by P. Jameson
“Mates can’t heal in our skulk, mother. You know that.”
“Yes. I know. Odd, isn’t it? Every other shifter clan can do it. But not foxes.”
What was odd was this entire conversation. Tabatha snuck a glance at Rocco. His expression was like stone, but he met her gaze and she was pretty sure he gave her a brief nod. Of encouragement? Maybe. Of warning? Probably.
Tabatha pressed her lips together, keeping silent as he’d suggested.
“I’m making his favorite dinner since it might be his last.” Her murmur was a hammer in Tabatha’s chest. No matter what emotionless mask they wanted to wear, Maxim was losing his father, and she was losing her mate. It didn’t happen without making a gaping hole in their hearts. The fact that they could ignore the wound steadfastly only meant they were too good at being cold.
Tabatha looked at Maxim, his expression aloof. She could hardly believe this was the same man who spilled his heart to her only days before. Who told her of a beautiful future that he wanted with her.
“Mother, I’ve brought my mate.”
She kept chopping.
“Her name is Tabatha.”
Still, no response. Just the thunk thunk of the blade hitting the butcher block.
Maxim brushed his thumb over his chin, looking annoyed, so Tabatha decided to try her own way.
“Hello, Mrs. McGray. It’s very nice to meet you. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.”
But the silence that met her was choking.
The woman stepped sideways to the stove and dumped a handful of veggies into a large pot. Tabatha got her first look at the woman’s face. Strong cheekbones like Maxim. She wondered what her eyes looked like.
“Would you like some help? I can chop those for you…uh… if you’d like.”
From behind, Tabatha could tell she’d offended the woman by the way her spine went ramrod straight.
“It smells delicious, whatever it is.”
God. Maybe Rocco was right? Maybe talking was a bad idea. Shit.
“Mother,” Maxim ground out.
“You may go see your father if you wish. I’m afraid he’s been waiting for you.”
Tabatha saw his expression change to one of anger, and she couldn’t help feeling thankful for it. Cold Maxim was nothing she wanted to mess with.
“Come, mate.” He turned to leave the kitchen but his mother swung around, her gaze hard. Hard silver eyes. Like Maxim’s but so cool they were like staring at icicles.
“No. You see him alone.”
“Mother, this is unacceptable—”
“Alone, or you don’t see him at all,” she demanded, still refusing to look at Tabatha.
Damn. This was really bad.
Letting her hand fall on Maxim’s arm, she tried to let him know it was okay… without talking.
“She comes with me,” he countered. “Or I leave tonight. And I won’t return. Not ever.”
His mother’s cool eyes flickered and the air grew tense. No, no. Tabatha’s heart swirled with an unnamable ache. This was not how she had imagined this would go.
Maxim needed to make peace with this family, with his people. If he didn’t, things could never be right between him and her. There would forever be a shadow over them. She couldn’t let that happen. He was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and she wouldn’t mar any of it with unfinished business.
“Max, please,” she whispered. “Go see your father.”
He turned to glare at her, angry but softening like he always did with her. Her fierce fox.
“I’ll be fine here. Go. It’s important.”
He grabbed her chin roughly, pressing a hard kiss to her lips. Right in front of his mother. She wondered if the woman was looking now or if she was still acting like Tabatha didn’t exist and her son was kissing thin air.
“You’re too good, you know that?” he murmured low as he pulled back. “Too damn good. Stay with Jett and Rocco.”
With a hard nod to the boys, he stalked out of the kitchen, his boots echoing as he made his way up the stairs.
Hit mother turned back to the stove. She stirred the pot calmly. As if nothing awkward had just happened. As if nobody was in the room with her. As if Tabatha was completely invisible.
“Come,” Jett said, urging her out to the kitchen. “We’ll wait by the door.”
Tabatha stumbled blankly to the entrance and sat when Rocco pushed a small rocking chair toward her. Everything felt like a dream. A bad one.
Lexington said Maxim’s mother would hate her, but she forgot to mention the woman would pretend Tabatha didn’t exist.
Somehow, that was even worse.
***
Maxim climbed the stairs to his father’s bedroom, dread pooling in his gut. So much dread. The scene with his mother had been a disaster. What was he thinking subjecting his mate to that kind of treatment? And now he was about to see his father at his lowest. Weak and broken and withering. How could he ever remember the strong, commanding alpha he’d known before?
And his father would want that, to be remembered for his strength. Not his weakness.
Goddamn it.
Maxim pushed through the door and into the dim room. The blinds blocked out much of the light, but he could see his father’s bed clearly.
And the injured fox hound lying on it.
“Father,” he said, quietly moving closer.
A low whimper rose in the air and Maxim drew in a sharp breath as his father’s full animal came into view. The amber fur of the alpha’s fox was dull and matted with blood. Their doctor had bandaged what he could, but the wraps were seeping through. One wrapped around his entire trunk and Maxim could see the corner of three long slashes peeked from the edge.
Bear claws. The smaller fox didn’t stand a chance against them if one got close enough. The only defense was to out move them.
