by Zoe Chant
Fur, claws, twitching whiskers…
Paisley shifted and leaped up on to Jackson’s shoulder.
Jackson took a Swiss Army knife from his pocket, then stood on a chair to remove the tiny screws from the screen over the opening of a small ventilation duct high in the wall. He took out the bottom two screws, then gave the screen an impatient shove. It swung out like a cat door, allowing Paisley to jump through, then swung shut behind her.
Her claws clicked against metal as she squeezed through shafts so pitch black that even her cat eyes could see nothing. She relied on her whiskers and her memory of Jackson’s map to guide her, as she wriggled through ever-narrower tunnels.
Paisley came up short at a wire screen. She had to unscrew the bolts with her teeth, wincing at the metal taste and the nails-on-a-chalkboard sensation. It was hard to do, and it made her jaw hurt. Finally, the last bolt came free and clinked to the floor.
She leaped out of the duct and glanced around the sterile, empty lab. Paisley focused on human things— her fear for Eli, Jackson’s confidence in her, Eli’s sky-blue eyes, Jackson’s warm hands—and became a woman.
She strode barefoot and nude to the refrigerator, found the labeled syringe with the antidote, and gingerly set it between her teeth. The plastic was cold against her lips. She shifted, holding the syringe tight as her jaw changed around it, and jumped back into the ventilation shaft.
Paisley squirmed through another set of narrow ducts, her heart pounding, until she came to another screwed-in wire screen. In the dim light, she could see dummies scattered on the floor. Among them lay a living man, nearly as still. The sound of his labored breathing filled the room.
She didn’t want him to spend one second longer lying there and wondering when she’d come. Paisley set down the syringe and meowed.
It took her a moment to recognize the sound Eli made as a strangled chuckle.
She again unscrewed the tiny bolts with her teeth, frantic with the thought that she was taking too long, that she’d be too late. Every twist she took, she expected the sound of Eli’s breathing to stop. By the time she could shove the screen out, grab the syringe in her teeth, and leap to the floor, she was near panic.
Paisley shifted as fast as she had in the hotel room when she’d first met Eli and Jackson, as driven by fear for another as she’d been driven then by fear for herself. She took the syringe from her mouth as she knelt by Eli’s side.
“Paisley,” he whispered, then stopped to draw in a difficult breath. “You got here safe.”
“Shut up.” She pushed up his shirt sleeve and jammed the needle into the bulging muscle of his upper arm. “I told you not to talk.”
Eli managed a faint smile. He was pale and sweating, his chest heaving with the effort it was taking him just to breathe, let alone talk. His right hand clutched a pistol, his knuckles whitened by his grip.
“You can stop now,” he mumbled. “Paisley’s got me.”
It took Paisley a second to realize that he was speaking to Jackson.
“Was Jackson talking to you this whole time?” she asked.
Eli nodded. His ragged breathing sounded louder than ever in the silence that fell as she crouched beside him in the chilly room. To Paisley’s surprise, he reached up to his ear, and clumsily dragged out his earbud. It fell to the floor with a tiny click.
Eli followed her gaze. “Don’t want him to hear. Too hard for him.”
“Hear what?”
His eyes met hers, his meaning plain on his face: Don’t pretend you don’t know.
Paisley bit her lip. She did know what he’d meant. He didn’t want Jackson listening in, desperate to help and unable to do a thing, if Eli died.
“This is the armor.” Eli moved his head to the side, indicating the dummies. “The proof. If I don’t make it—”
“You’re going to be all right,” Paisley interrupted. “I gave you the antidote!”
“Yeah…” Eli’s gaze locked on hers, straightforward and calm. “But time’s up.”
He turned over his wrist, letting her see his watch. It ticked over as she watched. Forty-two minutes since Jackson had said they had thirty minutes to get Eli the antidote.
Paisley’s heart nearly stopped. She had been too slow. Guilt and fear and grief hit her so hard, she felt knocked off her feet. She couldn’t lose Eli now, after all this. She’d only just met him. It wasn’t fair.
