by Amy Green
He leaned down, his grip still on her wrists, and obliged. She opened her mouth and he took it, deep and slow. He was never in a rush, her Heath. Every man she’d ever been with had been in a hurry. She would have to get used to this.
But first, she wanted to be his.
She bit his lip and wrapped her legs around him, making him hiss an intake of breath. He pulled away and looked at her, still holding her.
She said the words that were in her heart, the truest words she’d ever said. “I don’t want any other man,” she said to him. “Ever.”
His gaze flashed and he bent to kiss her again. Then he let go of her wrists. “Roll over,” he said against her mouth.
She was in it now. This was his wolf, coming out at last, and there was no going back. She rolled over onto her stomach.
She felt him position himself over her, and then he ran his hand up to the back of her neck, his fingers gripping lightly. “I’m going to bite you here,” he said, his voice rough.
Words bubbled up—Will it hurt? Will it bleed?—but she didn’t speak them. It didn’t matter. She trusted him. She said only, “All right.”
He kissed her shoulder, the side of her neck, his hand still on her, and she felt his necklaces tickling her back between her shoulder blades. “Lift your hips,” he told her.
Suddenly, she was so turned on it was almost embarrassing. She liked it when he told her what to do. No, she loved it. If that meant there was something wrong with her, right now she didn’t care. She got her knees under her and lifted her hips, squirming against him.
He slid into her, and she cried out. He hadn’t been this rough the first time, but this felt good. Different. A little frantic.
He braced himself on the bed with one hand still on the back of her neck and moved inside her, deep and hot, making her moan. He kissed the side of her neck, nipping her softly. He was deep inside her. There was no hesitation, no question. He was boldly owning every part of her body, making her rise higher and higher. She gripped the sheets and gave in, gave over to him. Let him do anything he wanted. She was all his, with no reservations. It was incredible. He took her higher, and she felt herself start to climax.
Then he bit her.
It was pleasure and pain in one, a rush straight through her body unlike anything she’d ever felt before. It hurt, but it didn’t—it felt like heaven. It sent her over the edge, her orgasm twisting through her as she cried out, and he rode her through it, relentless, until he stilled against her, his fingers digging into her, his teeth leaving her skin.
Tessa was almost shaking. There were aftershocks still moving through her body as she collapsed on the bed. Heath lay with her, and without a word he wrapped her in his arms, tight, curled himself around her, and held her close.
It was what she needed, to feel him so close to her, to feel his heart slowing with hers. They didn’t need to talk. Already she felt different, as if he’d changed her somehow, subtly but unmistakably. She closed her eyes, breathed him in, and hugged him back, unwilling to let him go.
18
They slept for a while, intertwined, neither moving. Heath woke first. He was hungry, and he figured she would be, too.
He extracted himself gently from Tessa, kissing her temple gently as he did so, and got up, pulling on his boxer shorts. He stretched, feeling the lingering ache in his healing shoulder. His wolf was happy right now. No, his wolf was ecstatic. For the first time since the day he’d argued over martinis with Tessa all those months ago, his wolf had stopped its dissatisfied prowling, its restless pain. The two sides of him, the wolf and the human, were at peace for the first time he could recall.
He looked down at Tessa on the bed. She was on her side, her sexy blond hair tangled in its long curls over the pillow, her hand curled over her chest. She looked so satisfied she was practically boneless, and Heath felt good about that. Satisfying her was his job.
He went into the main room and picked up the bag he’d packed from his apartment. Alongside the clothes and other essentials he’d packed bread, cheese, a few apples, and crackers. He had found a cutting board and was standing in the kitchen, slicing, when Tessa came out of the bedroom, wearing only her t-shirt and panties, her hair a sexy mess.
She saw what he was doing and her eyes widened. “I’m starving.”
He glanced at her, then smiled down at the cutting board as he worked. “Not for long. There’s bottled water in the fridge.”
