by Jan Delima
“This evening, after sunset.” He allowed his gaze to travel down her body, appreciative of how the plain T-shirt and sweatpants hugged her curves. He frowned, noting the slight bulge against her hip. “I will ask that you not run tomorrow morning, as I am sensing this thing you do is a daily routine.”
“It keeps me in shape,” she informed him with only a hint of annoyance in her voice. “But I’ll stop until you tell me it’s safe to start again.”
“You’re wearing your gun,” he pointed out. “And not the Serpent.”
“It’s in the box. I did wear it while running, along with my gun, which, I will admit, was a bit cumbersome.” She gave an unrepentant shrug. “I’m used to my gun. It’s instinctive for me to carry it.”
Frustration tightened his chest but he kept his voice calm. “There is a reason I trained you to use the Serpent,” he explained. “In battle against a shifter, the only thing your gun will do is anger your enemy.”
“I shoot with hollow-point bullets,” she challenged.
Her confidence in her weapon of choice only fueled his fear. “To kill a shifter, their heart or head must be completely severed from their body. If not, we will shift and regenerate in the process. Even when unconscious, even when we are shredded, exposed or limbless, our beasts will rise and suck the very life that surrounds us to survive.”
She frowned, seeming more confused than concerned. Would he ever understand this woman?
“But Joshua’s wolf remained dormant,” she questioned. “And you said it was because his environment was constantly changing . . . because he felt threatened.”
“Yes, that’s true.” He gentled his voice but pressed his point. “But only until an initial shift occurs, and when that happens our wolves are not hindered by anything, and are often difficult to control. You must change your strategy of protection.”
She nodded without comment.
Not entirely confident that he had convinced her, he added for insurance, “The only person your gun will harm is you, or others of our kind who cannot shift to heal.” He gave a bitter laugh. “And that will only serve the Guardians’ ultimate goal—”
“Okay,” she interrupted. “I get it. It will be an adjustment for me, but I will try.”
It was as much of a concession as he was going to get, he realized. “I want you to wear the Serpent, even while in our home.”
Her eyes scanned his features, too shrewd for his comfort. “You don’t trust these leaders who are coming.”
“I trust their hatred of the Guardians more than I trust them, especially Isabeau.”
“Tell me about her.”
He hesitated only briefly, having faith in his wife not to cower from the truth, no matter how horrific it may be. It was deceit that Sophie never handled well. “Isabeau’s territory encompasses much of Minnesota. Her family served as slaves in the household of Rhun, one of the more . . . disturbed Guardians. She escaped, but her parents and siblings didn’t survive.”
“You’ve experienced things I’ll never understand.” She held up her hand in a helpless gesture and then let it fall back to her lap. “I can’t begin to fathom that kind of brutality.”
“You bear scars that prove otherwise,” he said, unable to keep the edge of anger from his voice. “You have tasted the scorn of our race.”
“Please,” she scoffed. “What Siân did to me was trivial compared to some of the stories the villagers shared with me last night, and now this about Isabeau’s family. I finally understand why your people resent my presence. They wanted their leader to be with another shifter. They wanted a union their enemies would fear.”
“Our people have begun to acknowledge your rightful place in my life.” To press his point, he added, “If they are sharing their stories, you have begun to earn their respect. Not an easy accomplishment.”
“I’m sure Joshua’s little demonstration helped.”
“Of course.” The hound, he admitted silently, didn’t hurt either. Noting its absence, he scanned the room. “Where’s Tucker?”
She gave a rueful smile. “With Enid and my mother in the kitchen, judging their offerings, I’m sure.”
“I will ask that you retrieve him before our guests arrive, and keep him with you upstairs at all times.”
“You don’t want me with you during the gathering?”
“I’d prefer that the leaders didn’t know my family,” he said cautiously, still unsure how far to push her current cooperative attitude. “You are a vulnerability I don’t want exposed.”
She regarded him with an expression he knew not to like. “You fear I’m too weak.”
“You misunderstand me.” He leaned forward and lifted her chin, waiting for her soft brown eyes to meet his. “It is my own weakness I must not expose. If any of the leaders saw me with you, they would know.”
She frowned. “Know what?”
“How I feel,” he said candidly. “That I would do anything to keep you safe . . . give up anything for you. The vulnerability is mine, Sophie, not yours.”
Her posture relaxed, melted into the chair as if her bones had turned to liquid. She took his hand from her face and enclosed it in both of hers, her expression open and unguarded, causing his throat to tighten even before she whispered, “I love you, Dylan.”
He wavered on his feet. Eavesdropping on her earlier confession to Francine had not compared to hearing it directly, given freely and without hesitation. He dropped to his knees in front of her, wedging his body between her thighs until the chair pressed against his stomach. He let his head fall into her lap and inhaled a ragged breath.
He had never been one to openly profess his feelings, more suited to action than love poems or pretty sonnets. He dropped a kiss inside her thigh, then another. Annoyed by the cloth that covered her skin, he reached up and snagged the elastic material from around her waist, making sure to include her undergarments, and tugged downward.
