“I don't know. I did some research on amnesia. It's fairly unpredictable.” Gray drew her closer and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Maybe your return to Twisp will trigger more flashes, and you'll eventually remember. What about your childhood? Do you remember more?”
“Not really, but it's nice to have a clear image of my mom in my head. For so long every time I tried to picture her, her face was blurred or distorted.” She fiddled with the cover sheet. “And I've never once tried to picture my father. I made Grams hide all their pictures.”
“I don't know how you grew up to be so well-balanced.” One finger tipped her chin. “It says volumes about how strong you are internally. I'm not sure I could've lived thinking that my father killed my mother and then tried to kill me. It was hard enough living with two drunks.”
“We never spoke about it once we moved to Penticton. We bought everything new for our town house. Grams made it into a big adventure. There were no pictures, nothing from the past.” Her throat constricted, and she couldn't get any more words out.
“You weren't in therapy in Canada?”
He had shaved, she noticed; his jawline held the tiniest hint of stubble. “Grams made a deal with me. The therapy sessions would be scheduled around any extracurricular activities I was involved in. I joined every club in sight. Between academics and swimming, ice-skating, chess, I never had the time.”
“You think she gave you an out?” Gray licked the side of her neck, and a delicious shiver slid from her nape to her pinkie toe.
“Mmm. I think she knew I was on the brink.” What had he done in the fifteen years since she'd last seen him? “What about you? What did you do after leaving Twisp?”
“The usual—four years of college followed by a couple of jobs in various cities.”
“When did you become the sheriff, then?” Being awake meant being confused, Sorcha decided and wished she could resort to sweet dreams instead of nightmarish waking moments.
“Around six years ago.” He dragged one hand through his hair. “Susie and Joe had moved back to Twisp, Lizzie followed, then Melanie. I came to visit and sort of never left. When the position of sheriff opened, I put my hat in the ring.”
“Why?”
“The previous sheriff was a prejudiced redneck who encouraged his fellow officers to harass and pressure the Native American tribes in this area. I took the job to even out the odds.”
“Has it worked?”
“Mostly.” His mouth curved. “A few of the tribes in the state object to one of their own doling out the 'white man's justice.'” Gray mimicked quotation marks. “Bruce Hazard's refused to endorse me, not that I consider that a negative. Other than that, I think most people think I'm doing a good job.”
“I think you're doing a great job,” she said and couldn't prevent the fierce edge to her voice.
“Three murders in one week might tip the scales out of my favor.” A series of shadows skittered across the room as the light from the window receded when a line of puffy charcoal clouds floated over the rising sun. The expression Gray wore changed as his pupils constricted and he squinted in the momentary gloom.
Sorcha's stomach clenched. “What's wrong?”
“I'm reopening the case on your parents' deaths.”
A numbness slo-moed her thoughts to a stuttering halt. “You think Grams's suspicions might have merit?” She could barely get the question out and didn't know if she could survive his answer.
His fingers and thumb firmed around her chin, and she fell into the tempting lagoon of his dark, fathomless eyes. “I don't want to get your hopes up, honey. Let's take it one step at a time.”
“Can I see the details of the case?” All at once the need to know, to see in black-and-white the details of that night, conquered her fear. “Is it allowed?”
“I'm the sheriff, honey. I can give you access. But,” he said, giving her jaw a little shake, “I call the shots on this one. I decide what you see and what you don't. Deal?”
Gray wouldn't hurt her; she knew that. He wanted control to protect her, to shield her from the more graphic and destructive information.
“Deal.” As she said the words, Sorcha realized she'd crossed a threshold; she'd given him her trust. He knuckled her cheek, the ephemeral caress a promise of things to come.
“At least now I understand why Grams went to such trouble to send the package from Penticton, why she hid the key.” Sorcha bit her lip at the sudden threat of tears. Gray's arms tightened around her, and he rocked back and forth. “She loved you, honey. And in a strange way, her death brought us together. I'd like to think she left you in my care.”