She slid behind him, opened the fridge, and grabbed a bottle, which she drank greedily. When she finished, he turned to her, running his fingers lightly over the back of her neck, beneath her hair. “Are you all right?” he asked her seriously.
He was watching her closely, but she didn’t flinch, didn’t tense. Instead, she smiled lazily at him. She stepped forward and kissed his bare shoulder. “Feed me, werewolf,” she said.
He curled his arm around her, with the strange feeling inside him that everything was falling into place, things he hadn’t even known were wrong before. “Greedy girl,” he said lightly, tilting her head up and kissing her mouth, the touch brief but full of promise.
“Did you bring that food with you?” she asked as she stepped out of his grip—reluctantly, he thought.
“I did,” he said, turning back to the cutting board.
She circled the counter and pulled up one of the high stools. “You were planning ahead.”
He had been. He’d planned at least a couple of hours with her, and he’d planned to wear her out. She needed to keep her strength up. “A wolf always provides for his mate,” he said. “Especially right after the mating.”
She put her chin in her hand, watching him. She’d watched him a lot in the past few hours, he’d noticed, as if she was finally getting to look at him as much as she wanted. “Does that mean you’ll cook for me?” she asked.
“If you like.” He finished and pushed the cutting board toward her so it was between them. “I’m not very good at it, though.”
“I’m a pretty good cook,” Tessa said, digging in, wrapping a slice of bread around a slice of cheese. “But don’t think that means anything. I’m not cooking for you.”
“Then don’t,” he said, taking his own slice of bread and cheese. “I often eat when I hunt, anyway.”
She swallowed, her eyes going wide. “Like, when you’re a wolf? You eat animals? Deer and the like?”
“Rarely deer,” he said. “You have to be pretty hungry to eat a deer on your own. My brothers and I hunt alone, so I usually eat smaller things. Rabbits are particularly good.” He looked at the expression on her face. “Get used to it, sweetheart.”
She processed that, and then she picked up another piece of cheese. “I’ve never seen your wolf,” she said quietly.
“You’ll see him,” he promised. His wolf uncurled at that, woke up, pleased at the idea. “You’ll see him often, I think. He likes you.”
“So you say.” She smiled, a little unsure, and he looked at the sweet curve of her neck, the beautiful line of her wrist as she poked at the plate, and it made him ache. “It’s a lot to ask, I know,” he said. “Being a werewolf’s mate isn’t easy.” He looked past her, out the window toward the mountains. “You won’t get a wedding, or a house with a white picket fence, or a husband who gets a good job, settles down, and does everything you say. I apologize in advance for that.”
When he looked back at her, she was watching him again. “I don’t care about that,” she said. “I get something better. I get you.”
His throat closed for a second. No one had wanted him, just him, since his mother died. At the same time he felt a slice of pure terror. He had never been so close to anyone before, never let anyone in like he had with her. This woman could destroy him. If she ever changed her mind, if she ever walked away, he was finished.
“I was thinking,” he said, changing the subject before he could embarrass himself. “This house. It belongs to a pack member’s mate. She moved away when he died and left the hou
se for the pack to dispose of.” He looked around. “I think I might keep it.”
Tessa turned in her seat, and looked around, following his gaze. “I like it,” she said.
He needed to make himself clear. “It’s customary for a wolf and his mate to live together.”
That got him a smile. “I was in your apartment, Heath. You leave your clothes all over the floor.”
He tried to recall. “Probably. It’s a bad habit. I’m a bachelor.”
“Not anymore,” she said, making his heart jump. She crossed her arms. “I’m not picking up your clothes every day. Pick them up yourself.”
She wasn’t saying no. He tried to process that, tried to keep his voice calm. “Do you have any other rules?”
“When I sleep,” she said, “I like to wear lots of layers.” She motioned to herself. “Shirts and sweatshirts. Sweatpants—really baggy ones. Thick socks.”
He pointed at her. “You wear nothing to bed,” he said. “That’s my rule.”
She was laughing. “Then neither do you,” she said, teasing him, and then he was around the counter, and she put her arms around his neck, and he lifted her off the stool as she wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him.
