“Trixie?”
I pivot toward the busted door where my partner stands with his gaze glued to the broken and bleeding succubus. “See? I told you I could remain objective.”
Before he can retort, the other three agents join their teammate at the door, their expressions similar to his. As if I’m scarier than a murderous succubus. But their attention, and mine, diverts to the groaning werewolf beside me who is trying and failing the simple task of sitting up. That’s not the first fact I realize. His black boxers barely contain his massive erection. Yeah, of course my eyes go there first. Thank God it’s dark in here otherwise all the men could see me blushing.
“What happened?” Will asks, still in a haze.
I’m the closest, so I walk over to help him up. The men, save for Oliver, enter and approach the unconscious succubus. Oliver stands guard at the door just in case lookie-loos walk by. Rushmore feels for a pulse. “She’s alive,” he proclaims.
“Of course she is,” I say indignantly.
“Where are my pants?” Will asks.
“Around your ankles,” Oliver says as if he’s a Rhodes Scholar talking to a dunce.
“Oh.” Will leans down to get them but topples to the floor the moment he moves. I catch him and sit him back up, glaring at the smirking Oliver. “I don’t feel very good.”
“Will he be okay?” I ask.
“In an hour or so,” Oliver says.
“She’s out cold,” Wolfe reports. “I think she has a concussion.”
“What do we do now?” I ask Oliver.
“You are the director of this farce, my dear. You tell us.”
Ugh. Which means I have to care about Slutty McWhoreface on the floor there. Will rests his head on my shoulder and closes his eyes. I’ll care later. “We need to get Will back to mobile command. Dr. Neill should see him.”
“It would be a waste of time,” Oliver says. “There is nothing physically wrong with him. He simply needs to eat, drink, and rest to replenish his stolen energy. No pill can cure that. The doctor should examine our poor friend on the floor there, though.”
“Okay. Fine. Then the three of you take her to mobile command while Wolfe and I help Will back to the hotel to rest.”
“Or I can escort him,” Oliver suggests, “and you can keep guard on our killer.”
“No. She’s still dangerous, and you’re the only one immune to her. We’ll be fine.” I turn to the three agents. “Chandler, Rush, you bring the cars around to the side.” I reach into Will’s coat pocket and toss Chandler the keys. The men obey as always. “Wolfe, help me get him up.”
Wolfe throws Will’s arm around his shoulders, aiding him to his feet. The big man sways but remains upright this time. Now the mortifying bit. Having no choice, I bend down, my head an inch from where Not So Little Will salutes. I quickly pull up his pants. “Thank you,” he mutters.
“Let’s get them out of here,” I say. “Oliver, you carry her.”
As I sling Will’s other arm over my shoulders, Oliver picks up the slumbering succubus and follows us out. There’s nobody in the hallway as we come out. Will is practically dead weight but manages to put one foot in front of the other. “You look so pretty tonight,” Will says to me, obviously still floating somewhere around Jupiter.
“Thank you.”
He rests his cheek on the top of my head. “You’re so pretty.”
Oliver scoffs behind me.
We find the back door though the break room. The one waiter remaining drops his Powerbar when we come in. Yeah, yeah, we’re weirdoes. It’s still not polite to stare. Wolfe opens the door, and we shuffle out into the chilly February night with a salty breeze coming off the ocean. Our two SUVs round the corner, parking beside the dumpster. Rushmore climbs out of the first, running toward us to help with Will. We toss him in the backseat as Oliver puts his invalid in Chandler’s car. I climb in beside Will with Wolfe replacing Rushmore behind the wheel. Before I can even put on my seatbelt, Will lays his head on my shoulder again, but this time he wraps his arms around my waist as if I were a teddy bear, and immediately falls asleep. He likes to cuddle. Good to know.
Oliver comes up to the window, sets eyes on us, and scowls. “How cozy.”
“Shut up. Can you handle things there?”
“I shall arrange for her transport to Montana.” There’s a secret prison a quarter mile underground a field in Montana where the preternatural bad guys, or in this case girls, are housed. Never been and don’t want to.
