by Bella Jacobs
For some reason that makes me cry even harder, even as I start to laugh—a snotty laugh that’s as messy as my life right now.
“Come here, Slim. You need a hug.” Cree reaches out, gathering me into his arms and lifting me into his lap.
“No, I’ll get snot on you,” I say, swiping at my nose with the now soggy handkerchief.
“Good, I like snot,” he says, making me laugh-sob again. “And I like you.” He brushes the tears from my chin before trapping it gently between his fingers and thumb, “I more than like you.”
I sniff, the tears finally beginning to slow. “I more than like you, too.”
He holds my gaze as he adds in a soft voice, “That’s why I kept my pants on last night. I’m afraid I’m already there. If we fuck, it won’t be fucking. I’m not going to fuck you, Slim. I’m going to make love to you, baby. And since I’d rather not get into a one-sided situation with the mate bond…”
I run my fingers along the whiskers on his jaw. “Next time you should take your pants off.”
He arches a brow. “Yeah? You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. I already loved a lot of things about you, but this morning…” I smile, even though it hurts. “I adore this man. He’s my hero.”
Creedence’s eyes begin to shine. “No. Like it or not, you’re the hero. You’re the one who’s got to steer this ship. But I’ll be there with you, every fucking step of the way.”
“I know.” I wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him tight.
“Did you just Han Solo me?” he asks.
“What?” I pull back, smile-frowning into his handsome face.
“Did you just Han Solo me?” He shakes his head like I’m the one who’s talking nonsense. “You know, the part where he’s about to be imprisoned in carbonite for all eternity and Princess Leia says she loves him. And he’s like ‘I know’ and that’s it?”
I grin. “Is this a book? Or—”
“A book? No! It’s a movie, a fucking classic of twentieth-century cannon. Maybe the most famous old movie ever.”
I shrug. “I wasn’t allowed to watch many movies. But I’ll watch this one with you if we can find a copy. Though, this guy sounds like a jerk.”
“I know,” Creedence says, eyes narrowing. “He does, doesn’t he? What kind of person responds to a confession of undying love like that?”
“I didn’t!”
His glare sharpens, making me laugh harder.
“I didn’t,” I insist. “I said I loved you, too.”
“No, you said there were a lot of things you loved about me. Not the same. So let’s try this again.” He lifts his chin, holding my gaze as he says, “I love you, Wren Wander.”
My real last name, the one my birth parents gave me…
It’s special that he chose that one. Meaningful. Perfect.
I hesitate for a second, but I know what I have to do.
Because he’s right. Life isn’t about the ending. It’s about the love and laughter and every drop of happiness you can soak up or pass on along the way.
So I lean in, press a kiss to his lips, and tease my love with a soft, “I know.”
Chapter 25
Luke
I don’t expect her to show up, not after what the three of them went through last night. I was so sure she’d be holed up in the camper, sleeping off her vision hangover, that I went ahead and made other plans.
But at nine a.m. on the dot, as I curl up in the middle of sit-up seventy-five, I spot her winding her way through the trees to our sparring spot. There are dark circles under her eyes, her hair is pulled back in a messier-than-usual ponytail, and her arms are crossed so tight across her chest I suspect they’re the only things holding her together.
But she’s here. Ready to train.
To fight.
Even though, from what I was able to pull out of Dust this morning over breakfast, it doesn’t sound like there’s much left worth fighting for.
For the hundredth time, I can’t decide if she’s the biggest fool in the world or the bravest person I’ve ever known. Either way, I respect the hell out of her for showing up. She’s got more steel in her than I could have imagined the day that skinny girl in an ugly bunny shirt crept down the stairs to my prison in the basement to politely ask if I’d be interested in saving the world.
I wasn’t, of course. I’m still not.
But there’s a part of me that wants to save something else. Someone else. Wants it so much there’s a sharp tug in my chest every time I meet her ice blue eyes.
“Hey,” Wren says as she comes to a stop on the other side of the clearing. “Mats are out, huh? So what’s on the agenda today?”
I’m about to confess that I don’t have an agenda and tell her to head back to the cottage to get some rest—she deserves it—when Sierra appears behind her, and an idea snags in my head. The raccoon is shorter than Wren, but she’s thicker and stronger, with broad shoulders and a mean right hook I’ve gotten the worst of a few of the times we’ve sparred. Even missing half of one arm, she’s a force to be reckoned with.
More importantly, she’s a woman, and women fight differently. No one seems to know what kind of army Atlas is going to have waiting on his killing fields, but if he’s been paying attention all these thousands of years he's been around, he’ll have women out there defending him, too.
Male warriors might have superior upper body strength and laser focus in a fight. But women are watching everyone and everything all the time. By the time you figure out their weak spot, they’re already three steps ahead, jabbing a knife into the right bottom ribs you keep leaving undefended.
Wren could learn a few things from Sierra. And a day without laying hands on her will do me good. I need to get some fucking distance, to remember how impossible it is for me even to be Wren’s friend, let alone anything else.
I rock up to my feet, motioning to the mats behind me. “I was thinking you and Sierra could go a few rounds,” I suggest, lifting a hand to the other woman. “That work for you Sierra? Sparring with Wren today?”
Sierra pushes into a jog, trotting the last few yards into the glen. “Sure. If Wren’s up for it.” She rests light fingers on the taller woman’s shoulder. “How you holding up, mama?”
Wren’s lips twitch into a weary smile. “Holding. And I’m up.”
Sierra’s dark eyes tighten sympathetically. “Yeah. Kite was filling me in. It sounds like that was a rough scene. Makes me glad to be out of the loop for once.” She shifts her gaze my way. “Bet you’re okay with being vision blind this morning, too, huh?”
