by Thalia Eames
Daz didn’t know. But he knew he couldn’t fix his life. Not as long as he stayed in LuPines. The wild thing was all had been forgiven between the Averdeen/Westlake/Warrens and the Grace family. Crazy ass Larkin Grace had stopped by several times to hang out with Daz, had even tried to help with the clock tower repairs. True to the word of his family’s alpha, Larkin had stopped enabling his cousin Kirby to look for Mariel and her kids. He had also apologized to Jules and she’d accepted. The boar shifter wanted to be friends with Daz. When Daz asked, “What the fuck is going on with you? You do know an ass whipping isn’t the same as friendship, right?” Larkin had answered, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. You done hooked me up, boy.”
What had gone wrong with that family? The Graces were backward as fuck. Daz had beaten eight of them into long hospital stays and it made them like him. Daz laid down the balance wheel he’d been tinkering with and shook his head.
Actually, Larkin made him feel better. Daz wasn’t the only one with piss in his gene pool. But Daz and the boar shifter were miles from a true friendship. The distance between him and Larkin matched the one forming between Daz and Jules. They couldn’t have a relationship while Daz questioned his worthiness or his ability to control his rage. And although Larkin had forgiven Daz for beating him close to death, Daz hadn’t forgiven himself. With that thought in mind, he packed his tools up for the day and went home—not home—he went to Averdeen Manor.
Gran told him Jules had spent the rainy Saturday in the first floor library. When he padded inside on bare feet, having left his muddy boots on the front porch, he found she’d pulled her chair up to the double doors leading to one section of the back deck. Although a graphic novel rested in her lap, Jules mostly stared out into the rain.
She looked adorable wearing a Hello Kitty T-shirt with her hair up in pigtails, her patch of blue streaking away from her face and fanning down. She didn’t greet him or even look his way.
“Why are you leaving me?” Jules asked, turning the page. Daz stood there at the door, speechless. As though answering him she said, “You’re not the only one the rain clears things up for.”
“I’ve got to go meet the Tahvilis and find out who they are, to figure out who I am.”
“Why?” Jules didn’t look up. Instead she turned another page. “Lots of adopted people never make contact with their birth families.”
Daz leaned against the doorjamb leading into the library. “I have a disease, Blue. The violence in me, the rage, they have it too. They might be able to help me understand it.”
She threw the book across the room. Not in his direction but out to the side. Still, the act surprised him, especially in the way it contradicted her quiet words. “They might make it worse.”
“I accept that risk.” He crossed the room and sat on the floor at the base of her chair.
“I don’t,” she said, staring at the rain as it splattered against the window. “I don’t accept the risk of losing you, Dashiell.”
“I need to know all the sides of myself in order to make peace with who I am, Blue. I know some people never get the chance to reconcile their bloodlines, but I do. And I’m taking it.”
Thunder rolled, followed by a flash of lightning. When she remained quiet he looked up at her. Her eyes were glossy. She moved almost as quickly as a shifter. Trembling fingers gripped his face, fingernails scraping through his beard. “If you need to go, then go. I won’t hold you back.” She let her hands drop into her lap. Her gaze returned to watching the thunderstorm.
He stood up. “Storms will come, Blue.” Flipping the lock, Daz pushed the double doors open. Wind blew the storm into the library, but the books weren’t close enough to get wet. That wasn’t true for Jules. She jumped up but didn’t step away. Rain hit them both in a relentless torrent, but it felt good. “But can you stand the rain?” he asked her. Daz opened his arms to the storm. Jules closed her eyes and lifted her face. She felt it too. The relief of the rain, the way it made everything new.
The intensity of his gaze must’ve broken through her introspection. Her lids slid slowly open, those beautiful Tiger’s eye gemstones of hers shining brightly. Beneath her wet T-shirt her nipples tightened and he felt the jolt of electricity straight through him.
Lifting a hand to her, he silently pleaded with her to accept his decision. Not begrudgingly, but to trust him enough to let him go, to understand that if he didn’t come back it’d be because he loved her and not in spite of it.