Sorcha raised her head, and their eyes tangoed. “Why, Gray Theodore White, you're a romantic at heart.”
“Yeah.” Color suffused his face. “Only with you, honey. Only you.” Gray nuzzled her neck; his tongue tickled her nape.
Unable to stop stroking his warm skin, which undulated under her tingling fingertips, she opened her mouth over a chocolate nipple and suckled. The arm around her waist tightened, and he let out a low growl.
“Honey?” Desire laced the word, his voice gruff and edgy.
She answered by capturing the taut point between her teeth and biting lightly.
Gray wrestled with her T-shirt and yanked it over her head. “I know we need to talk more, honey, but I have to love you, to be inside of you.” He slid her down on the mattress, and his heated body covered hers. His lips slanted over hers and his tongue swooped in, dueling with hers, tracing the roof of her mouth. Sorcha's toes curled and her sex wept.
When Gray broke the kiss and centered his attention on her breast, her hips arched of their own volition. The fierce tug of his suckling went straight to her pussy, and she creamed and squirmed beneath him, angling for that perfect friction.
She ached to feel that first penetration, his powerful cock stretching her. Sorcha tugged at the waistband of his sweats, her hands cupping his ass and squeezing the hard mounds. In two rapid moves, he swept the pants off his torso and settled on top of her, his knees nudging her legs apart.
She fell back on the pillow, savoring his slow penetration, the way the head of his penis distended her walls. An inferno ignited Sorcha's insides. Her entire body contracted around him.
Gray's teeth clamped the sensitive curve of her neck and shoulder. He bit and swept the spot with his tongue as his cock pushed past her contracting muscles. She needed him closer, needed more of him, yearned for him to thrust hard and fast, to pound away the ugliness of the world, to make her his, make her safe.
“Now, Gray, now,” she ordered and wrapped her legs around his waist. The angle deepened the reach of his invading penis, and she rose to meet his first, fierce plundering. His hands cupped her buttocks, his hold on her neck tightened, and he plunged into her, his cock lengthening and thickening as his strokes took on a frenetic urgency.
He inserted his hand between their sweat-slickened bodies, and his fingers plucked at her sex.
“Gray,” she mewled as her nails dug into his back. That sweet, painful flame swept through her, and she convulsed around him, sucking his cock in, milking him.
“Mine,” he growled. “Mine.”
She locked around his penis, the convulsions coming in tsunami waves that destroyed any semblance of rationality. They held each other, arms wrapped tight around flesh covered in a thin sheen of perspiration. The aromas of musk, semen, and sweat perfumed the room.
Sorcha didn't know how long they remained bound to each other. She gave in to the ferocious craving to learn him, and she licked and nibbled his chest, nipping at his small male nipples, tongue laving the hot, salty buds.
One finger tipped Sorcha's chin, interrupting her explorations.
“Hmm?” she mumbled, her eyes half-shuttered, a sated trance making her movements and her mind sluggish.
The house phone rang.
One corner of Gray's mouth quirked; his glance darted to the phone on the bedside table. “Ah
hell, let it go to voice mail. It's too much work to try and roll our way there.”
He dropped a kiss on her forehead.
“Gray, Susie says this locking thing is only supposed to last five or ten minutes,” Sorcha muttered, not quite brave enough to meet his stare. A fingertip outlined his areola. “How come it lasts double that time with us?”
Before he could answer, Jimmy's voice filled the room. “Hi, Sorcha, it's Jimmy. I just wanted to let you know that Kumar can come home anytime today. He'll be on antibiotics for the next seven days, but other than that he doesn't need any special care. I think the little fella is anxious to be in a familiar environment. Give me a buzz when you get this message, so we can arrange everything.”
Sorcha stared at the phone and wondered why she wasn't elated at the good news.
Gray chucked her chin. “You okay?”
She forced her lips into a smile. “Sure. That's wonderful news about Kumar.”
