Bad Blood

by L. A. Banks

  “I never remembered a thing about my parents,” she offered quietly, staring down at her hands. She purposely kept her gaze averted, allowing him to circle her and decide when he’d sit down. “I only have a few photos. They were both orphans, I have no clan, no grandparents living, no one to care for me. They were slaughtered, too, in a bad situation that went down in Rwanda, I’m told. They were diplomats. Mom was bitten Stateside, carried the disease, it passed to me, I was born, she and Dad were murdered in a coup. Doc was their best friend. That’s the only reason I know as much as I do.”

  Telling Hunter her story, as much as hearing his, felt like peeling back years of hurt and releasing it to run free. She didn’t look up, just kept talking, hoping that her truth could help him see that she really did understand isolation.

  “But when they both died so suddenly, there was trouble getting me out of that country,” she said, her throat tightening with emotion as she revealed her innermost truth. “At the time Doc was on a special mission . . . studying all this paranormal stuff . . . and the military wouldn’t allow him to adopt me. I went to foster care for a few years. Lemme tell you, that was no day at the beach. Talk about outcast . . . damn.”

  She kept talking, her voice casual, her body relaxed. “I was this long-legged tomboy who could and would fight anyone who messed with me. Let’s say I had anger management issues, and not even a clue about why I’d get real aggressive at certain times of the month. Of course, I hadn’t made the connection that it was always during the full moon.”

  “They should have told you at least that much,” Hunter said quietly.

  “Yeah, well, we all know how that goes—somebody dropped the ball in that department. Family secrets are a bitch. So I went around fighting and acting out, not knowing why, taking injections for the periodic convulsions . . . thinking they were giving me Ritalin or something because I was fighting all the time . . . couldn’t sit still in class long enough to learn, needed to run. They said I had ADHD. And . . . kids can be cruel. Hell, they’ll pull the wings off a fly just to get a laugh. What chance did a bucktoothed, wild-haired, knock-kneed orphan have in public school? Then Doc called, saving me from the horrors of public ed when he finally got me. Trust me, an elite private school was worse. Those kids . . .”

  Sasha let her breath out hard and stared at the floor. Just talking about it brought the tight feeling back to her body, to her chest, memories so painful that she had to find that special place of calm Doc had shown her in order to finish.

  “Before Doc, I didn’t have a momma or dad, just folks who got money for tolerating me. Once he claimed me, the rich kids acted like I was either invisible or a blemish that needed to be erased. Yeah, I know what it is to be tolerated.” She let out another long, weary breath. “Still, Doc found me and was finally able to take me in. That had been his mission all along, his own private mission, to get to a point in his research where he could appease the authorities enough to convince them to let him have me. But by then, I was an unruly adolescent who hated authority. And poor Doc.” Sasha closed her eyes. “That man took me into his home not even knowing if I was contagious or not . . . and put up with all my shit. I owe him. Can’t just up and walk out of the project.”

  “I owe him, too,” Hunter said quietly. “The man saved my life and even gave me my name.”

  Sasha didn’t open her eyes as a depression weighted the bed and a familiar warmth next to her once again heated her skin. “Tell me,” she said as gently as possible. “We share the same people . . . we’ve already shared our bodies, and some real old wounds.”

  “True,” he said in a thought-filled tone that sounded very far away, even while he sat beside her. “My grandfather wouldn’t name me until he knew I’d live. Then the clan wouldn’t accept me owning my father’s last name for some reason and especially not my mother’s . . . given that I was something so apart from all of them. But the doctor had put me in my grandfather’s arms, relieved when the convulsions stopped, and had said, ‘Maximus Hunter . . . this baby boy is gonna be fine.’ It stuck. Grandfather said it was the sign of a new clan. At least that was his explanation to make me as a child feel less isolated. I suppose that is also why I took such exception to you thinking it was an alias . . . and at that point, we hadn’t . . . bonded yet. There was no trust.”

  “Oh . . . Hunter,” she whispered, wanting to reach out to him so badly, but ever so careful not to allow pity of any measure to be confused for genuine compassion. “I wish I had known, and wish we had . . .” She simply let her words trail off.

