by Celia Kyle
Delicate fingers slipped through his hair, and he realized she’d changed position. She’d eased closer, pulled that sheet taut across her plump breasts, and stroked him as if he were a child in need of comfort. He didn’t need comfort. He hadn’t then, and he didn’t now.
But maybe she needed to give it, which was why he remained still and let her brush his hair aside, sift her fingers through his strands, and caress the side of his neck.
She needed it, not him.
Right.
“I trained six days a week with the alpha. I went to school during the day, and then I went to the pack house for training—Saturday through Thursday with only Friday night to myself.” He snorted, remembering the alpha’s order to go out and have a little fun. Good alphas can’t lead without letting the animal have a little fun.
His stomach clenched as he recalled how the alpha liked to have a “little fun.” He breathed deep and pushed away the nausea that bubbled inside him. He had to get through the telling. She needed to understand the kind of man she touched, the kind of man she spent time with.
“I broke the rules. A girl stood me up and I was pissed, so I went to the pack house to work out. I thought I’d see if any of the guards wanted to spar to burn off my anger.” He could still hear the screams. The begging and pleading.
She cupped the back of his skull and pulled, but he remained in place. “No, I need—”
“You can explain it next to me just as well as you can kneeling beside the bed. Now, c’mere.”
She was right. More than being right, he simply wanted her touch. He wanted more of her and—if his wolf got its way—all of her. Even if he didn’t deserve one of her smiles. He’d always taken what he wanted. He’d take her.
“Move over.” The wolf filled those two words, beast rejoicing at their impending closeness.
Abby wiggled and shifted, moving until she balanced on the edge of the mattress. Before he could talk himself out of it, he crawled in beside her. But that wasn’t all. He pulled her close, naked curves flush with the hard planes of his side. He wore nothing but a pair of worn jeans, which meant he could rejoice in the feel of her warmth meshing with his chest.
She rested her cheek on his chest, her warm, moist breath fanning his heated skin, and he breathed deep, drawing in her natural flavors. She was more than a naked body. More than a pain in the ass. More than…simply more than anything—anyone—he’d ever known.
Scared the shit outta him.
Pleased the fuck outta him, too.
Declan let his hands wander, fingers ghosting over silken flesh, and he allowed himself to feel her body. It’d been different when she’d needed care. Now he wouldn’t hate himself for exploring her.
“Tell me.” It was a soft whisper, moist air caressing his chest. She lifted her hand and laid it over his heart, her soft palm covering the most broken part of him. “Tell me.”
Two words. If only it were that easy.
He closed his eyes and let his touch wander, let himself trace her spine and revel in the feel of her hair sliding through his fingers. “That pack was fucked. Top down, it was fucked up.” He sighed, his mind leading him back to that time. “I just never saw it because I was an alpha pup. Weaker wolves…” He shook his head and swallowed hard. His throat wasn’t clogging up. It wasn’t. His eyes sure as hell weren’t burning, either. “They suffered and I had no idea.”
“But you did something about it.” Her words were filled with unbreakable conviction. Not a hint of doubt.
“How do you know I did anything? I’m not some kind of hero who—”
She lifted her head and pressed a single finger to his lips. “We’ll agree to disagree on this one.”
Declan rolled his eyes and grunted, not speaking again until she was back in place. Her presence was the only thing keeping him sane while he told the screwed-up story.
“I didn’t knock on the front door—just walked right on in as if I lived at the pack house already. The alpha told me to treat it like home, and I did.”
He fought for air, his throat threatening to snap closed and never open again. His throat felt tight. Maybe he was getting sick. Shifters didn’t catch diseases, but there was a first time for everything.
“I heard…” Declan cleared his throat. “I heard her whining before I even made it up the porch steps. I knew.” He licked his lips. “I knew what that cry meant. I knew the sounds wolves made when they were scared—hurt.” Could Abby hear him anymore? He could hardly hear himself talk. “I heard her, and I leaped up those steps. I rushed through that door and hunted her through the massive place.”