Jules hesitated. Her hand lingered in the air inches from his. So he said the words he knew would push her over the edge. “C’mon, Blue. Let’s go get wet.”
She took his hand and leapt into his arms. Daz swept her up and bounded onto the deck, over the railing, and into the storm.
With his shifter speed they reached the high bank by the river fast. The rain barely seemed to touch Jules until he laid her down on the wide flat rock set high on the hill, the same rock they’d eaten lunch on when they’d gone mud sliding. The memory caught in her throat. Would they have more days like that? Or would the family who’d birthed and discarded him swallow her Dashiell up?
The rain camouflaged her tears as she gripped his face and kissed him. Her mouth was voracious as her mind memorized his taste, the scrape of his teeth as he nipped her lower lip, the puzzle-perfect way their bodies fit together.
Hungry for more of him, she yanked his shirt off and immediately went for his jeans. With the button-fly loosened, she ran both hands down his back and slipped them inside the denim. His muscular ass filled her grip. She kept going until his erection sprang up between them. Daz kicked his jeans the rest of the way off but she was preoccupied. Damn she loved his thick gorgeousness. She wrapped her fingers around it and he pumped into her hand as she declared, “My dick.”
He didn’t argue. He sealed them together in another wild kiss. His mouth left hers to claim her neck, clavicles, breasts and belly through the fabric of her T-shirt. Hello Kitty would be scandalized. Snarling in frustration he pulled the kitty shirt over her head. With heated impatience in his gunmetal gaze, he used a claw to cut her bra off. Wet need flooded her chasm. Her panties got the same cut-away treatment.
His mouth claimed all the spots it had before, but this time on her naked skin. The intensity of their passion made her tremble. Taking her turn, Jules gripped the hair at his nape and curled her body to graze one of his nipples with her teeth. Daz grunted, then grinned. “Do it again.”
She did. Sucking and biting him as she stroked his cock, using her thumb to rub his tip on each upward pass. His body tensed, a shudder of pleasure rolling through him, his cock hardening even more against her palm.
He squeezed her left thigh in his big hand and pulled her hips forward. She caged his waist with her left leg and bit his chin, loving the tickle of the short hairs against her tongue. His groan made her go wild. His nose caressed hers, gliding over her cheeks before his mouth took hers again.
The heavy head of his erection teased her opening in the sweetest torture of anticipation. Jules opened herself up to him as fully as possible and he murmured something indecipherable into her neck. Then he filled her. Slamming his hard body into hers on top of that rock. It hurt so damn motherfucking good she screamed. Her first climax hit a second later. Her inner walls sucked Daz in deeper and he pistoned into her like he wanted to brand her, to mold her to him, his size and shape, his skill, so that no other man would ever enter into the place he considered his.
Jules cried out again, pumping her hips to meet his thrusts. Using words she’d never remember afterward she let him know he was the best, the undisputed champion of laying pipe and she fucking loved it. When he hit the rhythm of two short thrusts and one hip-rolling deep one, then finished it off by rubbing her clit, she bit down on her finger. Lost to her arousal, she squeezed her nipples and gave them a tug. She came again. Actually shattered beneath him. Her vision di
sappeared into white haze for a few seconds as her body convulsed in pure ecstasy around Daz. She wanted to curl up into a ball and suck her thumb the sexing was so intense, but Daz wasn’t done. He jackhammer fucked her into oblivion before he threw his head back in orgasm. Hot jets of completion filled her and she selfishly locked her legs around him to milk his body of every drop.
He fell on top of her, his face buried in her neck, the rain now gentle against their skin. A satisfied smile curled one corner of Jules’s mouth. If this man decided not to come back to her, the memory of their goodbye sex would haunt him for the rest of his supernaturally long shifter life. And she liked that he’d never be able to forget her. She liked it a lot.
Chapter Twenty-Five
On his last morning in town, Daz sat down with Pa Bailey and Chaplin for tea. Daz’s imminent departure had agitated Pa. He kept mumbling, “Folks just up and disappear right when you’re getting attached to them.”
