by C. D. Gorri
Satisfaction shone in his eyes, but only for a second. He pointed to the pool. “Strip and get in the water. I won’t tell you again.”
My pulse spiked. He really expected me to get naked and bathe while he watched? If I submitted now, who knew what he’d try next. Bullies didn’t just take a win and move on. They always demanded more.
I took a cautious step back, shoving the vials in my pockets as I went. “I-I’ll get in, but I’m keeping my clothes on.”
I didn’t even see him move.
He had me against the pillar so fast my head spun. One large palm spanned my neck, pinning me to the rock. He held the rest of his body away from mine, but his heat blasted me from head to toe. His big form seemed to vibrate, as if he kept himself in check.
But just barely.
His hand squeezed. Not enough to cut off my air. Just enough to let me know he could.
Fear and outrage seethed in my mind. He could do whatever he wanted, right down to controlling my breath. Instinct screamed at me to lower my gaze—to submit any way I could. But another, deeper instinct hummed below the surface, and it refused to let me cower.
I kept my mouth shut, but I returned his glare.
He leaned closer, and needle-sharp fangs showed between his lips as he spoke in a voice just above a growl I felt in my bones.
“Rid yourself of that scent or you’ll have every unmated male within ten miles vying to rut between your thighs. Female.”
“Including you?” I croaked, my voice hoarse from the pressure of his hand. As soon as I said it, I realized I had no idea if he was mated. He must be. Alpha males took what they wanted, and they got first choice of women. No wonder he was unaffected by whatever scent I was throwing off.
The golden eyes dropped to my mouth.
In a blink, the air between us shifted. Like ozone gathering before a storm, the atmosphere swirled and thickened.
I held my breath. What was he doing? Trying to throw me off balance? As I pondered his end game, he lifted his free hand and dragged his thumb across my bottom lip.
A beat of shock rippled through me, jangling all my nerve endings. Pinned between the pillar and his overwhelming mass, I could only stand there, my heart pounding as he rubbed back and forth. I couldn’t move my head with his hand on my neck, which meant I was left studying his face.
His lashes were long for a man. With his gaze lowered, they were dark, silky fans on his cheeks. His thumb pressed harder, parting my lips. Dipping just a little bit inside my mouth.
Goosebumps rose on my skin. My heart rate picked up, and the beat of shock frazzled into something stronger and more persistent. I relaxed against the stone, my body softening even as confusion tumbled through my mind.
He rubbed his thumb in a slow glide, dragging it across my lips. All the while, his gaze never lifted. He stared at my mouth as though he found it fascinating. Like he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Like he didn’t want to. His hand on my neck was hard and unforgiving, but his thumb on my mouth was achingly gentle.
A rasping sound reached my ears, and I realized it was my own labored breathing.
He gave me another stroke, dipping inside just a little more.
My body jerked, more shivers coursing down my neck and chest. He could crush my throat in less than a second, but I could only focus on his callused thumb swiping back and forth in a maddening arc that seemed to drift to other, lower places.
Heated, golden eyes lifted to mine.
A low whimper escaped me.
His palm left my neck and slapped against the rock near my head. Then he grasped my chin in a tight grip and brought his mouth within an inch of mine. The heat in his eyes fled, replaced with something hard and fierce and utterly cold.
Instantly, the fluttering warmth he stoked turned to ash.
“Not interested, female,” he said, his voice like the edge of a knife. The switch in his demeanor was so abrupt, it took me a second to realize he’d answered my question.
The threat of a forced mating didn’t include him.
“But know this,” he said. “If I wanted a mate, I could have you in a heartbeat. A snap of my fingers, and you’d come running, dripping with need and ready to ride my shaft for as long as I allowed it.” He leaned so close our lips touched. In a rough whisper, he added, “You would beg me for it.”
All my fear and outrage roared back to the surface. I tried to jerk my face from his grip, but he tightened his fingers. I couldn’t speak, let alone move.
