Bad Blood

by L. A. Banks

  Mesmerized, she watched his shadow touch hers even though he wasn’t moving. What’s more, she felt it . . . felt his arms encircle her, felt his mouth rain kisses over the swell of her breasts until she cried out—and the man hadn’t moved!

  “How?” she asked on a pleasure-strangled gasp.

  “Would you like to keep dancing . . . or do you want me to stop and explain?”

  Again she could only nod, but had to close her eyes.

  “Yes, you want to keep dancing?” he asked in a quiet, raw tone. “Or, yes, stop and explain?”

  “Keep dancing,” she finally managed to say.

  His hands swept a new wave of heat up her arms as their nestled groins slowly rubbed back and forth, causing a light friction sound to whisper between them. Her pores ached, she wanted him inside her so badly. His gentle trace of her eyebrows with the pads of his thumbs made her eyelashes hurt with need. Gooseflesh pebbled her arms as his fingers slid through her hair, singeing her scalp, and he finally cradled her skull to return her gaze to his.

  “Please hear me,” he said in a rumble that entered her body everywhere they were joined. “You cannot catch disease from me, because we do not contract them—our blood heals itself.”

  That made her open her eyes. He gently kissed her shoulder and then the edge of her jaw and pulled back.

  “You’ve never been sick as a child, have you? Never gotten any of the childhood diseases.”

  She touched his mouth with trembling fingers, her eyes now drinking from his directly as her mind thirsted for knowledge. “No. But how could you know that?”

  “Every cut healed within a day, within a cycle of the moon, and barring mortal injury, you’ll live for a very long time. If you were a demon wolf, you’d seek human flesh and then the injury would instantly heal. You’re not that, Sasha. Neither am I. We are of the Great Spirit.”

  “But—”

  He kissed the question out of her mouth. “A human male can get you pregnant, per the human rhythm of your cycle . . . and they are disease carriers that can make you temporarily sick, can compromise your immune system. But you’d eventually shake it off. However, shadow wolves, unlike werewolves, are not disease carriers, and cannot make you sick.”

  “What are you saying?” She’d asked the question on a gasp as he kissed the cleft in her neck.

  His response was a wolfish half-smile just as he lowered his face to her breasts. Having waited for his real touch there for so long, she realized the sensation ripped her voice from her throat in the form of a low, resonant moan. Velvet-soft texture from his upward nuzzle competed with a prickly, teasing sensation as his jawline moved down and grazed her overly sensitive skin. She arched against his mouth; the slow lick of his tongue just beyond her nipples made her thrust. His hands splayed against her shoulder blades and then she was suddenly braced at her back by his knees, anchored by his arms around her waist, and framed by the V of his body.

  Slow French kisses against each taut nipple drove her nails into his arms. Frantic for release, she bore down against his groin until she found the head, could distinguish the ridge of his crown, and made him pump hard. It was clear that she had to tell the man something, had to let him know if she trusted him not to be a liar.

  But speaking was impossible as his mouth greedily sought hers. Thinking was impossible as he rolled them out of the V to sprawl her on the floor. Objecting was futile as he knelt before her, stripped off her destroyed cowboy boots, and peeled away her leather pants and black thong.

  Cheap carpet nap was under her nails, that velvet covering along his jaw teased her inner thighs. Heat from his nearness to what hurt so badly, what craved his touch so desperately, made her lift her body off the floor to meet his kiss. Tears leaked down the sides of her face as he gripped the lobes of her ass and spread her wide. Delirium seized her while his tongue hunted her for pleasure . . . stalked it . . . cornered it, played with it, and then finally devoured it.

  The wail she released was so primal that he shuddered and lifted his head from her body panting, then slowly took off the amber charm and dropped it on the floor beside her with precision. She was sure she’d lost her mind as another orgasm crested within her so fast and so furiously that for a moment his shadow against the wall changed from human to wolf and back again.

  Something very fragile within her snapped. The urge to permanently unite raged at frightening levels, but to stop was impossible.