Daz cared a lot about the father and son too. That’s why relief flooded him when the bell over the door jingled and Jeff Jacobs walked in. His manner officious, until he looked at Chaplin. Jeff kissed the excitedly oscillating younger Bailey on the cheek then sat down on the wooden edge of the widow display.
It had taken a few days, not to mention a sedative or two, but Chaplin had gotten over the clock tower breakdown. Old dreams were the hardest to let go of, and dreams tied to love lingered. For Chaplin, fixing the clock meant bridging the divide fate had cut between the two men. But Chaplin had somehow made his peace. Having Jeff come around often probably didn’t hurt things either. Jeff shared just enough kindness with Chaplin to show he cared but not enough to mislead the other man. Thankfully that friendship seemed to soothe the unfulfilled space in Chaplin. Maybe it’d be enough for him. Soon enough Jeff would have to confess he’d fallen for a guy so similar to Chaplin it would burn. Daz had a strong feeling his friend could handle it, though. Just like his Pa, Chaplin Bailey had been built unbreakable.
Daz watched Chaplin watch Jeff drink his tea then lowered his gaze to his own cup. Amazing how both Pa and Jeff thought Chaplin was oblivious about Jeff’s love life. Daz hadn’t known Chaplin before the fall but he knew, without doubts, the man had always been observant. Then and now.
Feeling eyes on him, Daz glanced up at his friend. Something in Chaplin’s gaze said, “yeah, I’ll be all right.” Lifting his cup in a toast, Daz bowed his head and Chaplin returned the gesture.
The good feelings of reuniting the two men by fixing the clock tower didn’t eclipse the guilt of the clockwork breaking down for a second time. Daz vowed to find a way to make it ring again. He wanted to help give that closure to Chaplin. No, Chaplin didn’t need it. Daz wanted closure for himself.
The four men sipped their tea, Chaplin drank his through an attachment to his chair and a straw. Pa Bailey put down his gilded porcelain teacup and said, “I bet there are grand dukes in England who’ve got nothing on we four gents.” Chaplin’s neck rolled in agreement.
“What time do you head out?” Jeff asked in his I’m-a-lawyer-thus-my-questions-must-be-answered tone.
Daz had a high resistance to doing what people wanted him to do. Especially when he’d been about to say goodbye on his own. He was perverse that way. Sue him. He didn’t say those words out loud though, mostly because Jeff Jacobs probably would sue him.
“I’m ready to say my goodbyes,” Daz said, standing. Pa Bailey hugged him, his frail-looking but strong hands pounding Daz’s back. Daz bore the pain. He’d worn his gloves and long sleeves in preparation for this moment. With a smile, he gave Chaplin a fist bump. Then he turned to Jeff, who didn’t offer his hand. Despite his fastidious exterior, Jeff had a kindness deep inside that radiated out.
“Thanks, man,” Daz said.
“I’ll take care of them.” Jeff squeezed Chaplin’s shoulder. “I’m good at taking care of people.”
Daz nodded, quickly leaving the hardware store so his emotions wouldn’t give him away.
About an hour later he stood on the front porch of Averdeen Manor. At the edge of the lawn, his Tahvili cousin, Touraj, waited for him to say his goodbyes. Daz planned to follow Touraj to Louisiana in the Hellion.
Cash, who stood on the porch, stepped down and handed Daz his duffle. “It’s idiotic for you to go down there where you don’t know anyone. Let me come with you.”
“No.” Daz didn’t want his little brother caught up with the infamous crime family. He refused to drag any of his loved ones into his mess. He’d already decided to cut off all communications with his family and his Blue until he came back. If he came back.
“What do I tell our parents?” Cash flexed his hands into fists.
Daz cupped his brother’s neck, the ache in his skin deadened by his gloves. The other ache he could do nothing about. “Tell them I’m okay.”
“How am I supposed to know that?” Cash pulled away. “Call when you get there.”
Daz didn’t answer. Gran, Garrett, Nox, Lennox, and Dillon had all wished him the best. While they did Jules remained silent. When he walked over to where she stood on the front lawn she allowed him to pull her in for a kiss. “Let Cash go with you,” she said. Her eyes pleaded with him.
“No,” he said. “I don’t want any of you around those people. I don’t know who they are.”
