by Billi Jean
“I’m fine. We’re getting ready to hit the trail soon—”
“No need. Torment went up and there was no sign of the changelings in the location we were given. We’ve decided to regroup and discuss where to go from here,” Grayson said. “I need to know you are not compromised.”
“I’m not compromised. I saw the tapes. Hunter wasn’t exactly doing what she wanted and loving it,” he said, getting a hard stare from Hunter, then a shooing gesture with her hands, as if that would move him. “We’re fine. I think there is something there, though. I think we should head back up.”
“Not a chance. Not with Larisa on the hunt for your head.”
“My head?” So Torment had heard that—or watched a tape of the room?
“Yes. Torment thinks that she was aiming at you. Are you saying she wasn’t?”
Hunter heard and pointed at him, making a gun and pretending to shoot him in the head.
He got it.
“Maybe,” he admitted, not ready to share what Hunter had told him. First of all, he hadn’t asked her and second, it could make her look bad. He caressed Hunter’s shoulder gently to get her moving, but she shook her head and pointed for him to leave then the toilet. Women.
“So, you need to come in,” Grayson said.
“Not a chance of that happening.” He exited the bathroom with more urging from Hunter. She mimed eating and he rolled his eyes but got a very brief kiss for it, whispering a ‘yes, ma’am.’
Still, all in all, he also got more time with her, so that was good.
“I think we should go up, check out the area, on the low this time, and head out after the first group we lost. I think there’s something there. Too many people are going to that area in my opinion. It gets my radar up.”
“Is that all it’s got up? Because Hunter is still not free and clear. Even her coven is deciding on her fate, man.”
“Well, let me help out.” He shoved on his jeans with a wince. He needed to wash his clothes. “She’s made mistakes, paid a fucking high price for them and is still sane—and more, is a decent person, Gray. You know me. You know I can smell shit a mile away. This woman is sweet, and fuck no, I’m not saying she didn’t fuck up, but she’s paid the price, got it?” He walked to the kitchen as he talked and tried to find something to eat in the cupboards. He’d eaten some soup, found some frozen meat in the freezer and cooked that, but there was nothing fresh to make her. Some cans of vegetables that had freaky dates on them, like nineteen eighty-two. He hit the jackpot with a new jar of peanut butter and better saltines in the back, still in the old-fashioned white plastic sleeves. A jar of strawberry, pretty exotic, foreign jam and he was set. There was a bit more meat in the freezer, but he was betting on Hunter liking peanut butter and crackers more than mystery meat.
“Right, so that’s about it,” he said when Gray stayed quiet.
“You sleep with her already?”
“Man, that is not a question I want you to ask me again, got it?” he said, coming to a halt outside the bedroom door. The bed was so disheveled there was no way anyone who stopped by would miss they’d been having sex. It’d been wild, too, because he’d been unable to control himself.
“Got it. Text me when you leave and I’ll keep it on the low,” Gray finally grumbled, then cleared his throat. “You seen Aubrey again? Wasn’t she supposed to be with you?”
“She went in search of some answers. About what, I don’t know,” he offered, more than willing to discuss Gray’s obsession with Aubrey if it meant getting back to Hunter. He could admit he was a bit obsessed. His woman. Jack had nailed that, but could Kincaid nail Hunter down that easily? She would probably fight him on it. But it’d be a fun make up session after.
“Ah, I see. Okay, text me first then go in, and this time, try not to get the girl hurt, will ya?”
“Funny, real funny,” Kincaid muttered and set his goodies down, then the phone. He was out of his jeans in no time and heard the shower on, so was thrilled at the idea of showering with Hunter, all naked and soapy.
Chapter Twenty
Kincaid opened the door to the bathroom, but he didn’t spot Hunter until he moved closer. She was sitting on the bathroom floor, her arms around her knees, sobbing.
He’d taken some powerful blows in life, but none as hard as seeing such a strong, brave girl shaking with the force of her tears.