  In one fluid lunge she tossed him onto his back again and took his mouth while ripping open his jeans. She moaned, unashamed, as she tasted herself in his kiss, breathed in her own scent from his damp face. She had to have him inside her, be joined to him in a mating dance . . . was so tired of being alone in the world, being stronger, the hunter, the one able to do it all . . . having to fend for herself—finding an equal was a gift. She tore open his jeans as though they were made of wrapping paper at the mercy of a child on Christmas Day.

  Eager, he tried to help, almost foiling her attempts to free him from denim hell and to get him out of his boots. The moment every barrier was gone, she sat back on her haunches and simply stared at his dark majesty. He was absolutely gorgeous, like dark, polished mahogany. Every inch of him was sculpted into smooth perfection.

  Her line of vision traveled from his smoldering, amber gaze and thick black lashes down the bridge of his regal nose, then flowed over his mouth and down his throat, not missing the breadth of his naked shoulders and chest, or the way his jet-black hair spilled against his skin. Dragging her gaze down his abdomen brick by sexy brick, she just shook her head. His limbs were tight, lean, muscular . . . his thighs, incredible.

  Even his cock was beautiful. The hues along his member went from the smoothest, darkest ebony near the base to a ruddy walnut tone along his shaft. His skin, there, was stretched to shining where it had obviously expanded to capacity over an elaborate network of veins. Sasha ran the pad of her thumb along the slick groove in the wide bell crown that was dark like his base, fascinated as it jumped under her light caress. He was barely breathing, each inhale a shallow sip of air as his lids lowered to half-mast.

  Awed, she explored him more slowly, using the side of her face to caress his chest, his trembling stomach, and that wonderfully soft onyx down trail that began just below his navel. Before he could recover she turned her mouth on him, spilling hot licks over his swollen sac as she gripped him tightly at his base and watched thick, shimmering need leak like his member was weeping. He arched hard, his groan reverberating through the room and contracting her canal, and she looked up as he reached for her.

  “You are no liar?”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head no. She followed the dense, bulbous network of veins in his shaft with her tongue and suckled the place just under the ridge of the head, making him cry out.

  “Seriously, I’m not in heat?” She allowed her breath to coat his glistening skin and watched his desire leak over her fist as she slowly began to stroke him. “Because it damn sure feels like it.”

  “I swear . . .” His words trailed off in a strangled growl as he closed his eyes again.

  “I swear I’ll hunt you down like a dog in the swamps and slaughter you if you’re lying,” she murmured against his distended skin and then quickly, suddenly, her motions became a shock to his system, pulling him into her mouth hard and fast.

  “Oh, God, Sasha . . . trust me!”

  He sat up and nearly convulsed on a gasp as he fisted her hair, thrusting hard. Her mouth hunted his sanity, trapped it, her swirling tongue now torture . . . just like her velvety hair and satin-smooth skin . . . and sweet, feminine musk—her taste intoxicating. She was definitely the promised prophecy. More than that. Her graceful fingers, her hands pleasure predators, finding agony along every inch of him they claimed . . . her fleshy breasts and the swell of her hips, the taut length of her thighs, all of it had cornered him and he needed to mount her. He could still taste her on his tongue, smell her fresh on his face; th
e fast, hard pull of her mouth was causing his eyes to roll toward the back of his skull.

  She held him with both hands now as she moved with him. But he couldn’t drag enough air into his lungs fast enough when she suddenly released him and bit him inside his thigh.

  He lost it, flipped her, pinned her on all fours, and entered her so forcefully that he literally saw stars. In the same moment she convulsed beneath him, her voice a gash to his will, her hard, erratic jerks dredging his sac, making him thrust like a madman. No control left, he was cuming so intensely that each return to her body caused a call-and-response holler to thunder from his throat.

  She’d marked him, broken the skin. His mind was on fire, his scrotum seizing hard enough to almost draw up into his body. Oh, God, it feels so good . . . pleasure and pain, spasms in his shaft so wicked that they knotted muscles in his calves. His face was burning up, sweat dripping, every snap jerk of her spine sending shards of insane ecstasy through him. Needing to stop, but oh, damn, don’t stop!

