by Cecilia Lane
“Becca. Let me say I’m glad you’re home and I’m happy we haven’t had to meet like this since you’ve been back.” Judah gave her a charming smile and drew her further away from the other clump of officers. “You want to tell me what happened tonight? No one needs to know what you say.”
Becca blinked and she realized they thought Nolan might have hurt her. She had a river of issues wider than the Nile and they all stemmed from that man, but he wouldn’t raise a hand against her. “We were discussing some personal issues, when the shot was fired. Nolan threw me down and that’s where he made the call.”
Judah nodded and made a note. His nostrils flared. Scenting her. Checking for a lie. He decided she told the truth and made another note. “Nolan said you might have been hit.”
“Nothing serious. I’m healed already.” And don’t call the damn ambulance, she prayed. She didn’t need that icing on the shit cake.
“Did you recognize which direction it came from?”
She twisted slightly and pointed behind her. “I think from over Hogshead. It was distant.”
Judah jot down a few more notes, then nodded. “Why don’t you stick around for a bit. In case we have more questions. Or we can take you to the station to wait.”
“I’m fine here,” she told him and he nodded again.
He started barking orders before he took two steps. “I want someone to check up the mountainside across the river. Probably just some kids fucking around, but we can’t let them shoot near town.”
Becca leaned against Nolan’s truck and waited for someone to need her again. She rubbed her shoulder, feeling the bump under her skin. She knew what it was. She could barely feel her fox in her head. Gunfire, a caged inner animal, and pain under her skin meant she had some self-surgery in her future. Not her first.
She looked up and caught Nolan staring and immediately slashed her gaze elsewhere.
After what felt like a lifetime of more questions and commands to stick around, Judah and his officers loaded into their cruisers. Some turned back toward the station, while others set out on patrol. She didn’t envy whoever they caught. A shifter was one thing to hit. They could heal from most injuries. But a human, of which there were many now inside the enclave? Dangerous.
Still, though. She chewed on her lip. A teen shooting in the middle of the night wouldn’t have access to silver bullets. Maybe it was the kid of a cop. They packed silver for unruly shifter citizens.
“It wasn’t just a graze, was it?”
Becca lifted her chin and forced herself into stillness. She wouldn’t let Nolan know he’d snuck up on her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh yeah? Let’s see you shift, then.” Nolan crossed his arms over his chest.
Busted. “I don’t feel like it.” She started toward the road and the walk home. Judah didn’t need her for more questions and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let Nolan lure her into any other mistakes.
She had all of two seconds of freedom before Nolan caught up with her. He pulled her to a stop. “You need to see the doctor and Judah needs to hear that it was a silver bullet.”
She shoved his hand away from her. “No. No, I’m never going back there. No.”
A wave of panic and sadness washed over her. That was where her life went off track and everything was ruined. She couldn’t go back there, with the ties on the bed and the sharp scent of disinfectants. Anger. Hurt. Too many emotions to sift through. She couldn’t handle them and Nolan and the bullet still lodged under her skin.
He didn’t insist. Instead, he wrapped her in a tight hug, making sure to avoid nudging her arm at all. “It’s okay. Shh. Quiet down. I won’t make you go there. You don’t ever need to go there again.”
He stepped back and brushed her hair away from her face. Fuck. When had the tears started? She was a mess and not keeping it together.
Becca drew in a shuddering breath and wiped away the wetness on her cheeks. Fucking anniversary nights.
He dropped his hands to her shoulders and his thumbs traced slow circles over her skin. That pull to him started again, a hook in her middle that tied her soul to his. She hated that it existed and hated that she felt a fraction calmer with his touch.
“Come back to my place,” he murmured. His eyes bored into her. “I have a first aid kit. An extra set of hands will make it go easier.”
Feeling exhausted and knowing it’d be a mistake to stay near Nolan, Becca nodded. “Okay.”
Chapter 6
Becca eyed the main road in the side mirror of Nolan’s truck. Familiar settings disappeared, even though the warning on the mirror claimed they were closer than they appeared.
It was her first trip to the Strathorn cabins since Callum and his clan took them over. The Strathorn father, Ephraim, used to hold court and house his clan there, but as his bears grew old or moved away from clan life, Ephraim stepped back and let Callum have control of the clearing. Most of the current Strathorn clan had been friends all through school and banded together early. She wondered exactly when Nolan made the move to join with them.
Six cabins surrounded an open clearing, and in the center of that space was a communal plot. Chairs and tables were scattered near a station for grilling. At least no one lingered there or on the front porches of their homes. She didn’t need them wildly speculating what it meant that Becca Holden followed Nolan Byers out of his truck and through his front door.
Because it meant nothing. She was simply taking Nolan up on his offer of a first aid kit and bullet removal service. It’d save her an insurance claim or explanation to her sister.
Nolan flicked on a light as soon as they passed through the door and Becca got her first look at the man he’d become in the ten years she’d been out of Bearden.