Opulence. Marble. Hardwood floors. More than a pack needed, but the alpha had always wanted to flaunt his status.
“I found her.” Declan’s cheeks were wet. He’d have to tell Pike that his fucking roof leaked because he sure as hell wasn’t crying. “I found her with the alpha. She hadn’t stood me up. I found the strongest wolf in our pack—the alpha—abusing my girlfriend.”
He couldn’t say the words. Not the real ones.
“I died that day, Abby. Alphas are meant to…” Fuck if he was crying over this bullshit. Pike’s roof leak was bad. “She was broken, bloody. He took that spark out of her eyes.”
“What did you take?”
He’d never said the words. Hell, he’d never told anyone about this. He shifted their positions—Abby on her back while he lay on his side next to her. He met her stare, gaze intent.
“I took his life.” Four words. He couldn’t look at her while he explained the rest. Not while the wounds from that time were so fresh. “I didn’t have a plan. I simply acted. The alpha tried to talk. Maybe. But I wasn’t listening. He hadn’t listened to her. I wouldn’t listen to him. I don’t even remember half of what I did.”
Which was a lie. He remembered it all. Painfully. Clearly. Eternally.
“When I was done, I left that room—the pack—and never looked back.” He forced himself to look at her, to meet her stare even though the wolf wanted to tuck tail and run. “Do you understand now? I don’t have a heart. I don’t do feelings. That part of me died all those years ago, and smiles or laughter aren’t gonna bring it back.”
“I don’t believe that.”
He snorted. “Why?”
She tucked his hair behind his ear, fingers stroking his jaw. “You protected your girlfriend. You protected me.”
“I’ve killed people for money,” he snapped. “Don’t paint me with a brush coated in sunshine, Abby. I’m heartless, I don’t have a conscience, and I’ll happily put a bullet through someone’s head for the right price.”
She shook her head and lifted her other arm, her hands wreaking havoc on his senses. “You may be a killer, but that’s not all you are, Declan.”
“What am I? Tell me since you seem to know so much about me.”
“You’re mine.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Abby tried not to be hurt by his snort or the derisive twist of his lips. She tried not to let his impending denial jab her in the heart. Because it was coming. She could see the shift of emotions in his features, the change in his eyes. He’d deny her, and maybe that was for the best.
His first killing…after what the girl had been through…was justified. More than justified in her opinion. But the deaths since then. They tore at her, grabbed her arms and pulled her in two.
“Yours? You think—”
“Why’d you join SHOC? For the money?” She pushed on, not letting him respond. “The prestige?”
That mocking smile widened. “I didn’t have a choice, remember? Besides, it’s a tax write-off. My little bit of charity work to offset my freelance income.”
“You’re trying to push me away.”
“You pushed yourself away,” he countered. “You asked me if I killed parents. Asked if I left orphans scattered around the world. I did. I do. That hasn’t changed.” He chuckled and shook his head, but she kept her hands in place, fingers caressing his skin a
nd his soft hair. “That’ll never change. I freelance when I’m not busy with SHOC. Sometimes I manage to sneak in a job or two while we’re on a mission.”
She had pulled away from him. She’d built up a nice brick wall between them, but her cougar…her cougar wanted it gone. The animal saw the heart of Declan’s beast and judged him as worthy. Worthy of what, she wasn’t sure and wasn’t ready to know. Not…not yet.
“How do you pick them?” She stroked his jaw, rough scrape of his scruff replaced by his wolf’s soft fur.
“Huh?”
“How do you pick your jobs? How do you decide who you’ll kill and who you won’t? Do you accept every assignment tossed your way?”
“What does it matter?” He shot the words at her, harsh and fast.
“Tell me.” She pleaded with him with her eyes, silently begging him to answer. In her heart, she knew what he’d say, but she needed the words. “Disgruntled housewives? Angry business partners? Scorned lovers? Who do you choose? How do you choose?”