  Her wolf had marked his. Her shadow-self had emerged to dance with his in the darkened room, seducing him all over again. His body was no longer under his influence— she owned it, she kept it hard, she made his cock jump and his muscles twitch. His wolf was her totem. His hands couldn’t touch enough of her creamy skin. If the moon had been full, he would have completely lost his mind.

  She turned her face into his left bicep and nipped him there hard before releasing a low, feminine, growl. “Mine.”

  He slid his hands up her sweat-slicked body and captured her ear with his teeth, sending rough confirmation into it. “Yours.”

  “Yeah . . .” she said possessively, licking the place where she’d nipped him.

  Didn’t she know what a mark like hers meant? He filled his palms with her breasts and kissed her nape, breathing in her hair. Had she any idea how long he’d waited to feel like this, to experience a shadow dance?

  She pushed against the floor, flat-palming the hard surface, her limbs trembling beneath him as he anchored a forearm around her waist tighter and bit into her shoulder without warning.

  “Mine,” he said roughly, his voice a near growl.

  The taste of her made him throw his head back and howl. But the sound of her voice ripping up her vocal cords to blend with his call, to fuse with it, put tears in his eyes.

  She reached for him blindly, backward, trying to touch him. “Hunter!”

  He knew what she needed and released her quickly then turned her over to lie on her back. “I’m right here, baby.”

  She took his mouth as she wrapped her legs around his waist, tears streaming from her gorgeous eyes while he gently sank into her again.

  “Yours,” she said on a high-pitched gasp and gave him her exposed throat.

  His hands sought her hair as his hair became a curtain over his face. Never in his life had he expected this from her so soon. Gingerly, reverently, he opened his mouth and covered her windpipe with his canines, moving against her until she arched. “Mine,” he whispered, briefly pulling back to witness her pleasure.

  She clutched his shoulders, so near completion that he could feel the cresting orgasm contracting her womb. Urging him, her hands slid down his wet back and gripped his ass, pulling him into her with forceful tugs. When he covered her throat again with his mouth, she dissolved into a sobbing climax that simply pushed him over the edge of his own.

  They lay sprawled out on the floor, joined, breathing in halting jags, holding each other, fingers tracing skin, palms caressing tousled hair. Soon he could begin to feel the icy tendrils of Colorado air violating their den, trying to invade their peace through a draft beneath the door.

  Carefully he withdrew from her body while gently taking her mouth.

  “Don’t,” she murmured, reaching for him.

  “I’m not leaving,” he said quietly as he positioned himself to lift her. “Let’s get into bed . . . it’s too drafty down on the floor.”

  She looked up at him with complete trust and he cradled her cheek in the palm of his hand for a moment before gathering her into his arms. Once he laid her on the rickety queen-sized bed, she snuggled into him with her eyes closed and curled into a loose ball. Beyond exhausted, he drew her even closer, kissed her shoulder, and pulled the comforter and blankets around them.

  “I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” he said quietly, as he drifted off to sleep.

  EARLY AFTERNOON SUN stabbed at the edges of the drawn drapes. Highway traffic in the distance and the occasional car rolling over ice, salt, and driveway gravel finally pierced her senses. A heavy warmth surrounded her, making her lethargic as she dozed in and out of consciousness, completely relaxed. A slightly callused hand made a lazy trail up and over the swell of her hip and down again, nearly hypnotizing her back to sleep. Then came clarity.

  Rod was dead. She had killed him. What was she doing screwing some man she didn’t even know?

  Sasha’s body tensed. “I have to go to Wal-Mart,” she said, her eyes still closed. He was warming her again, making her body respond and come alive when it shouldn’t, given the circumstances and the time pressure she was under.

  “I know,” he said after a moment on a soft exhale, brushing her shoulder with a kiss. “So do I.”

  Sasha hesitated, trying to keep herself from bolting. Rod was dead.