The kitchen dominated the space. The shiny appliances would look at home in Mug Shot or Tommy’s Diner. The space had been expanded to fit a large island and add a second sink. She counted two glass doors that looked like ovens and a total of six stove top burners. Pots and pans hung from hooks and more spices than she knew existed lined a rack by the double-doored refrigerator. Nolan could easily feed an army or an entire clan of bears in the kitchen side of the room.
The smaller half looked exactly like a bachelor pad. Junk mail sat in a messy pile on one side table. The other, mismatched, held a single lamp. Between them was a threadbare couch that looked like it’d been bought used when he first made the move out of his parents’ house and never bothered to replace. The television was big, just as expected, and angled to be seen from the kitchen. The better to see quick-moving sports figures.
“Wow.”
Nolan rubbed a hand over the back of his head. A slight tinge of embarrassment colored the air. “It’s a hobby.”
“Clearly. I think you’re more geared out than Faith is at the coffee shop.” She ran an eye over the appliances on the counter and spotted an espresso machine and a coffee grinder.
“Yeah, well, haven’t exactly felt welcome there lately,” he grunted and strode past her into a darkened doorway.
It was her turn for a flush of embarrassment work its way over her cheeks. It was her doing that he wasn’t welcome at Mug Shot. What did Cole call her? A disturber of the peace? The phrase didn’t feel like a badge of pride.
He returned before she could flee, carrying a small, plastic box that he set on the coffee table. He set a glass next to it, then popped open the lid. “Come here, and I’ll fix you.”
Not likely. She was a strong believer in living a full and complete fake it till you make it lifestyle, but that only carried her so far. The underlying damage was ready to poke through the surface with no warning.
She took a seat next to him, not quite far enough away to be accused of avoiding his space. Even with her fox muted in the back of her mind, the urge to get close and stay near the man was overwhelming. Every breath brought more of his dusky, woodsy scent into her lungs and made her mouth water.
There was a reas
on why she avoided him. All the hurt he caused, and she still wanted him. Unacceptable.
Nolan, behaving like a man who had no idea the turmoil he caused with the slightest flex of his arms, poured a good measure of clear alcohol into a glass and swirled a scalpel and forceps around. She didn’t need to worry about any lingering diseases, but she was glad he wanted to avoid causing her any temporary irritation.
He turned her gently so her back faced him. Fingers rubbed her skin. He felt for the bullet, searching for the best way to get it out of her. “This might hurt,” he murmured.
“Pain doesn’t scare me.”
“No. You’re not scared of anything, are you?”
Except for getting near him. He didn’t need to know that.
“Do it,” she said and braced herself for the sting.
He made quick work of the surgery. One solid slice split her open. Hot wetness dripped down her arm. She dug her fingers into her thighs when she felt cold metal against her skin. The sense of wrongness inside her faded and disappeared with a final pop.
With the bullet out of her skin, her fox surged forward. Bite. Mark. Mate.
She clamped down on the little beast before she did anything reckless. Like try to hate fuck her ex in the parking lot of a bar.
Nolan pressed a bit of gauze to her skin while her own body took care of the rest. She felt her skin and muscles growing back together, like a dull itch right under the wound. She wouldn’t have a mark by the end of the week.
“You’re good at this,” she said softly.
“Brawler bear, remember? We have to be good at this stuff. Otherwise, we’d be walking around with limps and crooked noses. I swear Hudson has broken mine three times this year alone.”
“Here’s a thought: stop fighting so damn much.” When she glanced over her shoulder, she found his eyes hungry and blazing that inhuman green.
“Mmm,” he said, voice dropping into the range of pure gravel. “If only I didn’t have a reason for it.”
He reached around her to toss the gauze on the table, big body brushing against hers in a deliberate way that set her nerve endings crackling with awareness. She craved the heat that wafted off his skin. They were so close. It’d be easy to just lean back and let herself relax into him.
So she did.
He swept her hair to the side, then trailed his hands down her shoulders and arms. He branded her with his touch, renewing the hold he had on her from years ago.
His nose brushed against the column of her neck. Familiarizing himself with her scent once again. It drove her fox wild. Little beast twisted and turned and yipped and growled with a possessiveness that frightened Becca.
Nolan was not theirs.
Nolan was theirs.
He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her shoulder. Becca bit her lip to keep her moan locked away. It’d been a mistake to go after him in the parking lot and a mistake to follow him to his home.
He was a leaver, same as her. He’d cut and run before, and she’d zoomed away in the opposite direction. She couldn’t trust him not to abandon her again. She wouldn’t take the risk.
She couldn’t stop herself, either.
His arm crossed over her front and hauled her into his lap. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she sank further into the heat at her back.
His fingers finished exploring her arms and dipped between them. His hands were large enough to span her lower back and still curve around her hips.
He didn’t stop there, though. With no objections leaving her lips, he lapped and sucked at her neck. He curved his arms around her, one hand sliding up her thigh while the other found her breast.
The touch was less urgent than the mess in the parking lot but no less intense. Her body hummed to life under him. Kiss, knead, press. She was putty in his hands when he distracted her in three spots all at once. She squeezed her thighs together, trapping his hand between her legs, and groaned.
“What’s this?”