With each question, his breathing increased, his lungs heaving. He collapsed forward, forehead resting on hers, his eyes closed. She shut hers as well, simply being with him in that moment.
Abby wrapped her arms around him, crossing them behind his neck and holding him tightly. He wouldn’t escape her, not until he lanced the wound and let it out.
“Tell me.” Her lips gently brushed his as she released the words.
“Evil. I go after evil.” A drop of wetness fell to her cheek, a single bead that hit her skin and slid down her face. A tear—Declan’s tear. “I attack and destroy it until nothing is left. That means that sometimes kids suffer. Sometimes they lose parents they might have loved in their own way, but those people…” He shuddered, and she tightened her hold. “They needed killing.”
His lashes brushed her eyelids as he opened his eyes, and she did the same, meeting his intent blue stare. “Do you understand now?”
So many questions in his gaze. So many emotions that flickered through eyes the color of the sky. This wasn’t the wolf’s pain, but the man’s, and she understood.
“Yes,” she whispered, and arched her back, straining upward until her lips caressed his. Just a hint of a touch, a barely there stroke that she felt all the way to her core.
“Abby,” he murmured against her mouth, and a new tension overcame his body. “We can’t. You were just—”
“Kiss me, Declan. Just kiss me.” She’d start with a simple kiss.
She sensed his indecision, a struggle inside that made him tremble. A tiny, nearly imperceptible shake, but one she felt nonetheless. She practically shouted in triumph, but swallowed the yell. Instead, she stretched her neck and pulled on his once again, bringing their mouths back together.
He slipped his tongue into her mouth, delving deep and exploring her with a single sweep. Their tongues twined, strokes and caresses mimicking what they desired most.
And they both desired.
Her pussy ached, growing hot and slick with every beat of her heart. He surrounded her and filled her, his scent and taste enveloping her in an arousing cloud of need.
Declan’s cock hardened against her hip. His thick length settled snuggly to her curves. His warmth passed through the layers of fabric separating them, the sheet and his boxer briefs shielding the proof of his desire. He rocked his hips and she shifted hers, giving him a hint of friction, and he moaned into her mouth.
Abby wanted to give him pleasure, to give him everything. She wanted that thick hardness between her thighs, sliding against her moist slit and then sinking deep inside her. She wanted his passion. She wanted it all.
Her thighs parted slightly as her body silently pleaded for more. She ran her hands over Declan’s back, stroking his skin, touching every part of him she could reach. But it wasn’t enough. It’d never be enough.
Abby pulled away from his mouth, separating their lips just long enough to…
“Declan.” She breathed his name against his lips, forming the word before delving into their kiss once more.
What they’d shared before had been heated passion, but this went so much deeper. This was simply more.
She tugged on him. Craving more contact, she ignored the twinge in her leg. “Declan, please.”
“Abby,” he rasped, and she met his now-amber eyes. “We can’t. I want…” He shuddered, a ripple of gray dancing over his shoulders. “But I’m not that big of an asshole.”
Abby slipped her hand between them, smoothed it down the flat planes of his stomach and didn’t stop until she reached the proof of his desire.
“Fuck.” He shuddered so hard the bed shook and his length twitched against her palm.
“Please,” she murmured against his lips. “Just this. I need…” So bad, so much, she thought she’d lose her mind.
“You’re gonna kill me.” The words were rough, almost angry, but his touch was gentle and slow.
Careful.
The sheet was pulled aside, and suddenly Declan was above her. His hands explored her body, his legs twined with hers, and she gave him the same treatment. She traced every inch she could reach, learned the rises and falls of his carved body—the way it fit perfectly against hers.
Their mouths continued their erotic dance while they studied each other with their hands.
Still it wasn’t enough. Her nipples pebbled to hard points and her core was slick and prepared for his possession—but it wasn’t enough to push her over the edge.