Then determination rose up, washing away her panic. She wouldn’t lose him.
“You’re not dying!” Paisley’s voice rose in a near-shout, then she forced herself to lower it. The last thing they needed was more guards showing up. “Just hold on. You can do it.”
Eli nodded again, then winced, gritting his teeth against some sudden pain.
Paisley wished she could do something more to help him, but she had no idea what. Talking about food and his boyhood home had made Jackson feel better in the air shaft, but Jackson liked to talk. Probably any topic would have worked. Eli was different. She had the sense that the things that were important to him couldn’t be expressed in words.
Paisley eased her arm under his shoulders and pulled him into her lap, holding him close. He didn’t let go of his gun, but he reached out clumsily with his left hand to lay it over hers. His grip was weak, his fingers cold.
He’s going to die in my arms, she thought. And there won’t be a thing I can do to stop it.
Terror washed over her, icy as Eli’s fingers. She could feel his heart thudding against her chest, but it could stop at any second. Eli was her mate; she couldn’t deny it now. If he died, a part of her would die too.
Paisley wanted to dive into a ventilation shaft and run away from it all— from Eli, from Jackson, from death, from love.
Instead, she held him tighter, squeezed his hand, and whispered, “I’m here with you, Eli. You’re not alone. I won’t let you go.”
He didn’t reply, but his muscles relaxed against her body. And maybe it was her hopeful imagination, but his breathing sounded a little easier.
She didn’t know how long she sat like that, holding him close, rubbing his shoulders, and stroking his hair. They didn’t speak, but the intimacy between them was a bond beyond words. She could sense Eli’s will to live, just as she had sensed Jackson’s fear in the ventilation duct.
It must be because we’re mates, she realized. She wondered what they could sense in her.
At first Paisley barely dared to hope. But the sound of Eli’s breathing slowly grew softer, and she sensed the strength gradually returning to him. There was no single moment when the tide turned. But as time passed and his body warmed against hers, she felt less like she was comforting a dying man, and more like she was holding a sleeping lover.
Eli moved to adjust his position, turning his head to a more comfortable position, then settled down again. At that, the last of Paisley’s fear melted away. No one who was dying would care if he got a crick in his neck.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Eli was breathing easily now, and the color had returned to his face. “Thanks, Paisley. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to explain how much that meant to me. And I know how much courage it took.”
“I just crawled through a bunch of air ducts. It wasn’t dangerous.”
“I meant after that.”
“Oh.” So he had sensed her fear. A hot flush rose through her body. She wasn’t sure that she liked the idea that he’d seen that deeply into her.
Eli picked up his earbud and put it in his ear. “Jackson? I’m all right.” He paused, then looked embarrassed, muttering, “Come on, man, don’t cry on my shoulder.” Then he cleared his throat and, in his most military voice, inquired, “What’s your status?”
Paisley smiled to herself, imagining what Jackson must have said. He didn’t have any trouble telling people how much he cared about them.
“All right,” Eli said. “We’ll wait. Eli out.”
“What’s up?”
“
The lasers are back on again. Forty-one minutes before he can shut them off.” Eli took out his earbud and laid it down on a dummy.
“Next time we see Jackson, you can help me knock his head against the wall for convincing us both that you were going to drop dead in half an hour.”
“Leave his head alone. Scaring you was my fault. I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m a shifter. I should have known that I could hold out longer.” Eli touched the scar over his heart. “This would have killed me if I’d been a human.”
“I’m glad you’re not.”
“You and me both.” He glanced down at the gun he’d been clutching the whole time, seemed to consider it, and then put it down as well.
“Could you really have used that, if anyone had come in?” Paisley asked curiously.
“I could’ve fired it, sure. I don’t know if I would’ve hit anything. My hands were numb. I was afraid I’d drop it, so I hung on with all my strength. Now my fingers are asleep.” He shook his hand out, wincing.
“Here, let me help.” Paisley caught his hand in hers and began massaging it.
“Thanks.” He lay back in her arms with a sigh of relief.