Jules let her forehead fall against his chest. Daz knew he had to leave now. One more minute with her and he’d change his mind. And at some point he’d regret it. His rage would make him sorry he hadn’t been strong enough to do right by her.
One last kiss and he walked out to the Hellion and threw his gear onto the passenger seat. Touraj came to stand beside him, scanning the people of the porch. “I’d have a hard time leaving them too,” Touraj said. His cousin’s gaze rested on Jules and Daz bristled. “I think your woman hates me.”
“My woman and I are a lot alike,” Daz replied, getting inside the Hellion and putting on his helmet. Touraj laughed. Nothing offended this guy. Daz had tried, and Daz could be pretty fucking offensive when he tried. “Lead on, cousin,” he said, pointing at the road ahead.
Touraj got into his 2015 Dodge Viper. Daz cranked up the Hellion. Jules hopped down the stairs, jogging toward him. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t. Daz pulled out, knowing his cousin would take the lead at some point. In his rearview, Jules stood on the side of the road, her romper pressed to her body by the breeze. He’d never seen a more beautiful or sad image. Only a fool like him could leave his goddess behind.
Jules watched the Hellion disappear. Her throat constricted, her knees weakened and she dropped to the ground. She was just so overheated and so thirsty. Lennox and Dillon reached her first. Lennox sat behind her holding her up. Dillon pressed the backs of his fingers to her neck, checking her temperature. “She’s got a nasty fever,” he said. “How do you feel, Juliana?”
“Sick,” she said. But she kept her heartbreak silent.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Seven Months Later
Two hundred and thirteen days of illness really brought a girl down. Jules had dealt with varying degrees of fever and body aches for seven months. Some days she functioned better than others. Some days she curled into a ball unable to move without her body cramping. Other days were similar to having the flu. Mostly it felt like the worst menstrual cramps known to womankind combined with raging hot flashes. And she never got better.
Dillon ran tests for infectious disease. Nope. Pregnancy. Negative. Viral or Fungal infections. Nada. Genetic conditions. Nah. Allergies and parasites. Uh uh. Her favorite doctor dude hadn’t figured out what kept making her sick. Gran suggested a broken heart and Dillon shook his head and said, “She’s got that too.”
“Jules, are you feeling up to eating today?” Lennox asked from the kitchen.
On her bad days, Jules liked to curl up on the banquette in the breakfast nook and listen to music while Lenno
x cooked. Somehow being close to Lennox and Gran lessened her fevers and the cramping.
“No.” Jules rubbed her chin against the knit throw covering her from toes to neck. “It’s one of the bad days.”
“The full body cramps?” Lennox came over to peer over the breakfast table at her.
“Not if I don’t move.”
Leaning over Jules, Lennox touched her neck with light fingers. “This has to stop, Juliana. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I know.” Jules gritted her teeth as a particularly bad cramp convulsed in her chest.
Lennox disappeared and returned with a small cup. “Open,” she said. Jules obeyed and Lennox placed an ice chip on her tongue. While it melted Lennox sat in one of the chairs.
Jules opened her mouth and Lennox gave her another ice chip. “You don’t think this is something supernatural? Maybe it has something to do with Daz, honey.”
“Don’t, Leni.” Jules held up a hand and gritted through another cramp, this one accompanied by a wave of nausea. Her hand dropped. “I’d forgotten about him for ten whole minutes. I don’t get many reprieves that long.”
She missed Daz with an ache that rivaled her sickness. Every morning when she woke up and looked at the empty spot beside her, she thought, Maybe today. Maybe today he’ll come home. He never did. His absence had hollowed her out. She’d become a pretty shell, like the largest nesting doll if you removed all the smaller ones. It looked fine until you picked it up and realized it was empty. Jules could accept the painful fevers of her medical condition. She’d take double, if someone could take away the everyday heartache of losing Daz.
She missed his voice when he read to her, the feel of his fingers on her cheeks. She craved him, his smart mouth, his kind heart. She wanted him back. How badly had she fucked up that she wasn’t allowed to be happy? Why couldn’t she have her man back?