The alpha must have been taken by surprise. No other way he would have let a bear get that close.
Maxim lowered himself to his knees beside the bed and the fox’s weary gaze followed him down.
“Father, you’ll be happy to know I’ve mated.”
Happy was a bit of an understatement. His father would be furious if he knew he’d mated a human. But he didn’t plan on keeping it a secret.
“I’ve brought her with me and I’m going to take care of the skulk. You have nothing to worry about.”
His fox eyes closed as if in relief.
“Father, I want you to know that I’m determined to do right by our people. And…” Maxim made his voice strong. “I can do this because of you. Because you showed me how to be a strong male. A male of honor.”
Everything he said was true. His father’s ways were hard. Even cruel. But Maxim had learned strength from them. His father’s way was to assert his will, and it taught Maxim what not to do. But above all, his father put their people first. And even if it was tearing him up having his mate here to see all this, even if it was risking everything he had with Tabatha, he was determined to help them too.
His father stared at him, his hard eyes gathering strength for a breath, and for the briefest moment he looked… proud. Maxim held his gaze, knowing it might be the last time he ever did. The last time he met his father eye to eye. And then the moment passed and his father closed his eyes again, letting off a sound that was half whimper half sigh.
Maxim waited until he was asleep before slipping from the room. There was much to do before he could start his future with Tabatha. And the faster he took care of shit, the better.
Chapter Seven
Tabatha let out a breath of relief as she followed Maxim through the doors of a new cabin. This one was smaller than his father’s, and nearly bare. It was like a blank palette that she wanted to make her own.
“Bedroom’s in here,” Maxim murmured, lugging her suitcases down a small hallway to a wide set of double doors. He dropped them at the foot of a huge king size bed. Nothing decorated the room. No pictures or belongings. Th
ere was only a dresser and a massive television hanging on the wall above it. The only bit of personality at all lied in the thick fur-like bed coverings and multitudes of pillows.
It was sexy as far as beds go. Which made her wonder…
“I like the bed,” she said, working a smirk from him.
He was distracted and she had something different itching at the back of her mind anyway.
But how to ask…
“A lot of… uh… vixens seen this room?”
He frowned, swinging his head around. She’d surprised him with the question, and his piercing gaze was too intense to hold so she looked away, pretending to take in more of his space.
“Not too many, no.”
Not too many. That didn’t do much to quell her curiosity. But she wouldn’t ask for a number. The truth might be worse than not knowing. And well, she had her past baggage too, didn’t she? Maxim didn’t despise her for it.
She pulled the smaller suitcase onto the bed and unzipped it. As she started to unpack, she felt him watching her.
“Don’t you want to know how many?”
God, yes. And let it be a ridiculously, unbelievably low number. Like point five zero.
She lifted one shoulder casually. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You lie, woman,” he said, moving behind her. He swept her hair off her neck and placed a soft kiss there.
“Much,” she breathed. “It doesn’t matter much.”
“How many assholes saw your bed before me?”
“Too many,” she answered without thinking. “It should’ve just been you. You were the one I was looking for in all the wrong places.”
“Damn right.” His voice was rough as it left his lips and his hand on her hip gripped tight, fingers digging into her flesh through her sweater. “How many fucking bastards touched this body, mate? My body?”
Oh god. She loved when he talked like that.
A breathy moan escaped and she tried to clamp it down. “You’re asking the wrong questions.”
“That right?”
She nodded.
“What should I be asking then?” He lowered his mouth to her ear and nipped at her lobe.
“You should ask if any of them ever mattered and which of them gets my body for the rest of my life.” She turned in his arms, moving in close and pressing her lips to his hard jaw. “Because then the answer would be only one.”
Cradling her jaw, he tipped her face up for a searing kiss that had her knees shaking.
When he pulled back, his eyes were familiar silver slits. “One,” he said. “One vixen has seen this bed.”
One. Okay.
It wasn’t point five zero, but it was a good low number.
She swallowed down her jealousy, wishing they could have found each other as young the way him and Seraphina did.
“And she is the only one who will ever see my bed for the rest of fucking eternity.”
Oh. Oh.
Relief. It was a freaking avalanche with his confession. Maybe it wasn’t fair for her to feel so strongly about it, but here, amongst his people, and after the disastrous meeting with his mother, she felt… inferior.
There, she admitted it.
She had let that woman and all the talk of mating humans being a bad idea make her feel low.
“Me. Really?”
“Yes, mate.”
“But… how?” He’d known how to work her body too well to have been a virgin.
He shrugged. “I guess I’m old fashioned like that.”
No. No, he wasn’t.
She narrowed her gaze. “You were a virgin before me?”
His mouth curved into a humored smile. “A virgin? No.”
Twisting, he reached for the other suitcase, lifting it to the bed and unzipping it for her.
As if that was the end of the conversation.
Ha.
What was it he always told her?
“Details, mister.”
Maxim raised an eyebrow. “Details? I doubt you want those.”
Her hands went to her hips. “You know what I mean.”
“You’re cute when you’re jealous, you know that?”