  “There are a lot of things I wish, Sasha . . . like not having this bad blood within me.”

  “You’re not contagious. Neither am I, right?”

  A pair of hands clasped hers and a gentle kiss brushed her knuckles.

  “I don’t know, honestly,” he said, drawing her into a hug. “But I am no liar. I wouldn’t have put you at risk. I knew enough to know that you couldn’t catch what I already had in my system, because I could see a little of it threaded in yours . . . and I knew you couldn’t give it back to me—I already had it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me when we . . .”

  His finger touched her lips and his eyes held so much pain as he spoke. “Do you remember the state we were both in that early dawn?”

  She closed her eyes as the heat of the memory washed over her.

  “I’d never been with my own kind. I was losing my mind for you. If you had bolted, had gotten that look of disgust in your eyes that the others not human held . . . I don’t know if I could have . . .”

  “You wouldn’t have hurt me.” Her palm slid against his jawline until he opened his eyes.

  “No,” he said flatly, “I would have shredded my pride and gotten down on my knees to beg you . . . but hurt you, no.”

  “I don’t know what they see with their shadow wolf eyes, but they are so blind,” she whispered. “I don’t know how they passed on you.” She shook her head. “How they could have withstood your hunt . . . but I’m glad they did. Werewolf taint and all.”

  He rested his cheek against the crown of her head and hugged her closer to him. “Every time I fight one of them, go hand-to-hand combat with one, their bite seems to strengthen my immunity . . . but I can’t kill enough of them to bring my parents back.”

  She nodded and lifted her head to seek his mouth. “Hunter . . . you are not a birth defect. Neither am I. At least the only people who ever cared about us are good friends. I’m also not such a wimp that if I go somewhere and people snub me, I’ll cave.”

  He remained very still as she took off the amulet he’d given her and looped it over his head. It was such a sensual gesture, the way she allowed her fingertips to glide over his hair, his ears, and then down his neck as her eyes searched his. With her lids heavy, her soft palms cradled his face, her moist lips parted as though she could barely sip enough air. Gooseflesh slowly rose to her arms as her palms slid over his shoulders, seeming to chase away hurt and pain in their heated wake. He felt his nipples tighten and watched hers draw into hard, dark pebbles that dried his mouth as his hands rested on her hips.

  “I’ve never been anyone’s chosen mate before,” she murmured. “I’m honored, even though I’m not quite ready for the title. No one ever picked me and I don’t take that lightly. I don’t wanna mess this up—but I need time to figure it all out. I was never even chosen as a lover beyond a brief, well . . . you know, before this.”

  “Nor I . . . Until I met you, I thought that might never happen . . . and I was okay with that, if I couldn’t feel this.” He let out a weary breath. “I’ll give you time—I’m just not ready to go back to the way I was living before. I want to see where this can go.”

  “Me, too,” she said just above a whisper. “And I was okay with that, never deluded myself in relationships. I’ve been a sex buddy, a booty call, a friend, a decent lay . . . but never chosen to be brought home to a family. No one ever thought I was worth the sacrifice and I knew
that.”

  His palms caressed the soft flesh beneath them, desire awakening in a slow smolder within his groin as he stared into her eyes. “They were foolish . . . blind. Second sight didn’t need to tell me about your heart. Human eyes should have been able to see who you were inside.”

  “I was always different, Hunter. No one’s pick of the litter.” She threaded her fingers through his hair as she kissed him deeply and straddled his lap. “Just for once in my life I want to feel what that’s like, even if it’s a temporary thing . . . Love me like I’m yours, like there’ll be nobody else. We can sort all the commitment stuff out later.”

  How could he make her comprehend, how could he make her know? His voice was an inadequate instrument. Communication through touch, through pleasure shivers, was all he could offer as they fell back into endless blankets and goose down. Didn’t she understand? His skin burned for her, his wolf was unleashed by her. Never in his life had he made love in a shadow dance.

  Heat swept up his back following the sweet trail of her hands as they rolled, twining together. The shudder she’d released was marrow deep, just like his secrets had been. His every inner shadow had been chased to the surface. It was as though the Great Spirit had made her just for him . . . their pasts matched, their family circumstances were similar, their missions parallel, their beliefs were in harmony. Her body made him lose his mind.