Her eyes snapped open at the first touch against the scar behind her ear. She knew exactly how it looked. Jagged, faded thanks to her healing ability, but still present and a sign of a repeated injury.
It’d taken her several nights to dig out the tracker under her skin. She passed out from the pain and shock twice before she dug deep enough to pull out the capsule. There’d been so much blood. Head wounds flowed freely.
Her heart thudded against her ribcage. Fragments of memories played against the back of her eyelids every time she blinked.
Dogs baying on her heels, their breath hot and heavy in the cold night air. The stream she stumbled into froze her toes. But she couldn’t stop. Mustn’t stop. Or the dogs would savage her.
Blink.
A flash of a knife. A cry of pain.
Blink.
Blood on her hands. She could smell it, thick and metallic, in her nose. Her hands shook, and she struggled to keep the truck on the road. Sobbing. Hers.
“Becca?”
Nolan stroked a hand down her spine. She jerked away from him. “I need to go.” The words were hard to form; her tongue felt thick.
Nolan rose next to her, but she wobbled away from him before he could touch her again. His eyes looked worried, his mouth moved and made concerned noises that she didn’t process through the violent buzzing in her ears.
He would hurt her again. His hands felt good on her skin and his mouth felt even better, but she knew they couldn’t be trusted. She let him have too much power over her before and it only ended in blood and pain.
Too many bloody scenes played out in her head as she stumbled toward the door. Ten years ago. Loss of their little girl before she drew her first breath. Six months ago. Kill or be killed. She survived the hunters who tried to murder her, even if it meant leaving others behind. Blood and pain in each one. She couldn’t stay still.
She was out the door in a flash and down the steps before the screen slammed shut behind her. She didn’t bother undressing. She simply stepped back and let her fox have her body.
“Becca!” Nolan called after her.
She didn’t turn. Her muscles contracted and her limbs pulled inward. A sharp hiss was all the voice she gave to the pain of shrinking her curvy form down to a very large fox. She envied other shifters and their ability to grow larger and meaner.
With a final flick of her tail, she dashed away from Nolan and the memories he raised.
Chapter 7
Nolan dunked a sponge into the soapy water and aggressively scrubbed at imaginary spots on the fire engine. He’d been at it all morning. None of the others did more than pass him by and shake their heads. Good. He didn’t need to explain himself and he didn’t need their opinions.
He paused. Glanced up and down the street. Dunked the sponge again.
There’d been no sign of Becca and he’d watched since his shift at the firehouse started. The coffee shop across the street opened but only Becca’s twin, Faith, and a new hire moved around behind the counter.
He hadn’t slept a wink. He spent the night staring at his ceiling and replaying their words and actions over and over. He didn’t know what triggered her to finally break and talk to him, or why she went straight from talking to trying to get into his pants.
He didn’t want some quick, dirty fuck.
His bear huffed at him and called him out on the lie.
Fine. He did want to fuck her, but he didn’t want it quick or a single scratch. He wanted a lifetime of her moans. He wanted her scent thickening around him like it had the night before. He wanted to feel her pulse racing under her skin as he licked and nibbled every inch of her body.
But that seemed as unlikely as the last ten years, when she went full speed ahead to running out his door without an explanation. He was tired of the silence and distance between them. It was killing him.
Something pushed her to jump his bones, and something else sent her running again. Panic blossomed on her scent the moment his fingers brushed against the scar behind her ear. Odd that it e
xisted in the first place. He was certain foxes healed the exact same way as bears, meaning that wound took some doing to leave a mark.
His bear rolled through his mind, biting and slashing at everything. She’d been hurt while they weren’t able to protect her. His bear didn’t care if someone else had done it, the beast was furious at Nolan for not preventing it in the first place.
They had that in common.
He took his bear’s scourging in stride. It’d been the same fight for ten fucking years. Each side of him struggled for control. Without a mate to care for, the beast saw no reason to put up with civilized things like words or kindness. Nolan, in turn, grew wilder, more willing to fight. It’d only gotten worse since Becca returned.
Callum would need to put him down by the end of the year if he couldn’t find a way to keep control of himself. A merry fucking Christmas that would be.
Nolan snarled at the bright red engine, scrubbed another imaginary spot, and glanced up and down the street.
Finally, Becca’s wild curls bounced into his line of sight.
She and Faith weren’t identical, but they had the look of sisters. Faith stood a little shorter, Becca was a little curvier. Especially now. Her hips had always been wide—childbearing, she used to mutter in complaint—but she’d softened in delightful ways that made his cock strain in his pants every single time he caught sight of her.
He dropped the sponge into the bucket at his feet and walked straight for her.
Her eyes snapped up and caught sight of him. With a scowl, she crossed the street.
Nolan wanted to punch something as he hurried after her. She didn’t get to jump back into his life and blow him off all over again.
He fell into step beside her, saying nothing. If she wanted to play the silent game, then he would play. Certainly trying to get her to talk hadn’t worked.
With a frustrated sigh, she whirled around to face him. Dark eyes slid away to the gold of her fox and her curls bounced around her face. “What?”