“It is, and we can pick him up whenever you like. Look at me, honey.” He fondled the side of her face. “We wolves mate with females of our kind. As far as I know, there has never been a wolf and a mortal mating in our tribe. Maybe our prolonged locking is the result of two different species mating. I don't know. We're going to have to muddle our way through things. Does the locking bother you?”
“Actually, I like it, except for the fact that we don't know how long it's going to last.” Her forefinger swirled the seven hairs around his nipple to the right. “It's almost like enforced cuddling.” That made her grin. “Does it bother you? Most men like to get away as soon as they're done.”
His black eyes narrowed, and he shot her a fierce look. “Never remind me you've been with other men. Never.” He nibbled her shoulder. “I love the locking, the way you milk me, staying hard inside you. Your scent changes when I'm inside of you. Each time we're together, my mark grows stronger. My instincts drive me to make love to you as often as possible, to fill you with my sperm, to plant a cub inside your womb.”
Gray's words shrouded her in a warm cocoon, and the world faded away as she drowned in eyes made pure obsidian by the merging of dilated pupils with irises.
“Will you marry me soon, Sorcha?”
Her stomach caved.
Marriage?
Her heart thudded so hard against her rib cage, the room dipped, righted, then dipped again.
She knew he'd become more possessive and protective if they married.
He wanted children.
Would she be a good mother?
What if Grams wasn't right?
I need to know.
I need to be positive.
Everything had happened too fast.
“Couldn't we live together for a while? We've only known each other for a few days. And they haven't exactly been normal days either. I mean, what about the whole dating, move in, then get married stages? Must we skip all of them?” Sorcha stopped babbling at the stunned hurt radiating from despondent, half-shuttered eyes. She touched her tongue to the seam of his flattened lips and whispered against his mouth, “I need more time, Gray.”
Gaze fastened onto hers, his palms slid up her throat to caress her cheeks. “How much time?” The feral tone of his voice made her mouth go dry.
“I don't know,” Sorcha answered. “Please try to understand.” She covered his hand with hers. “I don't really know who or what I am. Half the time I feel like I've entered another dimension. For the past fifteen years, I've denied the truth about my parents' deaths, about what my father tried to do to me. Now there's a chance everything I've lived with is a lie. I still don't have memories of that night or most of my childhood. How can I be a whole person if I don't remember half of my life?”
As she spoke, Gray's jaw stopped clenching, and the scowl drawing his eyebrows together gradually softened. His eyes raked her face, and he let out a long sigh. His coffee-scented breath warmed her skin.
“We don't have time, honey, not if black wolves are involved.” He kissed the tip of her nose, and all at once the muscles in her vagina relaxed and he slipped out of her.
Without thinking, she cupped his bottom and tried to prevent him from leaving.
“It's for the best. We have a lot to do today.” Gray brushed his lips against hers, rolled onto his side, and off the bed. “I'll cook breakfast. You shower.”
Sorcha waited until he was out of sight before she headed to the bathroom. After showering, she pulled on her oldest jeans and a navy-and-white-striped sweater. Barefoot, she wandered into the living room and made a beeline for the dining table. Three pouches of a royal purple color lay on the burnished mahogany surface. The soft packets seemed to throb and pulse and demand her touch.
Untying the gold cord that held the first sack closed, she turned the small bag upside down, and a strand of cream pearls fell into her hand. The cool balls heated her palms. A 360-degree video played around her as her fingers curled around the smooth pearls. The images flashed from left to right in a chronological replay of her childhood. Her mom in a flowered dress wearing the pearls around her neck and standing behind a Snow White cake the day Sorcha turned seven. The first day of junior high, Mom wearing the pearls and a yellow dress, watching her walk up the path to the school. The night of her tenth birthday when Mom uncovered Harold and Kumar's cage; she'd worn the pearls on that occasion too.
“Sorcha!” The bellow startled her, and she stumbled.