“Oh, Hunter, baby,” he murmured and went to her, trying desperately to get her up. “Hunter.”
She buried her face in her hands and turned away, crying harder, if that was possible.
“Baby, come on. You’re breaking my heart here. Is it your wounds?” he asked, trying to get a reaction.
She shook her head.
“Oh, hell, was Rickie too much for you?” he teased, brushing her blonde hair back from her face.
She hit him half-heartedly in the arm.
“Baby, come on. Talk to me.”
She sobbed harder, but when he pulled her against his chest, she cried into his shoulder.
“There. That’s right. I have big shoulders. Just cry it out. It’s okay,” he coaxed. Some men were freaked by tears, but he knew they had a time and place. Hers were overdue—way past overdue, in his opinion.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He held her carefully. If she’d grown up here, he bet his last dime she’d never had anyone. There wasn’t even a picture of her on the walls, only one tucked away in a desk drawer.
There were pictures of another girl, with a man and a glamorous woman, but none with Hunter there as well. The other girl was pinched and plain but tried to be pretty. All in all, the family was one uptight bunch.
Gradually, Hunter’s tears eased and she tried to push away, but he tightened his arms.
“No way, girlie. We talk, now. The water’s going to chill out soon, though, so let me wash you and see about your stitches, okay?” he asked, tipping her head up.
She attempted to duck and wipe at her face roughly, but he caught her hand.
“Don’t,” he protested and kissed her. “Don’t be embarrassed. I’m surprised you lasted that long. You’ve had shit piled on you. Let me support the weight for a bit, okay? Then you can go all rock star on me again.”
She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t fight him when he soaped his hands and started to clean her.
“I couldn’t find a washcloth.”
“There’s one there.” She gestured to the side cabinet. He reached past the shower curtain, opened the top drawer, and sure enough, there were several. He got one simply because she was uneasy with him using his bare hands. After falling on her and making love to her like a wild man, too.
“That was Grayson. They wanted us back in, but I still think there’s still something in the north. What do you think? Besides a crazy wolf-woman wanting my head.”
“She did try to kill you,” Hunter offered, then winced when he touched her stab wound.
“Does that hurt?” he asked thinking of how out of control he’d been making love to her.
“No, it kinda feels weird, ticklish maybe,” she offered, quiet as a mouse.
“Ah, I see, so it’s not painful?” he asked, smoothing the washcloth over the line left behind by the knife.
“No,” she whispered.
“I stitched it, but you slept so long, I took them out. I guess she missed anything vital,” he added, clearing off the soap to examine it closely. “It seems okay?”
“It’s fine,” she said again in a subdued, worried voice.
She wouldn’t meet his eyes either, but he didn’t push her.
“We should be concerned about Larisa,” she said suddenly. “She works for Satan, which means he’s given her power, Rick. Powers we can’t predict. She’s the one that threw my spell off and caused that snowstorm. That takes a lot of power.”
“Okay, so we kill her on sight. How’s that?”
She froze then shook her head.
“You sure your stomach is okay? Did I hurt it more
with the bump and grind?”
“You mean the wild man thing?” She gave him a sweet, sad smile.
“Yeah, I gotta say that’s never happened to me before.” It still freaked him out how nuts he’d been. The trouble was, he wanted to feel her under him again, and wasn’t sure he wouldn’t come just as fast as that first time. If he’d last thirty seconds, he’d be surprised. He didn’t have a hair trigger. At least never before, but sinking into Hunter’s super-hot, tight pussy had been so fabulous, he’d lost his cool and just selfish as hell went for the finish line.
“I kinda liked it. You didn’t hurt me though. I was too into it, I think.”
That was a huge relief. He sighed and she smiled another sad smile that was gone too soon.
“It’s hard on a man’s ego, you know? But I still have the urge to throw you down and do it again.”
That seemed to please her, which, given how much he was being honest, and how he really, really wanted to go all wild man again, was a good thing.
“You do?”