He took her to the bed and had her again, using his hands this time, his mouth, nearly making her cry out before he entered her. Then they went to the shower to clean off, and he took her yet again. Twice.
They were tangled on the bed together, clean and damp and breathing hard, her face pressed into his neck, his hand resting possessively on her hip, when his cell phone rang.
He reached over Tessa and picked it up. It was Wes.
“Someone better be dead,” he said when he answered, as Tessa moved beneath him and lazily kissed the side of his neck. “Tell me someone is dead, Wes.”
“Well, ah,” Wes said, clearly intimidated, “not quite. But you need to get down here, Heath.” He paused. “Your bar is on fire.”
19
Wes was right. His bar was on fire.
Someone had come in right around the dinner hour, when the Black Wolf had a handful of shifters and Oliver was behind the bar, and started the fire in one of the bathrooms, using a liberal does of gasoline. Everyone had gotten out as the fire had spread. By the time Heath and Tessa arrived on Howell Street, as the local fire crew pulled up, flames were licking up to the upstairs windows.
A light rain was falling, which made the fire slow somewhat. There was a crowd gathered on the street, but as Heath got out of his truck and walked toward the bar, they parted and receded. Everyone knew that this was bad.
Heath paused on the sidewalk, looking up at the building and thinking. He turned to see Police Chief Quinn Tucker striding up, his dark eyes fixed on Heath. Quinn, a tall and brawny bear shifter with Native American heritage and dark hair, looked a hell of a lot different in his uniform than the last chief of police, who had been human, cowardly, and fat.
Heath heard a sound near his shoulder, and turned to see Tessa standing next to him. She was watching the fire, and there were tears in her dark eyes. A small sob hitched in her throat.
“My bar,” she said.
Heath stared at her. Something flipped inside him, upside down and over. Something unstoppable. She really had loved the Black Wolf. It had meant something to her. It was hurting her to watch it burn.
“The fire crew can wait,” he said to Chief Tucker. “Give me five minutes.”
“But—”
Heath was already turning away, heading toward the Black Wolf. Tessa grabbed his arm and he turned back, looking at her worried face.
“Don’t worry,” he said to her. “Fire can’t kill me, and neither can smoke.”
She processed that and nodded slowly.
He disengaged himself, took off his jacket—he liked this jacket—and handed it to her. He walked into the building wearing his t-shirt and jeans.
The fire had taken hold inside, though it wasn’t unbearable. He walked behind the bar and bent to the bar safe, which was a reinforced metal block at the foot of the bar, sealed by a combination. Heath typed the combination in from memory and the safe popped open.
Heat was licking his back now, making him sweat through his shirt. Shifters hated banks and credit cards and used them as little as possible—mostly because banks and credit card companies saw shifters as universally bad risks, treating them like scum. As a result, the safe held nearly a year’s worth of the Black Wolf’s profits, stacked in piles of cash. Working quickly, Heath grabbed a grocery bag and emptied the money into it.
He glanced at the ceiling when he finished. There was no time to go to his apartment, and besides, there wasn’t anything there he wanted to save—just his piles of clothes and some of his jewelry. He was already wearing his favorites, so he let it go. Shifters didn’t put much stock in material belongings. Still, he hoped the ceiling would hold as smoke stung his eyes. The fire couldn’t kill him, but he wouldn’t be much good to anyone if he was pinned beneath a fallen, blazing ceiling beam. Time to go.
He had come out from behind the bar when he smelled it, the scent wafting through the smoke.
Strange wolf.
He had time to drop the bag and turn when a man came around the corner and launched himself at him. The other wolf’s heart wasn’t in it, and Heath bounced him off easily, throwing him to the floor.
They stared at each other through the thick air. Heath didn’t know this shifter. He was young—he looked about nineteen—with close-cropped blond hair and blue eyes. He wore jeans and a zip-up sweatshirt, and a baseball cap lay on the floor where it had fallen off his head.