She reached into his boxer briefs, inching beneath the taut fabric until her fingers brushed what she sought. She wrapped her fingers around his thickness and gave him the gentlest of squeezes. This moment was for her, a chance to simply feel evidence of his desire for her. And then…
Then she tightened her hold ever so slightly, a squeeze that drew a deep moan from Declan. From there, she stroked his thick length, gliding up and down. He groaned and growled, his hips flexing with her every movement.
At the same time, his hands drifted on, one large palm sliding down her stomach and farther south to cup her mound. He pressed, putting pressure against her folds, and she cried out for him. “Declan!”
She arched her back and rolled her hips, searching for more.
“Right here,” he murmured against her shoulder, lips drifting over her skin.
She shuddered, her body moving in time with his. They both rocked their hips in a matching rhythm while they took—and gave—pleasure.
Declan slid a finger between her folds, sliding easily through her wetness until he teased her very center.
“Yes.” She hissed the word.
“Abby,” he rasped, the word both a question and a plea. She knew his thoughts since she had no doubt they mirrored her own.
What are you doing to me?
Please don’t stop.
She didn’t. He didn’t. They made love—fucked—and yet didn’t.
Whatever they did, whatever anyone wanted to call it, it still made her pant and moan with the growing ecstasy.
He circled her clit, and she let herself be swept away with the sensations. She imagined it was his mouth on her pussy, his cock sliding in and out of her sheath. Her mind drew out the fantasy, an image of her straddling Declan, his hardness stretching her core. She’d ride him, cry for him, beg him…come for him.
“Declan…” A shudder overtook her, one that didn’t end when it reached her toes. No, it retraced its path, dancing along her veins and easing back up her legs. The pleasure plucked her nerves, bringing them to life with each flex and twist of muscle. She mewled and whined, needing more, but already it felt like too much.
Too much but not enough and still too much and…And her body was being torn apart by the bliss, pulled in a thousand directions while Declan tortured her.
And she tortured him.
She gave as good as she got, drawing and pushing them both to the precipice. It was near, just out of reach, but soon she’d jump and embrace that ultimate joy. She’d…
“Declan…” Her muscles tensed, body curling upward with the overwhelming wave of deliciousness.
“Here,” he growled low, beast not man. “Give it to me.”
A scream. Long and loud. It came from her very soul, the source of life and love and everything that made her Abby. Her pussy clenched around Declan’s finger. And Declan…Declan stiffened and released his own sounds, a wolf’s howl while he came. A wet warmth bathed her hand, proof he’d reached the pinnacle along with her.
Part of her didn’t want the orgasm to end. It was too delicious, too perfect. She wanted to hold on to it—him—forever.
That single thought was followed by her cougar’s purr, the cat thrilled with the idea of…keeping Declan.
Keeping Declan?
No.
But…
He…
“Abby.” Two syllables. Just two syllables left his mouth, but there were so many other words hidden in his voice, hidden within his tone, in the way he said her name and the hitch in his speech. She knew what he meant because she knew him.
And it scared her. Down to her toes, down to her soul, the idea scared her.
“Perfect,” he murmured, and nuzzled her neck, his damp, warm breath bathing her skin. “So perfect.”
“Declan.” She released his softening length and withdrew her hand. “I—”
He groaned and growled, rolling away from her in a blur of movement. She nearly whined at the loss of his touch. He returned almost as quickly as he’d left, now nude and beneath the covers at her side. The jeans were turned into a makeshift cloth to wipe away their passion before they were tossed away.
Then it was just them. In the dark together, and yet she somehow felt a little alone.
Until he pulled her into his arms. Until the deadly assassin tugged her close and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead.
“Sleep.”
Chapter Twenty-six
This time he’d kill Pike for real. He’d disembowel the asshole and leave him for the vultures.
The pounding—Pike banging on the bedroom door—came again. It’d already woken Declan, and if it pulled Abby from sleep…