He spoke again, each word accompanied by a stinging command. “Strip…and…wash.”
I channeled all my disgust and loathing into my eyes, hoping he could see it as I stared up at him. I wanted to spit in his face—to tell him I’d die before I begged him for anything.
Our gazes clashed, and for a brief moment his eyebrows pulled together. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn he looked bewildered.
“You meet my gaze,” he murmured.
I’ll do more than that, asshole. Like bite his fingers off. But all I could manage was a pained grunt.
The moment passed, and whatever I thought I saw in his face vanished as he released me and stepped back. “Change your clothing when you’re done. You have ten minutes.”
I leaned against the pillar, my skin smarting from his order. Talking back would earn me worse, so I settled for clenched fists and a steady glare.
He left, the sound of his booted footsteps fading to nothing before he was out of sight.
Chapter Four
I was so worried about Rurik returning before the ten minutes were up, I didn’t linger over the novelty of immersing myself in such a big body of water. Moving fast, I stripped, splashed into the pool, and scrubbed myself with handfuls of sand. I even dunked my head, letting the water carry away any traces of Michael that might have clung to the strands.
He neglected to pack a towel or brush, so I was forced to dress with damp skin and then finger comb my hair as best I could. As the minutes ticked by, my heart rate accelerated. Any minute now, Rurik was going to appear and growl at me for taking too long.
But he didn’t. And no one else did, either. Safely clothed once more, I gathered the scattered antibiotics and transferred the serum vials to my pockets. I was due for a dose but thought better of snapping open a vial. Taking the serum on an empty stomach usually led to chills and vomiting. According to Michael, ferals viewed illness as weakness. The thought of enduring sickness in front of Rurik was enough to make me rip open the nearest ration—a bland protein bar that tasted like chalk—and stuff it in my mouth. Then I hefted the pack on my shoulder and moved toward the front of the cave.
As I neared the entrance, the sound of low, masculine voices reached me, and a flickering glow beckoned me forward. There was no sign of Rurik, but the other two ferals sat on opposite sides of a roaring fire. The bigger male—the one with blue eyes and wavy brown hair—bent over something he held in his lap. His broad shoulders flexed as he busied himself with some kind of task. Whatever fury he felt over his runaway mate seemed to have abated. His face was calm, his posture relaxed.
I stopped in the shadows, one hand gripping the pack’s strap over my shoulder. The silver-eyed feral was also seemingly calm, with no signs of the anger he displayed after catching my scent. The fire crackled and danced cheerfully, and the two males looked almost peaceful.
But that didn’t mean they were any less dangerous. And I couldn’t be certain I was totally free of Michael’s scent. If they smelled him on me again, they might not be so calm.
Suddenly, the protein bar was a lump in my stomach.
The only surefire way to cloak my scent was serum. I was stupid for delaying my evening dose. I should go back to the pool and choke down a vial. An upset stomach was easier to deal with than a rampaging feral.
Before I could spin around, the blue-eyed male called out.
“Come join us. We won’t bite.”
Was that humor in his tone? His gaze was lowered as he work
ed, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips.
Or maybe it was just a trick of the light.
I went to the edge of the fire and sat. Up close, I could see he was skinning some kind of animal. His hands moved swiftly, a small knife flashing as it caught the light. Blood stained the dirt in front of him, and a small mound of waxy looking flesh was piled at his side. He scooped it up and tossed it into the fire, which sparked and hissed.
My stomach churned, the protein bar turning to a sour lump in my gut. Norms didn’t consume flesh. As my grandmother used to say, “Only animals eat animals.”
“I’m Soren,” the knife-wielding feral said, bending over his task once more. “That’s Cain.”
The silver-eyed feral met my gaze. He was handsome, with black hair and sculpted features. But something about him gave me pause—even more so than Soren or Rurik. There was a flatness in his pale eyes that was somehow more menacing than anger or irritation. I might have held Rurik’s stare without flinching, but I couldn’t do the same with Cain’s.