He looked up at Heath and said, “Take me in, man. Make it look real. They’re probably watching.”
The smoke must be getting to him, because it took Heath a second to figure it out. This was one of Xander Martell’s wolves. He was probably the one who’d been sent to start the fire. He was turning himself in, so to speak, but he wanted it to look like Heath was capturing him, in case Xander Martell was watching Howell Street.
All of which could be true. Or all of which could be a setup, a lie.
There was only one option, because Heath needed to get out of here, and he had shit to do.
“Fine,” he said to the kid. “Real it is.” Then he cracked the kid’s jaw with a swift and hard punch, bringing his rings into it, making the kid’s head snap back and blood come out of his mouth in a satisfying spray. Then he twisted the kid’s arms behind his back, picked up his bag of money again, and hauled both of them out of the burning bar, onto Howell Street.
The rain was coming down in a fine, cool sheet, which felt good against Heath’s skin and his smoky clothes. Brody was standing next to Quinn Tucker, which was convenient. Heath shoved the young wolf at both of them and said, “Look what I found. He’s one of Martell’s.” When Brody grabbed the sagging, bleeding kid—who would have to be dealt with quickly, before he healed—and Tucker pulled the handcuffs from his belt, Heath nodded at the fire chief and turned away. Then he walked over to Tessa.
She was still holding his jacket. Her arms were crossed tight over her chest, the jacket folded over them, her blonde hair getting wet, raindrops trickling down the skin of her clavicle. Her eyes were still red, but she wasn’t just upset about her bar. She was worried about him as she watched him approach.
Heath ignored everyone—the curious onlookers, the cops, the fire crew, everyone, as he came toward her. She was the only thing he saw. He dropped the grocery bag at her feet. Tessa glanced down at it, and he could tell she could glimpse the bills inside. She looked up at him again.
“I’ll buy you another bar,” he said to her. “Whatever you want.” Then he stepped close, cupped her damp face up to his, and kissed her, just the way he wanted to, long and deep and sweet and reassuring, a lover’s kiss, a mate’s kiss.
She made a small sound in her throat and kissed him back. For a long moment, even in the rain with a crowd around and the bar burning behind them, there wa
s no one on earth except the two of them. Good God, Heath thought, his mind spinning. This is what it’s like, what it’s truly like. I’ve been missing this all my life. It’s incredible. He broke the kiss and stroked her cheekbones softly with his thumbs. She gave him a dazed look that gave him a sliver of hope that he could maybe make her happy. He desperately wanted to.
“Are you all right?” she managed finally.
“I’m just fine,” he said, stroking her hair back from her face. It was wet. “Let’s get you inside.” Cold and rain didn’t bother him—a werewolf could easily walk naked through snow without feeling a thing—but he had to remember she was human.
“Your jacket,” she said.
“Thank you.” He took the jacket from where it was folded over her arms and slid it back on, stepping back from her reluctantly. He couldn’t mate with her in the middle of Howell Street, unfortunately. He watched her pick up the bag of money uncertainly, then tie the top closed so the bills wouldn’t get wet.
He looked around. Tucker and Brody were gone. The fire crew was at work, aided by the rain, and the fire would soon hiss to a stop. He’d be left with a bunch of soaked, sagging, half-burned timbers that used to be the Black Wolf. The onlookers were slowly dispersing. Heath ran his gaze quickly over the neighboring storefronts and windows, wondering if Xander Martell or one of his spies was behind one of them, watching. He couldn’t tell.
“The man I found inside the bar,” he told her. “That was one of Martell’s crew.”
Tessa’s cheeks were still flushed from the kiss, but she nodded. “That’s good, right? Quinn and Brody have him now.”
“We’re going to question him,” Heath said. “They took him to the police station, most likely. Let’s go.”
“You mean I’m coming with you?”
“You’re a Donovan now,” he said. “What I know, you know. What I learn, you learn.”
Her eyes lit up. She was already thinking like a Donovan. “Then what are we waiting for?” she said to him. “Let’s go.”