His hand was heavy and warm between hers. As she rubbed it, her attention was drawn to its every detail: the big knuckles flecked with white scars, the close-trimmed fingernails, the bronzed skin on the back shading to pink on the palms, the thick muscle of his wrist.
Paisley’s breath caught. She wanted to have that hand caressing her. She wanted to put his fingers in her mouth. She wanted him to lay his hand between her thighs and stroke her till she came.
Until that instant, she’d completely forgotten that she was naked. Now she couldn’t think of anything else. Hot desire flooded her as she became abruptly aware of every bit of Eli’s body that touched hers, aware of his scent and the heat of his skin, the silky touch of his hair against her arm, the accelerating beat of her heart and his, the slick warmth of her own wetness…
Eli’s grip locked down on her hand, crushingly tight. He twisted to look up at her, his eyes blazing like blue flames. “Paisley—”
Then he abruptly scrambled out of her lap and jumped to his feet. As she watched, perplexed, he backed all the way up to the opposite wall.
Even that small distance between them felt like miles. Paisley jumped up as well and ran to him, drawn like a magnet.
“What’s the matter?” She caught his hand.
Touching Jackson in the office had been like bursting into flames. Touching Eli now was like getting hit by a tidal wave. She gasped, her hand clenching over his, dizzy from the renewed surge of desire.
Eli’s voice was low and rough. “Paisley, I was too sick for it to happen before, but it does things to me when you touch me now. I’ve got a gallon of adrenaline pouring through my veins. You’re my mate— when you touch me like that, it’s like lighting a stick of fucking dynamite. But I know you don’t even want to talk about mates— You don’t want me—”
“Eli—” Paisley began, but he was already talking over her.
“You’re naked— God! I can feel the heat coming off your body. I can smell you. It’s driving me crazy. I can’t think of anything but having you, right here, right now. But I know you don’t want that, so back off!” He wrenched away from her, his jaw clenching like it took a tremendous effort.
Paisley was so desperate for him, she could barely think straight. He wasn’t the only one who had a gallon of adrenaline to burn off.
She grabbed him by the wrist, ignoring his warning growl. “I know what I said before. I changed my mind. I do want it. I want you.”
Eli moved faster than her eye could follow. Next thing Paisley knew, she was in his arms. His strong grip lifted her off her feet, and then he was kissing her with a fierce passion. The stubble on his face scratched her skin, and his grip was hard and bruising.
Paisley wasn’t in the mood for gentleness either. Her cat was close beneath her skin. She ran her fingers over his sweat-slippery skin, then dug her nails into his back, instinctively trying to mark him with her claws. He caught his breath, then kissed her harder and swung her around, pushing her up against the wall.
She gasped from the impact, but it didn’t hurt. His hands were rough and urgent, squeezing her shoulders, caressing her face, her breasts, her sides, any part of her he could reach. She grabbed a handful of his hair, her fingers tangling in its damp smoothness, and pulled his head down to kiss her again.
The cloth of his shirt was getting in her way. His jeans were a barrier between her and the touch of his bare skin. She dragged it over his head, then pressed up against it, rubbing her breasts against his chest. She could feel his scars against her own soft skin.
With a growl, Eli kicked off his shoes and pulled off his jeans and underwear. Then they were naked together, stripped down to the bare skin. She could feel the heat coming off his body, too. His scent surrounded her. Blood hammered in her ears. A wildness was in her, and she sensed the same primal desire in him. He’d almost died in her arms. She had to taste the fierce rawness of life, of sex, of breath, to convince herself that he really was alive, that she really had saved him.
“Here.” He caught her hand, pressing it against her throat. She could feel the steady pulse of his life beneath her fingers.
Then he moved his hand down, sinking his fingers into her slippery wetness. His fingers slid back and forth, leaving her gasping and shaking. His hand was steady, but she could see that it was taking an effort. Like her, he seemed on the verge of losing control.
“Come on!” Paisley gasped, barely knowing what she was saying. “Get closer. I want you inside me.”
