by KH LeMoyne
Then his hands paused.
“What?”
“The pull feels weaker tonight, but I am certain she’s alive. She’s moving.”
She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he cocked his head. A frown marred his features as his eyes closed. “Sporadically, I suspect.”
“You picked that up now?”
“You add a new energy to my search.” He tensed.
“If you need my permission, you have it.”
He nodded, then murmured words she couldn’t decipher and continued his touch. “I’m retracing previous pathways.”
She braced her forehead against his knee. His implication that she offered more than seasoned skills and an extra set of eyes to the search couldn’t be true. She’d already fallen down that rabbit hole of hope only to find she was normal. Subject to mistakes in judgment like anyone else. Nothing special here. But he believed, and perhaps it was enough. “Experience, training, honed senses—those I can help with. That’s it.”
He closed the distance between them, the movement shifting her in his arms so his face was a hand span away from hers. “Perhaps alone that is what you offer, though I will choose to debate with you another time. For me, you bring more.”
His breath warmed her face, his lips teased just out of reach. Until they touched. Brief and electric, yet so quick she wondered if she imagined the contact. The rapid beat of her heart, the wonderful flood of heat throughout her body convinced her it was all too real. Then his finger traced the chain at her neck.
“Where did you get your pendant?”
A brief shadow crossed over her heart. “I received it the night my parents died. My memory of it is a little—” She sighed, hating this discussion and the disbelief that always ensued. Then again, she owed him honesty after he’d saved her life. “I suppose given what you are, my story may not seem far-fetched.”
“Not everyone in the clan is a shifter.”
His revelation startled her. So there were other humans allowed into the circle of secrets. She’d never considered living among his kind as a choice.
“My parents were driving along a canyon road. They died, I survived, and I was found wearing this pendant, but a four-year-old’s memories aren’t very credible.” Or so she’d been told her whole life.
Deacon removed his hand from the pendant and cupped her cheek. “Just start from the beginning. You were in the car?”
She worried her lower lip for a second. “The police speculated the accident was due to a gang initiation. Our car picked randomly to fulfill a challenge.” Bitterness still led in her tone, even after all these years, but sadness and a small hitch choked her words.
He pressed a kiss to her neck and waited.
“I was in a booster seat in the back.” She shook her head and then closed her eyes, squinting and searching for the memory. “Lights. I remember the inside of the car lit up like daytime. I don’t remember the car actually spinning and flipping, but I remember my mother’s scream.” She opened her eyes. “I also remember hanging in my car seat. The straps were tight. I wanted out, and no one would talk to me.”
“The report said you were found by the side of the road.”
Her body tensed before she could control herself. “You’ve checked out everything about me, Mr. Black?”
“Sue me. I wanted reassurance for my team that you were on our side. My wolf wanted reassurance you weren’t a figment of my imagination.” He brushed her hair away from her cheek and stroked his fingers down her throat. Her pulse thundered beneath his fingers.
He considered her. “So how did you get out?”
She inhaled. “The door beside me was ripped from the car’s frame.”
He bowed his head against hers. “And?”
“Ice-blue eyes. Not Hollywood mesmerizing eyes, but bright glowing eyes. Claws the size of butcher knives and a face that—I don’t think they get werewolves right in the movies—fur, snout, leathery ears. He looked nothing like that. More gigantic and hairy and…Big Foot.”
“You’re thought about this a lot.” Deacon’s expression didn’t alter, his half-lidded lazy gaze as calm as if she’d mentioned a chance of rain for tomorrow.
“Every day. Given the trauma, I’m surprised I remember anything.”
He rubbed his fingers over her tight knuckles. “You were young. Minds at that age tend to compartmentalize horrors quickly to heal.”
She inspected his face. “One minute I was upside down, and the next I was warm and safe and staring as the car pitched into the canyon below.”
“Do you remember getting back to the road?”
“Yes. He carried me, seat and all.” She swallowed hard. “I have no idea what he was. He wasn’t like anyone else I’d ever encountered. Not your people or even the ferals.”
