Under the Bridge

by Dawn, Autumn

  She frowned very hard to suppress her distress, though she wasn't terribly amazed. Both he and Mrs. Y spoke with British accents. “I was struck by lightning. It did things to my memory. Tell me, what year is it?”

  He looked even more curious. “It's the twelfth day of July, 1837. We have a new queen on the throne.” He frowned. “I say, you're looking rather pale. Can I get you something?”

  Her lip quivered. “Starbucks,” she whispered. “The Internet. Real books.” While she enjoyed Pride and Prejudice, it had nothing on modern werewolf romance. And what would she do without Stephanie Meyer? She wanted to cry.

  To disguise her distress, she stared at the green fire. If she'd had somewhere to go, she'd have left that instant.

  Griffin exchanged glances with Mrs. Y. “Our guest is tired. Why don't you prepare a room for her? I'll keep her company until you return.”

  Mrs. Y left without a word. Griffin looked at Jordan thoughtfully. “I'm wondering what happened to you before you entered our estate tonight. The lads at the gate tell me you appeared, ‘between one lightning flash and another’. Normally they would have smelled you coming.”

  Jordan drew a deep breath. The brandy was already affecting her judgment. Why not tell him? Maybe he could actually help. “The lightning brought me.” When he remained quietly interested, she added, “I was crossing the road. A car almost hit me—I swear, it was trying to hit me—and suddenly I was here. Well, in the road, at least. I don't know how.” Despair threatened her self-control. “I'd just like to go home.”

  “Hm.” He stared into the fire for a long moment. At length he said, “Well, I'm no Traveler myself; I don't know how it's done. Unfortunately, those who do know are not the sort you can trust to see you home. They're more the type to take you to their lair and keep you.” He smiled as if he understood the urge. “I suppose we'll just have to keep you ourselves.”

  Jordan's back came up. “I'm not a lost puppy!”

  “So I see,” he almost purred. “However, you need a dry place to sleep tonight. I can offer that.”

  Her eyes narrowed in warning. “Can you guarantee I'll sleep alone?”

  His eyes swept slowly over her, reminded her that she wore only a blanket and a borrowed pair of slippers. He smiled. “You will be safe here; if you wish to be.”

  His words made her stomach tighten with unwanted interest. The man was gorgeous, but too confident for his own good. She wasn't going to encourage him. “Not interested,” she said firmly, and set aside her cup. She didn't need more brandy when he was in the room.

  “Very well.” He rose and offered her a hand up, then tucked it neatly through his arm. The gesture was so courtly she found it hard to object, though the feel of his heated skin against her hand was subtly delicious. She tugged free, saying, “I need both hands on the blanket.”

  His smile was wolfish. “Of course. We wouldn't want it to slip.”

  Jordan was not used to blushing, so she put her face forward and ignored him. As she did, movement caught her eye. She glanced out of one of the dusty windows and stiffened as lightning flashed, illuminating the large shapes that prowled the yard.

  Griffin followed her gaze. “Yes. They are awake. And busy, I suspect. You've brought quite a storm with you. It's a good thing that you came to us. You seem to have stirred up some serious trouble. I don't think any of the neighbors would have dealt easily with it.”

  Jordan swallowed. “Are they like you? Griffins and such, I mean.” For all she knew, she'd landed in an entirely different world. Tonight, anything seemed possible.

  He grinned. “I'm afraid not. They're rather ordinary, for the most part. Careful on the stair; those slippers are rather big for you.” His hand hovered protectively at her back as she took the marble stairs in the flopping slippers.

  She wished it hadn't. She was in more danger of stumbling from the heat of his hand than from the over-sized footgear. She held herself stiffly, ready to object if he got fresh, but the hand hovered just shy of her back. It was worse than if he'd touched her outright.

  She found herself silently following him through the drafty, dusty old house. The only source of light was Griffin's candle and the occasional flare of lightning. Stern oil paintings frowned down at her as they passed. Sculptures of plaster and older, worm-eaten wood gazed at her with solemn, chiding eyes. All around her, the house breathed, expectant. She had the uncomfortable feeling that something was required of her.