  But it was her heart that she offered, had sacrificed; he could feel it woven into the trust that ruined him, even if she wouldn’t verbally commit. She’d unlocked the steel cage around her faith in him, brought pure sterling truth out of its hiding place, and trusted him not to consume her without care.

  “For me, this isn’t temporary,” he breathed against her lips before taking her mouth again. “Shadow wolves take a mate for life. You don’t have to—for now I’ll accept what you’ve offered. Hope.”

  He felt her grip tighten in his hair as she arched. Two large tears escaped the corners of her eyes and rolled down the sides of her face as she swallowed hard.

  “Choose me, please, baby,” he said harshly against her ear. “You have the power as female to accept or reject . . . I so want to be yours. If not as a life-mate, then as your lover.”

  He pulled back and looked at her, waiting. Her eyes said she didn’t understand the shadow ways. Her trembling fingers explored his face as though she were reading Braille.

  “I have the choice?”

  “I’ll hunt for you,” he said, overwhelmed. His kiss stole her breath as his body slowly moved against hers and his impassioned words gained momentum. “I’ll fight for you,” he said in a rush, spilling hot kisses against her throat. “Will protect you, defend our den. Whatever you need, whatever you ask.” He could feel himself separating from the plane of waning moonlight, pulling her with him into their shadow selves. “Mine is a permanent condition—one day you must ask, is yours? But for now, just this is enough . . .”

  “Yes!”

  He slid into her wet, pulsing sheath, eliciting her cry. The sensation of being inside her silky grip made his back arch and her name formed inside his chest. Part growl, part words, part breath, all passion. “Sasha . . .” He couldn’t stop moving against her sweet lunges, couldn’t fill his hands enough with her sweet ass as it lifted, her pelvis undulating beneath him, rolling his eyes back in their sockets, destroying all his plans for slow technique . . . only once the burn stopped, only once what they shared cooled, would he be able to take his time and tease her. Calling the wolf was foreplay; the run was hot, sweaty sex. Being inside her was beyond la petite mort—it was something akin to a grand mal seizure that might leave him foaming at the mouth.

  With no warning to prepare him, she gripped the lobes of his ass as her eyes opened wide, her whole body craned forward, and convulsed. The pleasure spasm that attacked his groin came so hard and swift that his mouth opened, his larynx froze, and no sound exited. Wave after torturous wave of ecstasy sucked his sac dry, spiraling heat up his shaft so quickly that his entire body heaved in rhythm with hers. When he finally could draw a breath, he sucked in a huge gulp of air with a gasp, shuddering.

  “For now, I choose you,” she said, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

  That was all that he needed to hear.

  “I’LL BE BACK,” he said while calmly dressing. “Not more than a half hour.” He watched her watching him as she toweled her freshly shampooed hair dry.

  “I don’t care what they think, you know,” she said, her gaze searching his. “You don’t have to do this, if now isn’t the right time.”

  “I’ll make it the right time. Tomorrow morning, you have to be back at your post . . . who knows where they’ll send you, how long you’ll be gone. Or if you’ll need a safe house. I want you to have that in our network.”

  She nodded and said, “All right.”

  TEN MILES AWAY, in a flat-out dash, his grandfather’s outside home was in sight. Covering the ground was easy; most natural wolves covered twenty or more miles a day at a five-mile-per-hour trot, and could do forty-five miles per hour at top speeds in a hunt. Those were normal wolves. Shadows were more than that.

  The safe house on the outer perimeter of the shadow lands where Sasha waited wasn’t part of the inner core of the mountainous den network, and he knew that with his scent there, none of the pack would dare challenge her. But as he neared his grandfather’s cabin, the scent of a familiar human slowed his gait. The doctor was here? His hackles instantly rose. No one was taking Sasha away.

  Max shook his head, clearing the wolf mind. Holland was a friend. If anything, he’d come out of concern for her safety. Max had to find his balance. He’d been so prepared for confrontation that he was becoming slightly irrational. Then again, he had just cause for the condition: Sasha.