  “For what?” she said, as Hunter pulled her in closer, stabbing her bottom with a ramrod-stiff erection. She fought not to cringe. Anxiety was making her breaths short. She shouldn’t feel this way or be doing this, her mind screamed, in opposition to her body.

  “Pants,” he whispered, nipping her earlobe.

  She was out of bed like a shot.

  “Pants? Right,” she said, now staring out the window.

  “Mine are ruined. You ripped them so badly I’ll have to go shadow into the store to get them.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut as she remembered. “Sorry.”

  “Yeah . . . so, since there’s been a wardrobe malfunction—”

  “No, no, no, I’ve gotta get back on track here, Hunter.”

  He watched her spine and could see the tension slide into it just the way it had tainted her voice. Slowly pulling his body to the edge of the bed, he eased beyond the warmth of the covers and went to her. There was no healing misplaced guilt, and he knew only time could heal the trauma of a loss . . . but he would damn sure try. “It’s going to be all right,” he murmured, allowing the warmth of his palms to slide down her arms.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “I just never thought . . .” Her voice trailed off in a thick whisper. “What’s done is done. It was better that way. I’m okay.”

  He splayed his hand across her belly, making it quiver as he dragged his tongue over a shoulder blade. “You sure?”

  For a moment she didn’t answer . . . couldn’t answer. “Yeah. Doc is worried, I know he has to be.”

  He could feel her battling for emotional distance and respectfully backed off for the moment. “You’re right,” he said quietly and then kissed her shoulder, unable to completely abandon her to gloom. “Would you like the shower first?”

  “Thanks,” she said softly, hugging herself as she slipped around him.

  Hunter didn’t move. He simply listened for the bathroom door to close, but was somewhat mollified that Sasha hadn’t flipped the lock. Still, he would respect her space, wouldn’t push past the new barrier she’d erected between them. A tragedy had occurred; one of her pack had Turned and she’d been the one who had to put him out of his misery.

  Melancholy settled into his bones as he stared out of the window. A beautiful woman like Sasha shouldn’t have had to do a pack kill—but the virus was no respecter of gender. He closed his eyes and dragged his fingers through his hair, hoping that what they’d shared in the early morning before dawn wasn’t just posttrauma sex. True, it had been, but for him it was so much more. He understood where she was at, though . . . probably washing those same questions through h
er mind as she washed her hair.

  He turned slightly to stare at the bathroom door, listening to the shower spray. He would have gladly washed her gorgeous hair and allowed the soap lather to run though his fingers as his hands slid over her skin.

  Damn. How did a man heal a heart that wasn’t even his, that was damaged before he’d even been given a chance? Then again, maybe he wasn’t supposed to. Maybe it wasn’t his job. Hunter turned back to the window and squinted at the sun. The best he could do would be to maybe make her smile by teaching her something new, but in his current morose state, even that was doubtful.

  SLIGHTLY DAZED FROM the stark sunlight that she’d been staring at, and oddly disappointed that Hunter hadn’t pursued the conversation, for a moment she tried to play it off, not knowing exactly what there really was to say. In frustration, she began washing her hair, wishing he’d let her do his, or at the very least, had done hers.

  Yet it was so insane, this place where she was at—and it disturbed her more than a little. It was as though there were some eerie connection between her and Hunter that had no rational basis. She should have been in deep grieving, but wasn’t. The pain came in unexpected waves and then mellowed, only to rise within her again at a most inopportune time. But even thinking that was freaking her out. What was opportune about mourning? A good man was down; her own brass had her under surveillance. The rest of her pack could be at risk or could, for all she knew, be captured, or worse.

  Sasha cringed and washed the thick suds out of her hair, allowing the water to drown out the horrifying thoughts. She’d spent the night in a cheap motel with some mysterious male who actually had shown signs of going wolf, after she’d put half a clip of silver shells in her captain’s chest. Panic brought her hands to her face to feel along the edge of her jaw. What if she was Turning and just didn’t know it? What if she was just like Rod, delusional, slowly slipping into mental collapse before the full transformation, and what if another one had sought her out? Was that why Shogun had come to her?