Strong arms dragged her against Gray's chest. Oxygen seeped out of her lungs, the room spun, and she muttered, “I need to sit.”
“Fuck.” One strong arm curled under her knees, the other supported her back, and he lifted her feet off the floor. He marched to the couch, carrying her, and sat down heavily. His hand braced the back of her neck, the other cupped her chin. He raised her face to his and asked, his tone coarse, his eyes glowing yellow, “What just happened, honey?”
Her mind went blank for a second. “I remembered.” She stared at her empty palm. “Where did the pearls go?” Sorcha twisted in his arms and raked the dining area. “They're on the table.” She tried to pry his hands away, but instead of loosening, his arms turned into a steel embrace.
“Don't move. Curl into me. Something's hunting you. I can hear it trying to pick up your scent. Don't talk. Stay as still as possible. Think of calming rhythms, like waves crashing to shore.”
A shiver slithered up each vertebra as she realized he'd somehow spoken in her mind. A wild notion to shout and scream and stamp and be in Chicago ripped through Sorcha; she bit her lips and balled her fists and buried her face into his bare chest. Gray's unique aroma curled around her nose and appeased her bubbling hysteria.
“That's it, honey. Stay with me.”
White slunk into the room, ears vertical, tail stiff and horizontal, teeth bared. He crept low to the wooden floor, advancing in a surreal silence. When the Lab reached Gray's feet, he went into guard stance, his head sweeping the room and settling on the front door.
Sorcha shifted so her cheek rested on Gray's shoulder. Outside, the wind changed on a pulse, morphing from slight gusts to a roar, shaking tree branches and whipping dried leaves into the air. The smooth surface of the lake chopped and spiked, and water slapped boulders, sending jets spouting.
“Sorcha!” Gray shook her. “Honey, are you all right?”
The wind died down, and the lake's surface reflected the brilliance of a noonday sun.
“No.” Fright paralyzed her limbs. “Did you just speak in my head?”
“Telepathic communication,” he muttered. “It's a white wolf skill.”
Gray wouldn't meet her eyes; instead, he focused on a spot to the right.
A rush of fury seized her mind; she curved her hand around his jaw and turned his face to hers. “Can you do that at will?”
“Yes and no. I shouldn't be able to do it with you. Only male wolves are telepaths.”
Sorcha pushed at his chest, putting a few inches between them. “Can you read my mind anytime?” She did
n't like the notion, not one bit.
“Not if it works with you and me the way it does with my male counterparts. We use telepathy sparingly, and usually only in times of danger.”
“What did you mean by something's hunting me?”
“I sensed something out there. I'm not sure if it was a black wolf or not.” He licked his lips as if they had dried out and finally met her searching glance. “I know this must be difficult for you, honey, but believe this—Someone or some creature is after you. Everything I've done, I've done to protect you. Do you believe me?”
Tiredness and a morose resignation drained her energy and emotions.
“I believe you, Gray, but I'm not sure I can take any more of this.” She tried to slide out of his lap, but his hold on her tightened. “I'm just getting accustomed to the whole white wolf business, and now you're reading my mind and speaking of something or someone hunting me, and black wolves.”
“You must have noticed the change in the weather,” he stated. “Do you think Mother Nature did that?”
She butted her head on his collarbone. “I am so confused.”
“Shush,” he crooned and stroked the length of her back. “Trust me. Stop thinking about all of it. Let's take one step at a time. Don't you want to see what's in the other pouches Grams left you?”
“You're trying to distract me?”
His mouth crooked up, and he broke into the grin that turned her bones to jelly. “Am I succeeding?”
“You're not always going to get your way,” she muttered and cuffed his shoulder.
“Let's check them out,” he suggested. Standing, he carried her over to the table and sat her in a chair. Angling his head at the two purple bags, he said, “Go ahead. Open.”
Reaching for the second pouch, she separated the knot and widened the bag's mouth.
Gray leaned over her shoulder, and she heard his hasty inhale. “What is it?”
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