned out most of the lights. When he finished, he cupped her face in his hands and leaned down to kiss her briefly.
"Are you okay to do this?" he asked. "I don't know what kind of a spell you need to do, but are you sure you have the energy for it? You've done a lot today, and I could help you recharge if you needed it."
Fiona laughed. Humor was pretty much the only thing still holding her together. She hadn't realized how tired she was until they had returned to the calm quiet of the apartment. "Mo fáell, if you want to see me naked, all you have to do is ask."
He smiled and kissed her again, lingering a little this time. "I'm glad to hear you say it, Princess. But I was being serious. Are you okay to work any more magic?"
"I'm fine. I promise. Anyway, the call isn't so much a spell as a… well, a little like a phone call, I guess. Wireless, of course. All I have to do is put it out there that I want to talk to Babbage and Squick, and wait for them to answer." She shrugged. "I just hope they're not screening their calls."
Walker nodded and helped her off with her jacket, tossing it on the back of the sofa. His hands chafed up and down her arms, and it felt wonderful. She'd been cold since they'd left his sister's house.
"Okay, let's get this over with," he said. "Do you need to concentrate? Should I go in the other room?"
Smiling, Fiona set the small handful of glass down on the end table and lifted her arms to drape them around his neck. She pressed her head against his shoulder and let herself relax. The night had left her emotionally and physically exhausted, and she relished his strength. "It's already done. I placed the call. Think of it as a kind of magical answering machine. Now we just wait for Babbage and Squick to check their messages and give us a call back."
Walker grunted and wrapped his arms around her. For the first time, their embrace felt less like a bonfire and more like a comforting source of warmth. She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head and murmured into his shirt.
"In that case," he said, his voice a soft rumble, "what do you say we get ourselves to bed and try and get some sleep? Neither of us has had enough of that lately, and I have a feeling we should seize the opportunity while we have it."
Fiona mustered up the energy to flash him a grin. "You won't hear me arguing. So long as you don't try to steal the blankets."
He chuckled and took her hand to lead her into the bedroom. "You can have the blankets, Princess, but I doubt you'll need them. I think I can keep you warm."
Chuckling softly, she followed him into the darkness. "I bet you can."
* * *
CHAPTER 21
Fiona stirred and shifted and blinked into the unlit room. She could hear Walker's even breathing behind her and feel the warmth of him spooned against her back, one large, hairy arm draped over her waist like a blanket. His hand possessively cupped her breast, but she really couldn't mind. Not when his touch kept her from freezing. The Lupine didn't own any blankets, which she supposed she should have expected, considering he gave off as much heat as your average five-story bonfire. She figured she'd slept under her last cozy quilt.
Closing her eyes for a moment, Fiona braced herself for a wave of restlessness and unease, crested by a healthy dose of panic, but none materialized. Instead, her heart felt strangely light and content. Very strangely, considering the events of the last few days. She could almost feel it smiling, and she couldn't fathom any other source for the strange new energy that hummed through her. It didn't feel quite like the magic she was used to, but she sensed the power in it. How could she not, when it thrummed through her, circulating like the blood in her veins?
She was surprised that the vibrations of the energy hadn't disturbed Walker. But maybe this was normal to him, this "mating" thing. He hadn't seemed nearly as thrown by it as she had felt. Of course, Walker hadn't grown up in Faerie, where everything lasted forever. Except love.
There, she knew, lay the fundamental difference between them and the seeming paradox of their two worlds. In this place, where lifetimes passed in the blink of a Fae eye, the concept of love as eternal seemed
to pervade the collective consciousness. Creatures with life spans so short that generations of them had lived and died before Fiona had ceased to be called a child were willing to pledge all of their existence to one another in the name of love. Yet in Faerie, where age held no danger and life stretched out nearly as long as one willed it, couples met and parted with the same ease and regularity of the seasons. Relationships in Fiona's world were the only truly mortal things. The Fae concept of marriage had more to do with passion or politics and the concerns of succession than with undying devotion. Like the seasons, the Fae said, everything changed, so how could a heart that beat into eternity stay constant?