He grinned and stroked down her slim back and over the rise of her amazing ass. “Damn straight. Oddest thing in my life, I assure you. I don’t go nuts like that,” he said, knowing he sounded as if he was grumbling but unable to stop. “Maybe you’re my kryptonite.”
“Maybe.” She reached back to take the washcloth. He didn’t mind. He wasn’t really interested in using it any more. Her butt cheeks were in his hands and he could think of a few hundred things he wanted to do with her just like this.
“I think you should turn around before you get all full of yourself.”
More relieved she sounded like her old self, if a bit husky from the crying, he did as asked, and even put his hands above his head on the tiles. He also didn’t mention how full Little Rickie already was, or how he wanted her again, which he thought was very gentlemanly of him, considering Hunter in a shower with soap bubbles dripping off her big boobs was a wet dream come to life.
“Do with me what you want, Sparky. I won’t complain.”
She snorted, but very gently began smoothing the cloth, and better, one small hand, over his back. He eased forward and rested his head on the tiles. Hunter didn’t rush, but gave every inch of his shoulders and back her attention. The gentle touch and the thoroughness she brought to the task had his throat tightening painfully. The way she touched him made him wonder—again—if she’d ever had anyone. Just someone who cared about her, and wanted her around or…loved her.
When she massaged a tiny bit harder on his shoulders, he sighed deeply. “Yeah, that feels good, just like that, maybe harder with your bare hand.”
“Oh, and the washcloth doesn’t?”
“Your hand is better.”
She paused but started again, using both hands to carefully work out all the knots in his shoulders and down his back. Of course she’d be good at massage—still gentle, but he wouldn’t change that because he hoped that meant she cared. Well, he modified, scooping her wiggling body in his arms—more than cared.
She laughed, but wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her face to his. Every inch of her wet, warm skin slid along his and aligned them perfectly.
He’d worked with her for a week. And for more than a year he’d waited and watched, until finally he was where he wanted to be—in her arms.
“What are you doing?” she asked, tipping her head back to stare at him.
He swallowed at the soft smile he got, a little less sad, a little calmer, but still wary. Constant reassurances were cool with him, though. He bent and kissed her lips.
“I think you’re hired. That massage about did me in.”
“Oh? Doesn’t feel like it to me,” she murmured, wiggling her wet torso along his.
Little Rickie was happy to help, lengthening and expanding even more just for her.
“If we do this here, I have a zero chance of lasting. Back in bed, Sparky, where I can make love to you—”
A phone ringing, the Eminem song he knew was her phone, stopped that idea—or put it on hold.
“Trouble.”
“Yeah, go get it. Here.” He doused her hair to clean off the conditioner, and wiped the water from her face. He wished all of a sudden he could clear off the scar for her as easily, but settled for kissing it. “Try not to talk too long.”
She stroked down and caressed his dick, giving the damn thing enough attention to make his heart rate speed up. Her palms were wet and warm, and she used the perfect amount of pressure with each stroke. She also rolled those nimble fingers on the sensitive head, something that had him easily imaging her giving him the hand job of his life. Maybe even the blow job of his life.
“Hunter, baby, stop now or see me flip you around and mount that pretty butt.”
“Is that a promise?” she whispered, then Hunter-style laughed and ducked out of his space, giving his hips a long, hot glance when she did.
“That’s a guarantee, baby.”
Her laugh was worth the rock-hard erection she left him with. He rested back on the shower wall, content with watching her grab a towel from the cabinet, smell it, make a face, then use it anyway. With one more peek at him, she bit her lip and left. He could still see her through the open door, though, and hated how her shoulders slumped and she sat, nibbling her lip as Trouble said whatever shit she had to say.
He’d have to do something about that—how she felt about Trouble—but he couldn’t fix all that’d been done to her in a week. The tears might have helped. He knew the sex had. How had she never had a climax before? How the hell was that possible? She was so damn responsive.