Flustered, I looked away, my gaze landing on the cave’s entrance.
Soren tossed more entrails in the fire.
“Where’s Rurik?” I asked. I didn’t think too hard about my reasons for wondering.
“He hunts,” Soren said.
I swung my gaze back to him. “Hunts?”
“Dinner. Are you hungry?”
“No.”
My stomach growled.
Soren raised an eyebrow. “Maybe just thirsty, then.” He definitely smiled this time, giving me a glimpse of his fangs. He put his knife aside and lifted a canteen from somewhere behind him. Then he stood and extended it over the fire.
“Thanks,” I said, ignoring the blood on his fingers as I accepted it and sat. The metal was ice cold and beaded with condensation, and suddenly I couldn’t get the cap off fast enough. I drank in a long gulp, almost groaning in ecstasy when the water hit my throat.
“Slow down,” Soren said lightly, working on the carcass once more. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
I lowered the canteen and swiped my hand across the back of my mouth. “Sorry. I know water is scarce.”
“Not in the caves. There are underground springs if you know where to look. Remnants of the Mississippi.”
So that was where the pool came from. I looked around the primitive but comfortable campsite. “Do you live here?”
Soren stopped what he was doing. Cain pinned me with a hard stare.
My heart thumped. Oh no. I’d offended them. Without Rurik around, there was no one to stop them from killing me.
Soren broke the tension with something close to a snort. “Is that what they say in the cities?”
A low voice growled behind us. “They say a lot of stupid shit in the cities.”
I turned…and then sucked in a breath.
Rurik strode from the cave’s entrance.
And he was totally nude.
I jerked back around, but not before I got an eyeful of six-and-a-half feet of tan, muscled feral. His shaft swung heavy against his thigh, the thick length knotted with veins. He carried his clothes in one hand and something limp and furry in the other. Blood smeared his chest, and his body was streaked with dirt.
I ducked my head, my shoulders tense as I waited for him to join us around the fire. But he simply tossed a dead animal at Soren’s feet and walked away.
Soren picked up the animal, dangled it by its hind legs, and slit down its belly. “Do you like fox?”
It took me a second to realize he spoke to me. My brain was still muddled with images of Rurik’s powerful thighs and taut abs.
I cleared my throat. “Um, no, thank you.”
“Suit yourself.”
We spent the next few minutes in silence, with Soren and Cain roasting the fox and me forcing down more protein bars. The headache I felt on the plain came back, along with the tight, restless feeling that made me want to jump up and pace the cave. It was probably a combination of hunger and exhaustion—and possibly the first side effects of serum withdrawal. The symptoms were unusual, but it really couldn’t be anything else. The first thing aspiring doctors learned in medical school was to rule things out. I was starving and past due for a dose. Of course I felt off.
Just as I was about to pull a vial of serum from my pack, Rurik reappeared. He was fully clothed this time, and his hair was damp. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing I wouldn’t have to smell animal blood while we ate.
He sat across the fire from me and ran two big hands through his hair, pushing the dark strands back so the scar in his hairline stood out. It was as if someone had swiped a single claw from his crown to his forehead, digging a furrow that exposed a narrow streak of scalp. Whoever stitched it did a fine job, because the scar was thin and straight. I followed it down to his eyes—
—which were fixed on me.
I jerked my gaze away. Shit. He caught me staring. And now he probably really did think he could snap his fingers and have me begging for him. As if that would ever happen. I didn’t even like him, let alone want to “ride his shaft.” He was an arrogant, abusive asshole who got his way through force instead of reason. In other words, a typical feral.
But he was also my safe passage to Black Rock, which meant I had to stay in his good graces. The Alterlands were full of ferals just like him, and they hadn’t been paid to protect me.