Her hand tightened on his shoulder and pushed. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you how much I love you in return,” he informed her, untangling the garments away from her ankles with determined purpose. Next, he tackled the running shirt that holstered her gun, frowning when the garment proved too snug to yank off. “Remove this,” he ordered.
She sent a nervous glance toward the door. “What if someone comes in here?”
“Everyone in Rhuddin Hall knows not to disturb us in our bedroom when the door is closed, even your mother.”
“Let me take a shower first,” she pleaded, though he sensed submission in her voice.
“No.”
Watching him through a heavy-lidded gaze, Sophie leaned forward and rolled the shirt over her head, and then gingerly placed the wrapped gun on the floor next to the chair. Another garment followed—a sports bra, he believed it was called. Finally, she sat before him blessedly naked.
He devoured the sight of her. The lingering scent of her earlier run only fueled his hunger. He leaned forward and nuzzled the exposed skin of her belly, then licked a trail from her navel to the soft curls above her sex; her stomach muscles contracted against his tongue.
Still kneeling, Dylan ripped open his jeans just enough to free his shaft, now painfully engorged. His skin crawled with heat, her pleasure and soft gasps the sweetest of tortures. Leaning back on his haunches, he snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to his face, until her bottom rested on the edge of the chair and he had full access to her most private core.
“Oh, God,” she whispered as he pulled her legs over his shoulders. He had a fleeting vision of her hands clutching the arms of the chair for support before he closed his eyes, greedy with anticipation.
She tasted like home and fulfillment. He nuzzled her flesh until he found the nub of her sex, circling his tongue in fast strokes until she cried out his name in husky abandon, her legs shaking against his shoulders as each pulse of pleasure claimed her body.
He almost spilled his seed on the cushions of the ch
air.
Before she had time to recover, he flipped her over with a growl. He entered her from behind, biting back a harsh shout as her exquisite heat wrapped around him. It was a primal mating, more animal than human. He heard the sounds coming from his mouth, yet had no control to stop them.
He came in a blind fury of pounding need.
Still panting, he collapsed on top of her, only then aware that Sophie had joined him with a second release by the pulses that continued to lick at his shaft. “Did I hurt you?”
“No!” A soft laugh shook her shoulders. “Would you plevase stop asking me that? You were incredible.”
“I lost control,” he admitted, easing some of his weight off her back.
She eyed him over her shoulder, a devious smile turning her lips. “I’m sure you’ll do much better next time.”
“Is that a challenge, wife?” He gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bed.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, AFTER THEY HAD BOTH SHOWERED, Dylan leaned against the headboard and watched Sophie tug a sweater over her head, savoring this last moment with her before returning to his duties. She paced the room, full of restless energy despite the sensual workout he had just given her.
He patted the empty spot beside him. “Come here.”
“No.”
“If you can still argue with me, woman, then I’ve not tired you enough.” Another pat. “Come here.”
She stopped her pacing only to glare. “Stop trying to distract me.”
He sighed, resigned, and more than a tad disappointed. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”
“If you don’t want me by your side during the gathering, I understand. Just let me do something else less visible.” She waved her hand around the bedroom. “Give me something—anything—useful to do.”
“I consider the past hour very useful to my mental well-being.”
“Don’t do that,” she said softly. “I want to help. Sitting here and doing nothing will drive me insane.”
He lowered his voice to a sensual whisper. “You were not doing nothing, I assure you.”
“You’re patronizing me.”
“I’m not.” Sobering to her anger, he ran his hands over his face. “I need you to be safe, Sophie. That’s all. I will not be able to concentrate if I’m worried about you or your whereabouts.”
Unfortunately, her restless attitude came as no surprise; he remembered all too well her dislike of confined spaces, and her response. Experience had taught him not to ignore her request. Therefore, he tried to think of a responsibility that would keep her relatively safe and guarded but with a purpose she would respect. “We have eight children being kept in a secluded safe house in the village. Their parents are with them. Elen is there as well, and several guards have been assigned to the area around the building. Would you be willing to join them?” At her narrowed expression, he added, “As another protector.”
A worried frown creased her forehead. “How will their parents feel about me being there?”
“Allowing my family to join theirs would be considered a great honor, a further promise to keep them safe.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “Then I’ll go.”
“I want Joshua and your mother to join you,” he said, warming to the idea.
“That’s fine.”
“Will you promise to wear the Serpent?” He remained quiet until she nodded her consent. “Then tell your mother we leave in one hour, while I go find our son.”
* * *
THAT AFTERNOON, SOPHIE FOLLOWED DYLAN UP THE front steps of a quaint covered porch, with Joshua, her mother and Tucker just a few paces behind. The safe house was an ordinary blue cottage located on the edge of town, blending amongst scattered homes of similar design. A woman swung on a porch swing, reading a book, her long jean-clad legs dangling over the side.
“Sarah,” Dylan greeted with a nod. “My family is going to stay with the children during the gathering.”
Her eyes briefly landed on Tucker with no outward reaction. “Understood,” she said with a tone of authority that proved her relaxed position was pretense. Sophie assumed this Sarah, with her cropped red hair, was yet another member of her husband’s guard.