He didn’t bother to make something up and lie. Or soothe her with reasons for why everything was all better now. Instead, he covered her clenched fist with his hand.
“Can shifters vocalize in their animal form?” she asked.
“Most can’t.”
“You did. When I was attacked. I heard you in— ” Her recall was surprisingly clear, given she’d been nearly unconscious at the time. But everything about him remained crisp in her mind. Except she wasn’t sure she’d heard him aloud.
“Most can’t hover in between one side and the other.”
She waited for his nod. “This creature did both and he walked on two feet. Are those the wild memories of a child?”
“No.” He kissed her, then leaned away. “Nor is it impossible.”
She paused and glanced away. “The rescue team concluded I was thrown free of the car when it spun or flipped. The pendant was around my neck. My grandmother mentioned to me when I was older that she’d never seen it before, but evidently, I put up a huge fuss if it was removed.”
Deacon snarled. “Did he say anything to you?”
Her eyes scrunched for a brief second. “Something too silly to repeat. You don’t seem surprised.”
“That you ran across—an old acquaintance of mine. Yes. That he saved you. No.”
“Is he—never mind.”
“I’ll answer more questions later, but for now, you need to rest.” He stroked his hand down her back again.
Hmm, unlikely. However, she’d gotten more answers tonight than she had in her entire lifetime. “So you’re back to seduction.”
“Do you deny you feel something for me?”
She snorted but didn’t answer.
“I’ll admit I’m tempted to prove you do.” This time his lips lingered on hers in a guarantee of pleasure, not a tease, until she opened to him. She leaned into him. The earthiness of his scent grew with the wild, savory taste of him. Their tongues touched. His lips nibbled at hers, taunting her to explore him as he framed her face with his palm.
Forehead rested against hers, he paused. “Shifters can leverage external energy. We are part of nature, bound by the fabric of the universe in its never-ending cycle of energy. Our families share power. The clan shares power. My authority allows me to pull on that ocean of energy. If the connection is closer, more intimate, the power is exponential.”
Intimate within what boundaries? Physical proximity? Emotional? Or just sexual? Could he extract some indescribable power from her as she sat at his feet, or would a kiss from any woman do the trick? She tried to discern answers from his expression, from the dark glimmer in his eyes. Unyielding, he considered her without a crack in his expression. What wasn’t he telling her?
“You tell Matthew to trust and have faith.” He pressed his lips against her cheek, disorienting her again until she turned into his kiss. “Can you not do the same? Open the door for me to use what I can of you. Trust that I will not abandon you there alone?”
Not even the determination to challenge him stopped her body from trembling. Her head shook imperceptibly, a response she couldn’t stop. Kisses and lust was one thing. She admitted somewhere deep and private that Deac
on inspired ravenous cravings within her. But she didn’t open for anyone. That route led to heartache and painful solitude. Because loved ones never stayed. Dreams were that—fiction.
He sighed and brushed his lips against her throat before he leaned back. “I’ve pushed too hard. I planned distance between us tonight to give you peace, not pressure.” He pulled her to him, sprawling her across his stomach.
She couldn’t ignore his erection pressing against her side beneath his jeans, but he did nothing more than start his calming touch again. “Rest. Tomorrow will come soon enough. We will both need all our energy to succeed.”
“Will we succeed?” she murmured. She waited for him and almost stirred when he didn’t immediately respond.
“We will.”
A brief thought flitted through her mind that this wasn’t the appropriate place to sleep, gone with another sweep of his hands over her body. Lazy and euphoric, she allowed his conviction of success to take hold. Concentrate on what is good for the mission.
Tomorrow she’d reinstate an appropriate distance between them.
12
Lena unhooked her arm from the sling and gripped the scope with both hands so she could fine-tune the options. Her shoulder muscles pinched, but surprisingly, her arm flexed more comfortably with limited motion than it had tied to her side. Deacon frowned as he followed her actions. At least he didn’t chastise her like she was a child. Frankly, he didn’t treat Trevor like a child either.