That thought made me look at the pack leaning against my legs. What did an alpha want with a bunch of medicine? Michael was one of just a handful of norms to venture outside the city’s walls since airships stopped carrying passengers. He’d written entire research papers on how ferals viewed the cities with suspicion. It made sense, given the bloody history between those inside and outside the walls. Some ferals still referred to norms as the “government” even though it had been fifty years since the continent had states or a president. And in their eyes, government meant weapons and suppression. The fastest way to piss off a feral was to point a gun at one. Pointing serum at them was a close second. They distrusted all forms of norm medicine.
So why would an alpha—the strongest, most dominant kind of feral—ask for norm drugs as payment? According to the archives in the museum, alphas were tougher and faster than other ferals. There was even some evidence they could heal injuries.
The fire snapped, pulling me from my musings. The dull ache between my eyes pounded harder. Michael’s warning drifted through my head. “Two doses a day, no matter what. You can’t forget.”
Rurik and the others tore into pieces of cooked meat. Clearly, we weren’t leaving anytime soon.
There was no other option—I’d have to take my dose in front of them. If they didn’t like it, that was their problem.
I moved as slowly as I could, hoping no one would notice me easing back and reaching into my pocket. I snapped the vial and had it halfway to my mouth when all three sets of eyes focused on me.
I hesitated.
Rurik wiped grease from his mouth. “Take your concoction, female. No one will stop you.”
My temper spiked. I never should have told him to use my name. Now that he knew being called “female” bothered me, he’d say it forever. Suppressing a scowl, I tossed back the serum and then waited for the telltale burn. It came a second later—a rush of fire up my esophagus that made my throat tighten and my eyes water. I rode it out, somehow managing not to flinch under the males’ watchful gazes.
“Put that vial back in your pocket,” Rurik said. “Don’t let me find it on the ground.”
Now I did scowl. “I’m not in the habit of littering.”
“Then you’re unique among your kind.” He scooped sand into his hands and dusted his palms. “Your cities are full of garbage.”
Curiosity rose in me against my will. “You’ve been to cities besides St. Louis?”
“Plenty,” he said bluntly. “And they all stink.”
I was too intrigued to be offended. A dozen questions tumbled through my head. What w
ere the other cities? Where had he traveled? Were people different in other places? Did New York still stand, or were its people forced to retreat inland like the rest of the coastal cities?
Before I worked up the courage to ask him anything, he brushed the last of the sand away and turned to Soren. “We’ll sleep here tonight.”
Sleep? I sat upright. “We can’t stay here all night. We have to keep moving.” There was no way in hell I was falling asleep around a bunch of ferals. More importantly, time wasn’t on my side. I had to get to Black Rock as soon as possible.
Rurik gave me a look like I was an ill-mannered child who just spoke out of turn at the dinner table. “I spotted others while I hunted. It’s not safe to continue right now—not with you throwing off scent.”
Heat rushed up the back of my neck. He said it like it was something foul and disgusting. I heard the tightness of embarrassment in my voice when I said, “I bathed and changed my clothes like you told me. The serum will kick in soon. I shouldn’t be throwing off anything.”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied me, that slight frown returning. Just as the silence stretched too long, he said, “Some norms have a stronger scent than others.”
Soren poked at the fire. “Perhaps it’s her true nature showing through.”
I barely heard him. All my attention was on Rurik, who began unlacing his boots. “I have to get to Black Rock as soon as possible,” I said. “My patient is dying.”
He didn’t look up. “You risk death if you set foot outside this cave tonight. If not death, then almost certainly a claiming.” He lifted his gaze. “If your errand was that time-sensitive, female, Hessen himself should have come.”
Confusion swamped me. “Michael?”
“He’s a doctor, is he not? It’s a weak male who would send his woman in his place.”
Understanding dawned. “Michael’s not a medical doctor. He’s an anthropologist. That’s someone who studies—”
“I know what an anthropologist is.”
I snapped my mouth shut. His gaze was steady, his golden eyes flickering with reflected firelight.