Shaking his head, he settled Rickie down in the hopes that if they’d have one more go, it would be her call again. They had to get back to the compound, and he bet his left nut that was what Trouble had already said. That meant his chances of curling Hunter’s toes were pretty slim.
“So, we have to go back. Those lower levels need to be explored.”
He dried his hair roughly before he dropped the towel around his neck and waited for whatever else was going on in her head.
“She said the humans were a dead end.”
“So they weren’t mages?”
“Nope.” She nibbled her lip again. “They said they found Demetry and his woman,” she scoffed, “with a witch’s help. Someone I don’t know and Trouble didn’t seem to either. They did say there were Vampires involved, but they also said there were Lykae. They didn’t seem to know about Balrick, or they haven’t spilled that yet… But,” she frowned clearly thinking hard. Finally she said, “They said that they were supposed to take Demetry to be modified.”
“Shit, that doesn’t sound good,” Kincaid muttered. “What does that mean? Modified?”
She lifted a shoulder, but he could tell she was thinking what he was—the serum.
“Torment took some of that serum back,” he offered. “I gave him instructions to hand it over to Torque, but I told Jack about it. Trouble knows about it?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, anything else?”
Hunter startled at his question and ran a hand through her damp hair. He walked over and gave her the towel on his shoulders. He’d wrapped another around his hips, a pink and pale green thing with flowers on it he couldn’t imagine her ever knowing existed, let alone growing up using.
“What is this house, Hunter?”
She blinked and smiled slightly. “It’s where I grew up.”
“Damn,” he muttered, staring around the place. She did too, as if seeing it again after a long time. “This place doesn’t fit you, but explains a lot.”
“It does?” she asked faintly, drying her hair with gentle squeezes of the towel. He pulled over a huge hulk of an old chair and sat, resting his elbows on his knees he leaned closer.
“Yeah, it does.”
“Why does it explain a lot? About me?”
“Yeah, about you. This wasn’t a home. Not a place you grew up feeling secure. Shit, I’m surprised they gave you
a room, instead of a cupboard under the stairs.”
It took her a second to catch the Harry Potter reference, but she did and didn’t deny it, or ask anything else either. He waited, too, but he could see her hands, how they trembled slightly, and wasn’t about to stop pushing her. This was important.
“I figure you were adopted. There’s not one picture of you here. Well, hardly,” he corrected. She hung her head. “When did you leave here?”
“When I was sixteen.”
“Ah, so before you were out of school?”
“No, I’d graduated early.” She sounded proud of that, and she should be. It was hard enough to get through school without whatever was going on here.
“Then you went to L.A.”
“Sorta, here, there, then L.A., yeah.”
“But here is where you thought your sister died, or you believed you killed her.”
A longer pause this time, then, “Yes, I don’t want to talk about—”
“Hey now, you heard my war story—”
“That was nothing. You were tortured. You got free. You compartmentalized your horrible life so you could deal with it. I do as well, but I put a lid on it and don’t open it up.”
He was impressed. She’d pinned him straight.
“Well, sometimes you have to lift it in order to get your head back on right, otherwise you’re always walking into the same situations, dealing with the same shit. It took me almost six months to recover from that slice of hell. Longer to get over the shit it did to my head, but I did it. Yeah, I boxed it up, but I learned from it, baby. You haven’t learned yet because this”—he waved at the dull, emotionless, damn near sterile environment—“this is no place for you to come from. You doubt yourself and sometimes, yeah, your abilities, when you shouldn’t. You kicked that wolf’s ass. She was bigger, stronger and not wounded. She only got you because she was a dirty fighter. And you didn’t even use your magic.”
She didn’t agree or disagree, just squeezed her hair and watched him once in a while.
“You felled those men, and you nailed the changelings—whatevers. As a matter of fact, I’m keeping you around just because you’re such a badass. But”—he lifted a hand to still her protests, she had a bunch, he could see—“you don’t see that. And that”—he tugged her hand in his and kissed her knuckles—“that is a problem. On a mission, you have to be one hundred percent confident. All the time. You doubt yourself.”