“Thank you. If you need me, call my cell,” I say.
Will nestles further into my neck and sighs. Oliver’s eyes narrow. “Behave yourself.”
“Of course.”
“I was not speaking to you.”
Wolfe drives us away.
*
Wolfe and I all but carry the barely conscious werewolf back to the hotel room he shares with Agent Chandler. The parking lot, the foyer, two hallways, and an elevator. I may never walk upright again. The moment we fling Will on his bed, he falls back asleep. Good. Hard labor complete, I send Wolfe back to mobile command in case the men need further assistance. I can handle things on this end. As Will slumbers, I find the others to fill them in. Nancy watches some slasher movie in our room. She always waits up for us no matter how late we get in. Either because she worries or because she doesn’t want to miss any of the action. Probably both. I tell her to pack as we’ll be leaving in an hour or two. Like everyone else, she obeys me without question. Andrew is also asleep, but I relay the same message to the sleepy man. After tossing my few belongings into my suitcase, I return to Will’s room to do the same for him. He doesn’t stir as I enter or as I move onto the bathroom and throw his shaving paraphernalia into the toiletry bag. I should order him some food. He’ll be—oh, my.
As I’m shifting the items in the black bag, I notice two small squares at the bottom. Trojan condoms, lubricated and ribbed for her pleasure. How long have those been in there? I’ve known Will about nine months, and I’m all but certain he hasn’t had a girlfriend or even a lover in that time. I’ve never even seen him flirt. Not even with me. Heck, the man barely smiles. So why would he have those? Maybe he really was a Boy Scout and just wants to be prepared for any eventuality. Okay, what I’m really wanting to know is if this is an old or new habit. Have they been in there for say, nine months? Or…oh Lord. What if in the two months I was gone he found someone else and just never told the team? She…ugh. Ick. I’m doing it again. Overanalyzing everything. He’s a guy, they carry condoms. End of story, Bea. I zip up the bag.
Will remains asleep when I leave the bathroom. As I zip up his suitcase, he suddenly stops breathing. Oh God. My own breath seizes too. No. No. I knew we should have…he sighs contentedly a second later. Okay, end of heart attack. He’s fine. I think. I wonder if what she did to him is the same as a concussion. If I should wake him up every hour or something. At the very least I should probably stay here and watch him. Just in case. For…health reasons. Yeah. Who knows what that female dog did to him? I plop into the chair in the corner with a sigh myself.
He looks so peaceful, not a state I’m used to seeing him in. Pensive, yes. Angry, oh yeah. Never peaceful. It suits him. Softens his ruggedly handsome face. Even the crooked Roman nose doesn’t take away from this current gentility. Shame his eyes are closed. They’re a beautiful true green. His large frame, not fat just big, has none of the tension I’m used to seeing either. He’s in his early fifties but appears fifteen years younger. It’s a werewolf thing. He’s nowhere near as good looking as Oliver, but I could gaze at him forever. He’s the first man I’ve ever loved and our relationship has consisted of three kisses, five hugs, and countless arguments.
My best friend April thinks I’m nuts. Heck there are times I think I’m nuts. The man made my life hell for five months because he thought I was sleeping with Oliver. And he told me point blank I drive him crazy, and he can’t see himself with me. That I’m “chaos incarnate,” whatever that means. Of co
urse the next time he saw me he stuck his tongue down my throat. Yeah mixed messages abound. I’m hoping actions speak louder than words in this case. No, it’s not been easy, not by a long shot, but none of the great love stories are.
Will burrows deeper into the pillow and groans. A second later, his eyes finally open. He blinks a few times, but is unsure of his surroundings until his eyes lock on me. “Wha—”
“We brought you back to the hotel.”
“Oh,” he says, still sleepy.
I move to the edge of the bed sitting by his knees. “Can I get you anything? Water?”
“What happened?”
“We caught the succubus. She’s at mobile command right now.”