  Scenting for the others, he walked up his grandfather’s wooden porch steps. Every member of his pack had been here, yet strangely, none of the she-shadows had visited with their mates. Only the males. That was not a good sign. The first snub had begun. He knew the pack dealt in absolutes—us or them. There was rarely a middle ground.

  Max hesitated at the door, trying to quiet his rage. First they’d come to his grandfather’s outer dwelling, as though Sasha were a mere human and barred from the labyrinth of sacred caves. Then they’d hide themselves from her as though she weren’t good enough to see them, keeping her from the company of her shadow sisters. It was an outrage.

  Why couldn’t any of them understand that when his people in general were hunted to near extinction during the colonization of indigenous peoples’ lands, the shadow clans were almost wiped out? Being the first to step up to a challenge to their way of life, the first to address the threat, the shadow wolves died first against technology-caused mortal wounds.

  Hunter raked his fingers through his hair. It was global genocide, every land mass experienced the wipeout . . . now, just like before, technology and weapons were in the hands of men who had no respect for the land or the Great Spirit. Fighting among themselves about bloodlines and heritage was so foolish and such a waste of time.

  Out of respect, Max knocked on his grandfather’s door, gaining impressions as he waited for the elderly man to respond.

  Crow Shadow, small, with ravenlike features and jet-black hair, had come and gone first with Bear Shadow, a big, brown, barrel-chested pack member. Fox Shadow, named for his cunning mind, auburn hair, and lanky build, was still around, along with the sandy-hued, lightning-quick Rabbit Shadow.

  Oddly, it seemed as though Hawk Shadow and Mountain Shadow had left long before the others had. Of them all, he wished those two had not left. Hawk was like a brother, and although slight of build, he was the fiercest fighter and stood steadfast by Hunter’s side. Mountain was a large, looming shadow presence, who said little, but didn’t have to. Those two, plus himself, kept the pack balanced, the roles clear and defined. He just hoped his brothers wouldn’t force a choice between them and Sasha.

  “I knew you w
ould come when it was time,” Hunter’s grandfather said as he opened the door and warmly embraced him. “Come in, Wolf Shadow. We have a guest. He has already been introduced to Fox Shadow and Rabbit Shadow.”

  “I know this guest, Silver Shadow. He is a pack friend and friend of our clan.” Hunter sent his gaze around the room to settle on Dr. Holland. “It’s good to see you, sir.”

  The fact that his grandfather used his pack name, not his given name, put him on guard. Once his grandfather was no longer pack alpha, he’d gone back to his Native American name. But out of sheer respect, he would call the old man Silver Shadow until the end of time. To bristle his pack brothers, he’d quietly reminded them of the old man’s previous dominance over their fathers and grandfathers. Hunter left the door open. No need in damaging property if the challenge had to go outside.

  Tension residue still hung in the air as Dr. Holland stood and nodded.

  “Long time no see, Wolf Shadow,” the doctor said, picking up on the unspoken vibes in the room.

  Fox Shadow and Rabbit Shadow flanked the older man slowly, and simply stood with a nod.

  “Can we take this outside, Hunter?” Fox Shadow said after a moment.

  Hunter’s eyes narrowed. Using his given name while the others were referred to by their pack names was a clear affront.

  “Yeah,” Rabbit said through his teeth. “Some pack business doesn’t need to be discussed in front of outside guests.”

  “Sure, Gerald,” Max said in a low rumble. “Let’s go.” He turned and strode out the door, taking the battle away from the house.

  Apparently the scent of Sasha in the air, along with the presence of the doctor, was making Fox bold and stupid. Maybe he even thought that without Hawk and Mountain there, or others to break it up, his constant bid for dominance might somehow work this time.

  “What’s your problem?” Max said circling, beginning to snarl.

  His grandfather was on the porch with Dr. Holland, silently watching. Just like in times of old, an elder had to witness the challenge of power and communicate it through the region. Rabbit Shadow was on the ground as referee, also a necessary part of the match to make it official, and not be considered murder if things went too far. This had been a setup.