Fiona had never been able to answer, and the dark room around her offered no suggestions.
If she was going to be honest with herself, she would have to admit that she'd never been so confused in her entire life. She had seen with her own eyes that the heat that drew lovers together inevitably cooled. So why, then, did even the thought of parting from Walker bring back that hideous roiling feeling in the pit of her stomach?
Fiona looked down at the hand on her breast and scowled. How could he continue to sleep so peacefully while she lay there and agonized? He was the one who had started all this. Her turmoil was all his fault. She'd felt fine, right up until he'd used that damned m-word. Being called someone's mate when you thought you were engaged in a mutually satisfying little fling was bad enough, but then he'd gone and been so amazingly sweet with his sister that Fiona had thought her heart might melt and leak out of her chest.
She'd known then she was doomed. How in the Lady's name was she supposed to not love a man who'd held his sister gently while she wept at the same time that his eyes glinted hard and bright with the need to exact revenge on the cause of her grief? How was she not supposed to love a man who made her forget everything in two worlds, except for the way it felt when he touched her?
The problem, she supposed, lay in the fact that she couldn't. She couldn't not love him. That ship had sailed a long time ago. But unlike in some of the human films she'd seen and novels she'd read, admitting she'd fallen in love with a werewolf didn't solve all her problems. It created more, one of which kept circling in her head like a crow above a battlefield: Fiona was Fae and immortal; Walker was neither. She didn't know if she had the strength to watch him grow old and die while eternity stretched before her, looking less like a blessing and more like a cruel sentence.
Instinctively she stirred, as if to move away from the uncomfortable thought. Walker's arm tightened around her and he nuzzled her hair.
"Stop thinking so hard," he rumbled. "It's disturbing my beauty sleep."
She found herself laughing. "Oh, well, in that case, forgive me. I know you need all of that you can get."
He nipped her earlobe. "Smart-ass."
"You're just noticing?"
He soothed the nip with a kiss and cuddled her closer. As he buried his face in her shoulder, his hands began to roam, skimming over her in light, almost soothing caresses. Only Fiona didn't feel soothed, and judging by the erection pressed up against her bottom, neither did Walker. Instead, she felt the familiar tingling in her skin and melting in her belly. Everything seemed to dissolve, going warm and soft and liquid, when he touched her.
Walker discovered that for himself when he moved his hand down over her clenching stomach muscles and slid between her thighs. That's when her insides stopped seizing and started doing cartwheels.
He cupped her, and she melted into his hand like honey, sweet and sticky. She heard his low growl of approval, and his fingers parted her, gliding through her slick folds to find her entrance. He probed, and she squirmed, her breath catching in her throat and then rattling out on a ragged moan. Shifting, he sank two fingers deep inside her.
"Wal-ker." Her voice broke on the cry, and her body clenched around his fingers.
His teeth scraped with infinite care over the tendon in the side of her neck, making her shudder and arch and sending his fingers deeper. Her breath squeezed out and her senses contracted, but she heard the rough, rumbling sound of his voice close against her ear.
"Mine."
Blindly she reached back to him, desperate for something to hold on to. Minutes ago he had been asleep and she had felt pleasantly sated. It should have been impossible for him to make her need this much, this fast.
"Mine," he repeated, his voice going even deeper, his tone rougher. He punctuated his claim with a twist of his wrist that made her head spin. Then his thumb rasped over her swollen clit, and the spinning became whirling.
Sweet Lady, he was killing her.
Her fingers clenched in his hair, pulling him closer. She would have pulled him beneath her skin if she could.
"Please," she moaned.
"Mine." His fingers withdrew, making her whimper and arch in an attempt to recapture them, but he eluded her. His hand closed around her thigh, lifting her leg up and back and draping it over the top of his. The position left her open and vulnerable and completely at his disposal. The cool night air on her overheated flesh made her shiver. Moving deliberately against her, he fit the head of his erection against her aching center and suddenly she shivered for an entirely different reason.