He rubs his temples. “I have a headache,” he says weakly.
“I’ll get you something.” After rising, I unzip the suitcase to retrieve the toiletry bag, grabbing a handful of Advil. One of the bad side-effects of lycanthropy is medicine only works in large quantities. He’ll be lucky if ten pills do the trick. When I return with the pills and water from the bathroom, Will’s attempting to stand. “Oh, don’t—”
He falls back onto the bed before I finish. “What the hell’s the matter with me?” he asks.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
He glances up at me then takes the pills and water. “Just pieces. Walking down the hallway. Her kissing me. A dark room. Her…on top of me. Did she…I mean, did we…”
I fold my arms across my chest. “I got there in time.”
“Thank God,” he says before chugging the rest of his water. “It was so odd. It was as if she drugged me. I wanted to pull away but just…couldn’t.”
I snatch the glass from his hand. “Yeah, poor you.”
“What do you mean by that?” he asks.
“Nothing. Just, well, it looked like you were having a lot of fun.”
He glares up at me. “Well, I wasn’t,” he snaps. “I was doing my job.”
“Okay. If you say so.” I walk over to the mini-bar and place the empty glass on it.
“Wait. Are you mad at me?” he asks. “Why the hell are you mad at me? Bea, you can’t be pissed at me for doing my job.”
I spin around. “Why not? You get pissed at me for exactly the same thing all the time.”
“So you are mad at me?”
“I…I just think you could have stopped the whole thing a lot sooner. That’s all.”
“It was your plan,” he points out.
“I know! But you didn’t have to enjoy it so damn much!”
“I did not—” He groans in frustration. “Why are we even having this conversation?”
“Because I just spent the whole freaking night watching you get felt up by Demon Barbie! How would you feel if you had to watch me make out with Oliver all night?”
“I don’t have enough energy to fight with you, Bea.”
“We’re not fighting, we’re talking. You know that thing we used to do before you started to leave the room the moment I walk in it?”
He manages to stand this time, spurred by his urge to flee from me no doubt. “I don’t want to talk about that, okay?”
“That’s nice. I do, though. You’re weak now. I fully intend to take advantage of that fact.”
“We have said everything we need to say. I—”
He takes a step but crumples to the floor in a heap.
“Will!” I say, rushing over to him. I help him sit up, his back to the bed, then lower myself next to him on the floor. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Maybe Dr. Neill should examine you.”
“I’ll be better by tomorrow. Don’t worry.”
“How can I not worry? You almost fainted!”
He pats my hand, the first time he’s willingly touched me in months. “I’m fine. Really. I just want to get the hell out of here.”
“Our plane’s on stand-by. They just have to arrange transport to Montana. She’ll probably have to wake up first, though.”
“What happened?”
“Her head had a not so accidental meeting with my foot after I threw her bony butt across the room. She’ll live. Unfortunately.”
He shakes his head. “Well, that’s one way to start your birthday.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You know it’s my birthday?”
“February twenty-ninth. That’s today. Born on a leap year. That makes you…?”
“A gentleman never asks,” I chide.
“Sorry.”
We sit, shoulders touching, in silence for a moment and not our usual awkward kind. “So, did you get me anything?”
“I never did show you how to pick a lock,” he says. “With all the trouble you get into, seems like a good skill for you to have.”
“You do realize that would mean being in the same room with me for ten, possibly twenty minutes, not seconds? Think you can handle that?” I ask with a smile.
“As long as you behave yourself,” he says playfully.
“Doing a pretty good job right now, aren’t I?” I ask, playing back. I start tracing the collar of his shirt. “I mean, here you are all frail and vulnerable, and I haven’t made a move, let alone mentioned my dastardly, evil plan to get you naked in bed. Saint Beatrice, that’s me.” I slowly roll my tongue over my lips. “Unless you want me to misbehave.”
His breathing grows ragged from the lust I can all but smell on him. I know I’m right because he scoots a foot away. “Yeah, I think I’ll just get you a sweater.”