“Twist my arm,” Eli said, with a flash of a heart-stopping grin. “Hang on. I have a condom in my pants pocket.”
“I’m on the pill,” Paisley said.
Eli picked her up as easily as if she weighed nothing. He held her with one arm around her back and one under her hips. The steely girth of his erection pressed against her thighs. She clasped her arms around his back. Sweat slicked their skin.
Paisley’s face was turned into the space between Eli’s shoulder and throat; damp strands of his hair fell against her forehead. She licked his throat, tasting the salt of his sweat. She could feel the beating of his heart against her chest. Paisley kissed along the elegant arch of his collarbone, and discovered a ridge where it had been once been broken.
Raising her head, she whispered, “I do want you, Eli. Never think I don’t.”
“I know.” He kissed her, his lips soft and hot against hers. “I know that now.”
Eli pushed into her, joining them together. She sucked in a breath at the intensity of it. The sensation echoed through her like the shock she’d had when she’d first touched his hand: a searing jolt of desire and fulfillment. Paisley was abruptly on the edge of orgasm, her entire being focused on the feeling of almost there. He thrust inside her, kissing her, holding her up with his astonishing strength, pulling her closer to him, closer to coming, until she was falling over the edge, weightless and joyous and free.
When Paisley came back to herself, sound and touch and hearing and memory fading back into her awareness, she found that he had set her down. They were both lying on the floor, clasped in each other’s arms. Eli lay still, more relaxed than she’d ever seen him before. Paisley bet he could be on his feet and fighting in the blink of an eye if he needed to, though.
For a few minutes, she simply enjoyed the afterglow. But then doubt crept into her mind. Just like sex with Jackson, sex with Eli had been wonderful and intimate, but left her feeling vulnerable and off-balance. She’d shared something with both men that had changed her, and she didn’t know where it would lead.
“Did you know we were going to have sex before we even came here?” she asked.
“No, of course not.”
“But the condom,” Paisley pointed out.
Eli chuckled. “I always have one on me. It’s a guy thing.”
“Jackson did
n’t.”
“Did you and he…?” His tone was curious, non-judgmental.
“Yeah, we did. You said you wouldn’t mind.”
“I don’t. He won’t either. It’s a bear thing.”
To Paisley’s relief, he didn’t follow up with questions she didn’t want to answer, like “So are you agreeing that we’re soulmates forever now?” or “Does this mean you’re in love with us?”
Instead, he raised himself on his elbows and pressed his mouth to the nape of Paisley’s neck. His lips lingered on her skin, his kiss hot and lazy as a summer afternoon. He could keep his mouth there forever, as far as she was concerned.
Forever.
Paisley tried not to tense up at the idea. All else aside, Eli would notice. But her thoughts spun like a wheel. She had no doubt that Eli and Jackson loved her. And the way she felt when she and Jackson laughed at the same time… The way she’d felt when she’d thought Eli was dying…
Paisley scowled, unable to deny her feelings. She did love them. She did want to be with them. If either of them died, she’d break like glass.
And that was exactly why she didn’t want to promise forever. There was no such thing. People died. They got shot. They got stuck with poisoned needles. Their airbags exploded. How could she ever risk loving anyone again, when she already knew what it felt like to lose the person you loved?
She had to think of something else, before she started crying or confided in Eli or did some other awful, irrevocable thing.
Something else. Anything else.
The mission!
She caught Eli’s hand and checked his watch. “We need to get dressed. Jackson should be just about ready to turn off the lasers.”
Paisley got up, went to the earbud Eli had left on the dummy, and held it to her ear. Before she could address Jackson, she heard a yell come through the earbud, then the sounds of a scuffle. Paisley urgently beckoned to Eli. He came over and pressed his cheek close to hers so they could both listen.
“Jackson!” Paisley whispered. “What’s going on?”
His voice came through clearly— he was wearing his earbud— but he didn’t reply directly. “I’m Special Agent Brandon Williams, and this is an FBI sting. You let me go right now, and you won’t face charges for assaulting a federal agent in the course of his job.”