Matthew and his son trailed behind her, with Trim a safe distance farther back and pulling up the tail end of their troupe in wolf form.
The air hummed with the vibrations of creatures, but Lena detected something more, something beneath the energy of the wildlife and the stronger pulse she associated with the shifters. Something off. A dark, oily presence that tugged at her when the shifters moved farther away, disappearing when Deacon circled back to her and rubbed his shoulder against her thigh. The sensation, an almost visceral prickle, raised the hairs on her nape. She rubbed her arm and glanced around, but nothing stood out as unusual. Certainly nothing Deacon’s team wouldn’t sense before she did.
But they were distracted, and the progress was irritatingly slow today.
The wolves of the team scouted on either side of the river. Wharton having swum across and Deacon trotting several yards in front of her. Two new members of the team, Grizz and Breslin, had arrived in the predawn and remained in human form. They also remained out of sight, barely registering on her scope several feet above them. Lena caught an occasional glimpse of them between the treetops.
Yet with all this manpower, Shanae’s path remained hidden.
A low-level orange-blue flicker flashed on her screen. Please don’t let this be the battery fading out. So far she’d been lucky and used the device sparingly. Her lesson with the stun baton’s minimal charge still resonated vividly. Deacon’s appearance had saved her then, but now everyone was a tense and focused group on the edge of patience. She needed whatever advantage Matthew’s tools could provide.
Water lapped at her boots as she calculated the span from her side of the river to the opposite side. Fifty yards? Wharton paced there, adopting the same circuitous pattern as Deacon, in his assigned area. Every few minutes, he paused and lifted his head. While she doubted he had his alpha’s clairvoyant senses, some sort of mojo was interfering with his normally easygoing attitude. Even Trevor stopped to watch him. Fortunately, the boy seemed unconcerned.
Ahead lay a turn in the river’s path and a faster current. Massive boulders dotted the river, piled like giant baked potatoes with sour cream foam surrounding them. The rest of the shoreline consisted of pebbles, but her position butted the base of a steep rise. An impasse she’d need to get around by climbing over the boulders.
With a groan, she lowered the scope and calculated the group’s time to get past this new section. At this rate, they’d lose the best midday light. Or they’d have to split up and risk missed nooks and crannies. That burned in her craw. “Do you feel comfortable carrying Trevor over the rocks to the bank farther downstream?”
Matthew squinted at the boulders and pursed his lips. “As long as we stay in the dry areas, it should be fairly safe.”
“I’ll check it out.” Without waiting for concurrence, Trim shifted back into wolf and ran ahead.
Just as well, Lena thought. She needed a moment to regroup in peace. Because calling Trim impatient was like saying children barely noticed Christmas. Unfortunately, that left her alone with Matthew, and she’d run out of positive feedback.
She turned back to the scope. The orange-blue wavered this time instead of blipping out. Pressing her eyes closed for a second, she prayed for calm so she could cajole the monitor and settings into behaving. A slow sweep delivered nothing, except a narrow path between those damn rocks.
Then a horizontal orange-blue wavered again.
Interesting. Probably a family of otters or badgers bunched together. Still, she narrowed her eyes and examined the situation for potential. She refused to leave any crack unexplored.
Small crevices and unsuspecting holes delivered not only hiding places for enemies to lie in wait but treasure. Her old team had once tracked a drug dealer to such a tight space. He’d temporarily stashed his hoard there as well. Memories and the instinct to squelch them knotted her muscles. She rolled her shoulder and blocked out the past.
At the crunch of Matthew’s boots, she held up her hand to silence him and then carefully placed the scope and her weapons at her feet. She waded a few feet into the river toward the black shadow between two boulders.
Prickling and hot, her skin flared with sensitivity. The hairs on her arms rose with an achingly recognizable itch, but she continued until she was waist-deep, then braced herself against one of the boulders.