  To distract herself, she said, “You have a lot of art here. I expect to come upon the statue of David at any moment.”

  He smiled down at her. “You'll find no stone statues here. Gargoyles are touchy about that sort of thing. The idea of being trapped forever as stone....”

  Jordan frowned. “Gargoyles?”

  They had come to a lighted doorway. He paused outside and looked in. “Mrs. Y has been busy.”

  Jordan peered in. Mrs. Y saw them and grunted in satisfaction. “We've not had guests in years. I had to pull the Holland covers off and fetch fresh bedding.” She'd lit a fire in the hearth, Jordan saw. It burned with a reassuringly yellow and orange flame.

  Mrs. Y moved to a cupboard and removed a neatly folded square of white. She shook it out, revealing a long sleeved cotton nightgown with a row of tiny buttons down the front. Pretty and old fashioned, the bodice and hem had tiny blue flowers embroidered with twining silver vines. She laid it across the bed. “There you are, and I brought warm water for washing.” She pulled a large jug from under a tea trolley and poured the steaming contents into the old-fashioned washstand. “And that should be that until morning.”

  Jordan paused, acutely aware of the man at her side. It felt too intimate with him here. “The room looks very comfortable, thank you.”

  Mrs. Y looked satisfied. “I'll see you in the morning, then. We rise early.” She let herself out.

  Jordan glanced at Griffin. He hadn't moved. “Well. Good night, then.”

  He smiled, slow and warm. “It has been. I've enjoyed your company.”

  Her blood felt thick, her heartbeat a little too strong. She wished now that she'd had nothing to drink. She didn't handle liquor well. She licked her lips, searching for a reply...and he kissed her.

  She instantly forgot what she'd been going to say. His lips were soft, scorching hot. Or maybe she was the one on fire. Her insides certainly seemed to be in meltdown.

  His hands were gentle, yet firm as he slid one into her hair, used the other to span her waist. He kissed as if they were already old lovers, as if he had the right.

  It was long moments before she was able to lower her head, breaking the kiss. “I don't know you.”

  He gently stroked the hair away from her face. “You know this.” When she turned her head away, he said, “You're a widow, aren't you?”

  She looked at him, startled. “How did you know?” It came to her then, just what age she was in. He would have certain ideas about “good women”. It was ironic, considering her origins, that he was actually right.

  “You're not afraid of me,” he said with certainty.

  “That's not exactly true,” she hedged, backing away a step into the room. “I don't understand what you are.”

  He looked at her keenly, “One advantage to being more than a man is that I can smell exactly how you feel right now. It is difficult to resist.”

  She swallowed. “Make an effort. If for no other reason, you don't want to father a child tonight.” She had not been on birth control since her husband had passed away, nearly two years ago now. She had not been ready to risk her heart again.

  To her surprise, his eyes flared with interest. “Don't be so certain! If I thought such a thing were possible....” He took a careful step back. “Children require a more careful level of courtship. I will have to consider this.” He made her a slight bow. “Goodnight.” Before Jordan could ask him what he meant, he was gone.

  As a man of duel nature, Griffin had often had to battle his animal side. Tonight, h
e was inclined to agree with the Griffin. He wanted her, and when she'd mentioned children...

  He shook his head. Well, it had been coming on him for some time now. He had fought the urge to take a mate, partially because he'd enjoyed his freedom, partially because he'd never found a woman who seemed right. Of course, he'd never met a woman like Jordan.

  She was a puzzle. He wasn't particularly bothered by her origins, but he was interested to know why the banshee had come after her. As far as he knew, banshees were never far from their native bogs and moors. He'd never met one in person until tonight. Had she somehow angered them?

  He reviewed what she'd told him. Someone from her time tried to kill her; a man. Lightning brought her here and apparently it had saved her life. The banshee attacked her. Had they done that alone, or had they been sent? A powerful fae could arrange that. Fae could also time travel.

  An interesting puzzle, and griffins loved puzzles. He would have to consider this. And since the lovely Jordan was part of the puzzle, he would have to think very earnestly of her as well. Smiling to himself, he made his way to his room.