Drat. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
“I wish you would stop. It’s just a waste of your time and energy. You should be…chasing guys your own age. Normal guys.”
“I don’t want them. I want you,” I state as plain fact.
With a sigh, Will rests his head back onto the bed. “You have it all figured out, huh? Let me ask you this: when you were a kid, is this how you imagined your life?”
“Not exactly. I thought I’d be married with a few children by now. Same amount of vampires in my life as I envisioned, though,” I quip.
He doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he scowls. Always so darn serious. “I’m fifty-two, Bea. When I was your age, I thought I had it all figured out too. The rest of my life was mapped out. By the age I am now, I’d be Captain of my own unit, living in a grand house I worked damn hard for, surrounded by my kids, my wife, my friends. But life doesn’t turn out the way you want it to. It just doesn’t.”
“Um, Will? I’m happy to be the one to point this out to you, but in a way you sort of did get all of that.”
“What?”
“Well, you live in a mansion you work hard for. You run your own unit, for the FBI no less. And you’re surrounded every day by your friends. Despite everything, you got what you wanted. It might be a little different than you thought, but you did it. Werewolf or not.”
Confusion and bewilderment fill his face, but the tension in his shoulders has left. Guess he never thought of it that way. “Huh.”
“Except for the kids, I guess. But, you know, you do sort of need a woman, probably said wife, for that. A woman who wants kids. Who can put up with you. Who is as crazy about you as you are her. Can you think of anyone who fits the bill?”
He runs his hand through his hair, a sure sign he’s nervous and uncomfortable. Good. “You do realize if we did have children, they’d be werewolves with telekinesis? Can you imagine?”
Only everyday and twice on Sundays. I shift closer to him. “Yeah, their teenage years will be absolute hell, but I’m far more worried about if we have a girl.”
“Why?”
“Um, I seem to remember a certain vampire whose larynx you crushed just for talking dirty to me. What happens when your precious, innocent baby girl brings a boy home? You’ll toss him out the window just for looking at her,” I chuckle.
“I would not!”
“If someone stole her lunch money, you’d storm the school and threaten the child with violent death!”<
br />
“I…okay, I probably would do that to them both, yes,” he laughs. “But they’d both deserve it.”
“We’ll have to lock her in a turret just so you don’t wind up in prison.”
“A turret works for me,” he says. “We’ll build it right after the moat.”
We both laugh, occasionally glancing at each other laughing, which makes the laughs come even harder. Oh, I adore his eyes the rare times he laughs. The corners crinkle and the green becomes true emerald when he’s happy. Like now. Our laughs peter out, but our eyes never leave one another’s. Butterflies flutter not only in my stomach but every inch of me as if I’m being kissed everywhere, leaving nothing but lust and anticipation in their wake. His smile fades in time to mine. This is serious now, deathly serious, and we both know it. I can’t make the next move. I want to, but it’s in his hands now. My future, my heart, my soul, our fate all in his hands. I trust him. And it’s not misplaced.
Hesitantly, eyes never leaving mine, he raises that important hand to my face, brushing a stray strand of hair from my cheek. His fingertips set the flesh on fire as they always do whenever he touches me. I need more. I nuzzle his hand, pressing it against my cheek with my own. Neither of us moves, blinks, breathes for a second. There is nothing but those eyes. His flesh. Us.
“Oh, fuck it,” he says.
Will draws my face toward him, our lips finally meeting. Oh, Lord. We kiss hard and rough. Our tongues find each others’ playing and teasing back and forth. Oh God, how I’ve wanted this. We wraps his arms around my waist, yanking me in closer, almost onto his lap. I run my fingers through his hair, soft like feathers. Still clutching me, still consuming me as passionately as I am him, he twists us onto the floor, pinning me against the carpet. His hands hold my wrists, stopping me from touching him as I need to, but I don’t protest. I don’t want him to stop kissing me for anything.
High Moon (A F.R.E.A.K.S. Squad Investigation Book 4) Page 2