Dylan opened the door, nodding toward Francine and Joshua to enter the cottage, holding Sophie behind with a gentle arm around her waist. He leaned down and dropped a kiss next to her temple. “If you see anything suspicious, send Sarah to get me.”
“I will,” she promised.
“I have to return to Rhuddin Hall.” Concern laced his voice.
“We’ll be fine,” she reassured him with a smile.
“Remember, our local cell towers have been disabled. Your phone is useless until the gathering is over.”
“Porter already told me.”
“Sarah will show you to the others.” He claimed her lips for one last gentle kiss. “This will be over soon.” And with a final nod in Sarah’s direction, he strode down the stairs toward his truck. On the drive over, he had given her and Joshua instructions on the safest route back to Rhuddin Hall from their current location, a secret passage she hadn’t been aware of.
His vigilance heightened her concern, and her annoyance upon discovering that he had only moved her to an even more protected location to wait out the gathering. But if staying confined with the children was what he needed from her, then so be it. While she had always loved Dylan, she hadn’t truly trusted him.
That needed to change. If he was willing to respect her decisions, then she needed to return the gesture. Furthermore, guarding the children was an important responsibility she didn’t accept lightly.
As soon as Dylan’s truck disappeared, Sarah sent a sidelong glare in Sophie’s direction, not hiding her displeasure. “Follow me.”
The occupants of the house, Sophie soon discovered, were stowed away in the basement. She paused at the bottom of the stairs as her eyesight adjusted to the dim lighting. Sarah silently resumed her post while Sophie’s family spilled around her.
“This room is depressing,” Francine muttered, and Joshua returned with a grunt of agreement.
“It’s safe,” Sophie reminded them. “That’s all that matters.”
There were metal doors on the far wall, locked from within in the event of a necessary escape. Overstuffed chairs and a padded carpet had been added for comfort, with a meager kitchen and a paneled single door she assumed was a bathroom. Still, it smelled stuffy, a combination of must and too many breathing bodies in a closed space. The adults in the room sat with subdued expressions.
Elen stood alone in the corner of the room while the others huddled in a group away from her. A genuine smile of gratitude brightened her face as she walked over to greet them. “I’m really glad you’ve decided to join us.”
Sophie gave her a hug, not sure why she extended such a personal greeting, only sensing that Elen needed it. “How long have you been here?”
Elen returned the hug with a grateful squeeze. “Since this morning.”
Twenty-five
AS DYLAN HAD INSTRUCTED, THE LEADERS’ ARRIVALS began after sunset, their guards few but powerful. Some came from the woods, led by Luc and then released toward Rhuddin Hall under Porter’s guidance. Three of the leaders arrived in nondescript vehicles and were directed through the side entrance like villagers on a routine visit.
No disputes had yet to arise, Dylan mused with some suspicion. But the night was still young. For now, at least, all leaders and their companions appeared cooperative and prepared to listen, if not entirely thrilled.
Inwardly, he remained grateful his wife had agreed to go to the safe house. Her cooperation allowed him to focus his energy on the matter at hand as Porter escorted the visitors to their temporary quarters. For the most part, Luc kept to the forest with the other guards and watched for unwelcomed intruders, a monumental task considering the size of their territory.
All those he cared about were safe and accounted for, Dylan remin
ded himself. Nonetheless, he felt restless and ready to have this meeting concluded, relieved when the last leader finally arrived.
“Madoc,” Dylan greeted from the open door, biting back a smile as the massive man unfolded from a rented Prius, unaccompanied. “Don’t tell me you drove all the way from Montana in that thing?”
“Hell, no,” Madoc called back. “Only since Portland.”
“Did you come alone?”
“I do better alone,” he said, with the assurance of a man who had survived much worse than a gathering of wolves. “As I’m sure you remember.”
“I remember our journey all too well.”
Madoc was the notorious black knight turned pirate, his brooding features and brutal acts recounted—and distorted—by many storytellers and enemies alike. He was also the man insane enough to embark on an unknown journey without the consent of kings. He had captained the ship that had brought Dylan, Luc, and Elen to this land. Thankfully, Elen had been long removed from Merin’s influence by that time and helped soothe Luc on the voyage; the wolf had not taken well to sea travel.
Madoc whacked his forehead on the doorframe in the process of squeezing out of the small vehicle. “Damn . . . I feel like a fat woman trying to get out of a well-tied corset.”
“You’ve helped with that a few times, have you?” Dylan goaded.
“Indeed,” he chuckled, stretching as he stood with a loud groan. “Goddess knows I’d take one now. If you ask me, all these modern women look like starved boys.”
Dylan walked down the front entry. The light rain felt soothing as he held out his hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“This assembly is long overdue, old friend.” Madoc returned the greeting with a firm shake as his dark gaze spanned the forest and moved on to Katahdin. “Your territory is”—his nostrils flared as he inhaled the powerful scent of untamed nature—“abundant.”
“So is yours,” Dylan pointed out.
“I know.” Not a threat, or a boast, just a simple acknowledgment that they shared the same concern.