  Jordan dreamed of her killer. She could not see his face, could not seem to remember it, either. Yet she knew it was him.

  He was a shadow in her dreams. Warm, seductive. “Ah, Jordan, my love! We got off to a bad start. I've come to make amends.” He held a white rose in his hand, a sign of peace. “Do you forgive me?”

  Jordan was in the same room she'd fallen asleep in, but instead of soft quilts and cotton gown, now her only covering was a thin silk sheet. In the dream she was aroused, deeply so. It made her angry. “Go away!”

  His voice was teasing, though he pretended to be wounded. “Ah, but I've promised to make peace with my sister. She was very upset that I put you in harms way.” He moved closer as he spoke, trailed the rose over Jordan's calf. “I've been very naughty.”

  She gulped and kicked the rose through the sheet. “Get out!”

  He ignored her, sat on the bed. Jordan hunched into a ball at the headboard. “You're making me angry,” she bit out. Even the force of her arousal was not enough to combat that.

  He scanned her slowly. “It will come to a choice, you know. There could be peace if you chose me. Griffin...he is an animal, you know.” He shook his head chidingly.

  “Jordan.”

  She didn't know who spoke her name, but the shadow seemed annoyed. “He would come,” it said.

  “Jordan!” It was Griffin's voice, and he sounded concerned.

  “Interfering animal,” the shadow said, and stood up. “Very well. There will be other nights.”

  “JORDAN!” Griffin roared, and this time her eyes flew open. She sat there staring at him...and then she looked down at her foot. A single white petal lay on the quilts. With a cry of alarm, she kicked it off as if it were a spider. It flew into the air and vanished.

  “Did you see it?” she asked Griffin, panicked. “The rose? He brought a rose!”

  “I believe you,” Griffin said soothingly, stroking her back. “I heard you through the wall.”

  “W-what wall?” she gasped. She was hardly coherent. The dream had scared her badly.

  “Mine is the next room,” he said, still soothing. “I'm glad you woke me.”

  But Jordan was in no mood to be soothed, not like this. Fear was not the only lingering effect of the dream, and Griffin was a handy outlet. She threw herself at him, ground her mouth into his...and suddenly it was not the dream alone that drove her.

  He tasted delicious. She'd never had a kiss so luscious. His hair was like silk....

  Griffin was not the least put out by her demands. After one startled murmur, he enthusiastically took over, curling a hand around her hip to draw her closer. Moments later, her gown flew over her head, apparently by magic. He was not interested in going slowly, and neither was she.

  He loved her breasts with tongue and gently nipping teeth. She urged him on, gasping when he reached down and squeezed her butt. Her legs fell open on reflex, and he laughed as his mouth trailed down.

  His lips were oh so soft, but not as hot as his gently lapping tongue. Jordan screamed, writhing to escape his wicked torment. It pleased him so greatly that he prolonged it, lashing her again and again.

  He didn’t warn her when he was ready, just rose over her and thrust deep. She screamed in instant climax, then moaned as he rode her, watching her face, milking every sensation from her until she was soaked and begging. Once there, his face changed, and he snarled. He sank his teeth gently into her neck and drove hard, shaking the entire bed.

  She fell asleep on top of him, still intimately joined, and woke again in the night. The words they exchanged during their loving could not be termed conversation. “More,” and “yes” were more than enough.

  Jordan woke to an empty bed. Hazily, she raised her head and surveyed the tangled sheets. The quilt was sideways, and her feet stuck out. A glance at the window showed it was almost dawn.

  She groaned and stuck her head under her pillow. She could still feel him inside her, was still slightly damp from the last time he'd seduced her. She could not have managed the fourth round without his promise that he'd do all the work. Not that he had, in the end...She just couldn't help herself.

  She muttered to herself and threw the pillow off. Lurching to the washstand, she surveyed herself in the mirror, and winced. No hiding that hickey! The man did like to leave his mark. A glance at her breasts showed faint evidence of his attentions there as well.