She opened her mouth, would have begged him to come inside her, but no words emerged. Instead, she heard a soft mewling sound and realized it was coming from her. Her hips shifted, trying to coax him inside, but he only tightened his fingers on her hips, gripping her hard enough to leave bruises and far enough away to drive her slowly insane.
"Mine."
She didn't need to be reminded, not when every cell in her body screamed out its agreement. But she couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't breathe for wanting him. She shook and waited and nearly died when he finally began to push with a mind-boggling lack of haste against her tight entrance.
Braced for the huge, hard thrust of him inside her, her eyes flew open and her jaw dropped when he halted with barely the first inch of his cock inside her. Her body clamped down on his like a trap, exalting in the now-familiar joining. But he went still, poised maddeningly just within her.
It wasn't nearly enough.
Moaning, Fiona clenched around him in a deliberately provocative massage. He rewarded her with a low growl and a tighter grip, but his hips remained stubbornly motionless.
"Mine."
"Walker!" Her cry sounded choked, hoarse, half plea, half threat. He ignored it and continued to torture her, fingers stroking and pressing and teasing while his body remained poised just inside hers. It didn't matter what she said or did, what threat she made, or where she touched him in return; he stayed hard and unyielding behind her. She was going to lose her mind if he didn't hurry up and make love to her.
"Mine," he insisted, and at least his voice was starting to sound strained. It scraped over her skin like another caress. Then he leaned forward and his teeth closed over the mark on her shoulder, biting with possessive intent.
Dimly Fiona heard herself scream, but it didn't interfere with her ability to hear his voice, the words sounding clear and gruff and intractable in her head. "You're mine."
"Yours!"
She sobbed rather than spoke, but all her blubbering ended on a scream of satisfaction when he roared in triumph and finally plunged fully inside her.
He stretched her, at once both enhancing and soothing the ache his teasing had created. She felt full, brimming, complete. And utterly, unquestionably, his.
With her head thrown back and her eyes staring blindly into the dark, she gave herself up to his possession and made a promise she'd never intended.
"Always."
Walker was drowning. The water had closed over his head and he was sinking fast, but he couldn't have cared less. He would gladly have died then and there, buried deep inside the woman who bore his mark. Who would one day bear his cubs and carry the legacy of his family and his pack into the future.
His cock, though, cared little about the future. It luxuriated in the present
, in the tight, hot, slick embrace of Fiona's body and the even greater pleasure still to come.
Groaning, Walker shifted his hand and drew her upper leg higher, sinking even deeper inside her. She rippled around him, struggling to accommodate his size before relaxing in welcome. The feel of it tore another sound from his throat, a kind of rumbling moan, and he fought against the urge to clench his jaw around the mark in her shoulder.
Forcing himself to pull back, he soothed the fresh bruise with a stroke of his tongue and flexed his hips to stroke again, higher this time. He moved deep inside her, and the feel of her closing around him like a homecoming made him want to howl his joy to the moon. He threw his head back, ground his teeth together, and settled into a hard, driving rhythm.
He shuttled in and out of her and savored every soft gasp and broken whimper that fell from her lips. That he dragged from her lips. Knowing she burned for him made him feel like a god.
Wild now, needing more of her, needing all of her, he grabbed her to him and flipped her onto her stomach. She offered no protest, just pulled her knees up more definitely under her and lifted herself into his next hard thrust. Her arms reached forward, fingers clawing at the bedsheets, scrambling for purchase. Walker draped himself over her, pinning her in place with his weight and his heat. He surged deep, and this time he did howl at the fierce pleasure of losing himself inside her. His lover. His mate.
The feral sound echoed around them. Mewling softly, Fiona dropped her shoulders to the mattress and raised her hips higher before him. He growled his appreciation, running his hands over the warm, smooth curves of her bottom. His palms slid up, over her back, along her sides, reaching beneath her to tease and cuddle her breasts. He lingered only a moment before reaching forward and covering her hands with his own. Their fingers linked together like puzzle pieces, and Walker felt the jolt as his heart locked soundlessly to hers.
She's No Faerie Princess Page 21