Did he think this was funny?
“I want an explanation,” she huffed. “You know my history. I should know yours.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “My history? Woman, I just told you nothing before you matters.”
He was right. He really was. But still. The nagging at the back of her heart wouldn’t let her go. So, she switched to a logical approach.
“It’s just that we’re here, with all your people, and I’m going to be getting to know them. And… you know… it would be nice if I knew ahead of time which ones I should hate.”
He chuckled low, forgetting the suitcase to pull her into his arms.
“This isn’t funny, Max.”
“You ask the wrong questions, stormy. You should ask how many people get to shorten my name to that of a dog’s.”
“Max is not a dog’s name. And quit trying to change the subject.”
He shook his head, sobering enough to curve his palm around her cheek. “I was wild as a young. We all were, our emerging animals were horny bastards. You want to guess how many times one of the males was caught fucking a pumpkin?”
Um. Why?
“You’re changing the subject again.”
Maxim sighed, exasperated. “I was with females, stormy. I can’t say I wasn’t, even if I wish I could. But I never brought any of them to my bed. That was saved for a mate. That’s what I mean by old-fashioned.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “You have nothing to worry about here. You are all I will ever want. Do you hear me, woman? Or am I going to have to prove it?”
He pulled back, giving her a wicked look. And damn if his words didn’t melt every last bit of her worries.
“How would you go about proving it?” she asked, knowing what the promise in his eyes meant.
“Mmm. It would involve lots of licking and touching, and would end with you riding my cock until we marked this place up with our scents.”
God. Yes, please.
She eyed him, chewing her cheek to keep her moan inside.
“I think…” She dragged her fingernails down his chest, just hard enough to make his eye flutter closed. “I think you’re going to have to prove it.”
The corner of his full lips slid up in the sexiest smirk.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
***
“This place needs… some life,” Tabatha said, wrapping the sheet around her middle and sitting up to look around the bedroom.
Maxim lay face down on the mattress beside her, cheek pressed into the mattress, arms sprawled above his head. “Life. Isn’t that what we just gave it?” he mumbled. “Gimme five minutes, mate, and we’ll give it more life. Okay?”
Tabatha laughed, smacking his shoulder. “I’m not talking about that. I mean it needs some decorating.”
He rolled onto his side, propping his head up on one elbow and tugging at the sheet to make it fall down past her boobs. “Decorating? Why?”
She pulled it back up.
“Because. It’s Christmas, you know? And decorating is kind of par for the course. But aside from that, this place needs a makeover. It’s blank, like you didn’t even live here before.”
He took in the room, frowning. “I never saw a reason to fancy it up. There’s a bed and a place to put clothes. Dishes in the kitchen. Didn’t really need anything else.”
“But…” Tabatha countered. “If we’re going to spend our first Christmas here, shouldn’t we make it our own?”
He watched her, his eyes going all over her face but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“It wouldn’t take much to make it feel cozy. Make it feel like ours.”
“We have our place already.” She loved that he felt like Cedar Valley was theirs. But this was theirs too. Wasn’t it?
“Think about it,” she purred. “A soft r
ug next to the fireplace. Pillows everywhere, and Christmas lights on a tree. Candles. They say Christmas sex is some of the best. And I mean… I don’t know if that’s true, but I think we should find out.”
Maxim licked his lips, eyes narrowing at the curve of her breast where they disappeared beneath the sheet, and she knew he was considering it.
“And I get to have you under this fucking Christmas tree?”
She nodded, grinning. “All night, if you want to.”
“Completely. Mine to do with as I please.”
“Yes.”
“What if I want to do bad things to you?” he tested. “What if I want to tongue that ass? Or bite you? Or fuck your mouth?”
His blunt talk made her breath hitch. But lord, she went molten for those dirty plans. Completely. Yeah, she’d be putty in his hands to mold as he wished.
She licked her lips. “Are those things actually bad though?”
“Fuck.”
He rose up, pouncing on her and ripping the sheet back so he could devour her.
“Is that a yes to the decorating then?”
He pulled a stiffened nipple between his lips and sucked hard enough to have her jerking off the bed. Tabatha gave a long moan, letting the feel of Maxim’s mouth take her away.
The decorating talk could wait until later.
Chapter Eight
Maxim stood in the middle of his living room, trying to see what his mate saw.
No pictures.
A couch that was hardly ever used.
A fireplace he never really sat in front of.
No cozy blankets like she had at her house. And certainly, no plants or flowers.
He hadn’t even considered that she might not like the place. But mostly because this wasn’t his end game. They were going back to Cedar Valley as soon as possible. So his old cabin just felt like a pit stop.
And looked like one too, apparently.
“It’s not that bad,” he muttered low.
“Agreed.” Rocco stood against the wall, arms crossed and thoroughly unhappy with the idea of decorating for Christmas even if it wasn’t his home and he didn’t have to look at it.
Jett shrugged. “I mean, it could use a rug or two. Maybe some leather aside from the couch.” He cocked his head. “A bigger TV? Eh, the hell do I know.”