  She hung her head and sighed. Stupid, girl. Nice going. One bad dream and she threw herself at the first available man. Lovely.

  She looked around for her clothes and remembered that she'd come up here wrapped in nothing but a blanket. Growling to herself, she cleaned up at the washstand and then wrapped herself in last night's quilt.

  She kept her head high as she marched down the stairs, just in case she ran into a servant. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be any lurking about. She'd just made it down the stairs and was marching for the kitchen when she was suddenly scooped up like a doll and carried into an empty parlor.

  “Griffin!” she shouted, not appreciating his enthusiastic greeting.

  He ignored her and sat in an armchair, arranging her on his lap. He kissed her with great energy, as if he hadn't spent all night enjoying her. “Good morning.”

  She pushed him away, gasping a protest. “Griffin! Do you mind―” she broke off in a yelp as he tugged down her blanket and kissed her breasts.

  “Good morning! Hell-o,” he murmured appreciatively. “I've missed you.”

  She growled at him, but there was no heat in it. It was hard to be stern when he caressed her that way. She slowly relaxed under his soothing hands, loving the rumble of his voice as he praised her.

  “Am I interrupting?” a languid voice intruded.

  Jordan gasped and covered her chest. There was a man in the doorway, studiously looking at the portrait above their heads. Dressed all in white and cream, he looked like a gentleman. He held a folded newspaper in his hand, and he seemed rather disapproving of the goings on.

  Jordan struggled to get up. Griffin tightened his arms around her and stood up, gently setting her on her feet. “Hello, Sage. This is Jordan Hearst. I'm afraid I waylaid her on her way to the kitchen.”

  “Indeed.” Sage glanced over what he could see of Jordan's neck and swollen lips. “Perhaps I should escort her the rest of the way. You seem to be a somewhat negative influence.”

  Jordan flushed, but walked toward him and through the door, saying over her shoulder, “I can escort myself, thank you. I was leaving this morning anyway.” Oh, she couldn't wait to get away! How embarrassing.

  Griffin was at her side in an instant. “I'm certain you don't want to pass through the dining room right now. That's what I was going to tell you before I got distracted.”

  She stopped outside the door and said suspiciously, “Why? Is someone in there?”

  “My youngest brother is l
ikely having breakfast.”

  Jordan paled. She definitely didn't want any of his brothers seeing her like this. She shot a glance at Sage, wondering if one already had. She started to run a hand through her hair, then had to grab for the blanket again. “Okay,” she said shakily. “I need my clothes. Coffee, too. I think you can manage that much.” She glared at Griffin as if it were his fault. “Once I'm dressed, I'm leaving.” She looked around, seeking a refuge. “I'll wait in the parlor. The front door is closer from there.”

  Griffin raised his brows, but seemed to agree. He inclined his head and headed for the dinning room. Sage went with him.

  Jordan retreated to the parlor and sat stiffly on a chair. She couldn't wait to get out of there!

  Griffin met the interested face at the dining table with a cool stare. He knew his brother Samhain had heard every word. He also knew it wouldn't be repeated. Sam was no more a talebearer than Sage. It didn't stop him from asking questions, though.

  “Miss Hurst sounded upset,” he said calmly. His ears gave him away, though. He couldn't flatten them as a man, but the slightly pointed tips twitched. He peered through his mane of black hair as if waiting for a chance to trample his older brother.

  Griffin grimaced. “She's embarrassed. Sage arrived at an inopportune moment.” He fixed a plate for Jordan and poured a cup of coffee. No doubt she'd be hungry. He'd been starved this morning. It had taken two heaping plates to satisfy him.

  “Is that for you?” Sam asked.

  “No.” Griffin set the plate aside, intending to get it once he'd collected Jordan's clothes from the kitchen. He was thinking furiously of delaying tactics. He'd decided somewhere in the night that he was keeping Jordan. Now he just had to convince her of the wisdom in staying.

  Mrs. Y sent him a knowing look as he entered the room. Well, she'd known what she was doing when she gave Jordan the room next to his. She'd been trying to get him to wed for years.