She angled her head, her shoulder scraping across rock, but she could barely see through the darkness. The echo of water dripping inside in an open space. At least there was no rustling or shining red eyes. Yet—
Sliding her boot along the riverbed, she felt for a pathway inside. Her boot moved freely while rock blocked her head. Determined to push forward before she talked herself out of it, she squatted. A gasp ripped from her lips as icy water covered her shoulders, and she waited for the nausea from the cold to subside.
Her eyes opened, then narrowed, able to make out a sunlit streak reflecting an exit at least two yards into the passage.
A tight passage, but it might accommodate a body. Worst case, she’d end up on the other side of the rocks. The echo promised a larger space.
She eased her waterproof penlight from her pocket and aimed the light inside. Then she ducked her head a bit and squeezed—ah yes. Oh, damn. The rocks scraped across her back, grinding the scant bandage that might as well have been sandpaper against her raw flesh. Sharp pain shot down her spine.
“Damn, that cut through the cold,” she muttered. Her muscles clenched, and she gritted against the pain. Nothing new. Just a little pain.
She bit her lip and eased into the opening, glad some of her gear was waterproof. Luckily, old habits died hard. Grinding her teeth, she pushed through the water now up to her neck. At least her back was numb. Unfortunately, so was everything else. Finally past the entrance and breathing hard, she raised her penlight and blinked as her eyes adjusted.
The hues of gray and black sorted themselves into details. At first, all she could make out was a narrow shelf to the side, a third flat rock rising from the water where the other two didn’t meet in tight formation. Then a dull black boot and laces resolved into view.
Curled on her side lay a woman. She flinched from the light over her face. Her breath was almost too shallow to lift her chest, but a sickening rattle echoed from her throat. A childlike whimper accompanied a shift of her hand, her fingers bent into curled claws. One bloody, cut lip rose to offer a weak threat.
At least Lena hoped Shanae was too weak to attack. She choked back the thought and tried for her most
soothing voice. “Shanae, I’m here with Matthew. And Deacon.”
Eyes glazed, the woman’s lids drifted closed and the hand retracted.
“Please hold on. We—”
“Lena…are you okay?” Matthew’s voice, faint as if from a distance, still carried along the water in the tiny confines of the space. Shanae whimpered again, but with less force than Lena would have liked for a client she desperately wanted to survive.
Lena moved to the opening and pressed her mouth to the crack above the water. “Yes, I need—” Deacon’s name was on the tip of her tongue, but a quick glance back confirmed he’d never fit through the aperture. Short of Trevor crawling in, Lena needed someone slight and wiry. Just her luck. “I need Trim. She needs to bring your water gear that’s stashed in the backpack.”
“You found—oh God, please tell me she’s alive.”
“Matthew, I need Trim. Now.”
Counting the minutes was only a distraction to keep her mind focused as Lena cataloged the damage to Shanae’s body. One leg lay at a physically impossible angle, bone protruding at mid-shin. The water probably wouldn’t do any more harm than the embolism risk from such a break. Lacerations covered her face and midsection. The hoarse rattle grew labored and bubbly, warning Lena of broken ribs.
No matter how she evaluated Shanae’s condition, her survival depended on getting her out of here quickly. Something Lena obviously couldn’t do on her own.
“Okay, human. I don’t care if Deacon does want you as his personal pet—” The splashing stopped with a huge gasp as Trim edged her head and shoulders into the shrinking space. “Baby girl.”
Trim launched herself toward Shanae even as her friend’s hand rose in self-defense. A low, pained coo erupted from Trim’s throat, keeping Lena in place. Obviously, it worked for Shanae as well, because she stilled.
Hand barely touching Shanae, Trim traced her entire body. “What have they done to you?”
A sad reunion. Poignant, definitely. Along with an unexpected depth to Trim that Lena was glad to see existed. Except she was freezing while Shanae’s minutes ticked away. “Did Matthew give you—”