I grunt noncommittally and jab a thumb toward the crash mats laid out under the trees. “Why don’t you two stretch and then we’ll go for a run before we start. Lack of sleep is going to make your muscles tighter than usual, and we don’t want any injuries. We’ll get nice and warm before we start.”
The women head for the mats, and the tension in my chest eases. I had no clue that being vision blind was a thing until last night. But apparently it is, and it’s a thing “normal” shifters deal with, too. One out of every five or six of them lacks the wiring to communicate telepathically with other shifters.
Which means my secret is safe for another day, but my luck is going to run out sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time before they figure out I’m not Lucas Rivera and my shot at a future goes to shit.
I need Wren ready to cross the border ASA-fucking-P.
So why do I find myself looking for excuses to stay here another week? Two? Why do I lay awake at night coming up with new fight moves and combat styles my star pupil absolutely has to add to her arsenal before she’ll be ready to face her enemies?
I don’t answer that question.
Not even in my own head.
As long as I don’t look at any of that too closely, I can keep ignoring it. Keep pretending that she’s just a fighter I’m helping prepare for battle, not a lamb to the slaughter or a sweet kid caught up in a game she has no chance of w
inning or a woman who makes me feel things I haven’t felt in so fucking long.
I don’t just want to prepare her. I want to stand between her and danger. Better yet, I want to pull her onto the back of my bike, head south, and not stop until we’re on the other side of the world from the people who want her dead.
Instead, I push her. Hard.
Hard enough that hopefully it will make a difference between life and death.
“Pick it up, Princess.” I clap my hands as I pass her on the deer trail leading up the mountain, the one we’ve run so many times the deer are steering clear of its funky human scent by now. “You’re here, now it’s time to show up.”
Wren’s jaw clenches and her eyes flash, but she pushes harder, putting on a burst of speed, drawing even with me as we near the top of the rise. I kick it up, pulling ahead, but in a hot second, she’s there beside me again, fists pumping hard at her sides. I dig deep, giving the last hundred meters everything I’ve got, straining until my shoulders ache and my guts cramp in protest.
But she’s still there, right beside me when I cross our makeshift finish line, and something hot and fierce explodes in my chest.
Pride, I realize, as I turn to her, breathing hard as I lift a hand for a high five. “Yes, chica! That’s what I’m fucking talking about.”
“I did it!” she says, pant-laughing as she clasps my hand. “I beat you.”
“Tied me,” I correct, squeezing her fingers. “But it won’t be long. You’re an animal, woman. Good work.”
She swipes the sweat from her lip with her free hand, expression softening as she nods. “Thanks. That means a lot coming from you.”
“Yeah, well…” I swallow. “I’m only hard on you because I want you to be ready.”
“So you do care if I live or die?” she asks, arching a teasing brow.
“Maybe I do,” I say, voice huskier than I would like. “Maybe I care more than I’d like to.”
Her lips part as she sways closer to me, and for a second a crazy voice in my head demands I kiss her. Pull her close, fist my hand in her hair, and kiss her so hard she’ll never have to ask me dumb questions like that again.
And then Sierra huffs into the final stretch, and I come to my senses. I drop Wren’s hand like it’s on fire and turn to watch Sierra with my hands gripping my hips, vowing not to touch Wren again today.
Or maybe ever.
She can practice sparring with one of the others. I’ve taught her everything I know about fighting dirty, clean, and everything in between. It’s time for her to practice what she’s learned on fresh opponents, shore up any gaps in her technique, and get in the ring.
“Sorry,” Sierra pants, bracing her hand on her knee as she stops beside us, sucking air. “My cardio is for shit right now. I should have been running every morning. Staying fit for the crossing.”
“It’s not too late,” I say. “You’ll bounce back fast. A week or two should be plenty of time to get you back where you want to be.”
Sierra looks up sharply, her eyes going wide, but it’s Wren who says, “A week or two? You think we’re that close?”
I let my gaze travel from her sculpted shoulders, down to her tight core and powerful legs and back again before meeting her gaze. “You’re strong. You’re flexible. You’ve got solid hand-to-hand technique and firearms and mechanical knowledge from your life fast with the Brit…”
“And you’re shifting like a boss,” Sierra says, still breathing hard. “And you’ve got kin forms for fighting, flying, and fucking up anyone with the nuts to underestimate how dangerous a bunny can be when it’s pissed off.”
Wren huffs a soft laugh. “Yeah. I think I’ll leave the bunny on the backburner for now. Bears and griffins have sharper claws.” Her brow furrows as she glances up at me. “You seriously think it’s time? You have nothing left for me in your bag of tricks?”
A vivid image of Wren laid out on the grass in front of me while I cradle her ass in my hands and lift her pussy to my mouth, devouring her like she’s the sweetest piece of fruit that’s ever wet my tongue, flashes on my mental screen. It’s so graphic, so fucking real, that I can taste her, smell her salty heat.
I don’t even have the chance to fight the effect it has on me. One second, I’m having a rational conversation, the next I’m pitching a tent in my track shorts.
Heart pulsing in my throat—and in other places where it shouldn’t be pulsing—I shift to face the view of the Rockies north of our mountain. I lift one arm as I make a subtle adjustment with the other, hoping all those years of playing it cool under pressure won’t fail me now.
“I might have one thing.” I point toward the tallest peak. “I did some sniffing around yesterday after we finished our morning session. I found traces of wolf scent on every mountain around here except that one.”
Sierra hums. “That’s weird. With this many packs in the region, you think they’d be strapped for territory. Why avoid an entire mountain?”
“Human settlement would be a good one,” I say, “but I didn’t find any signs of that. Nothing. Not even old, abandoned trapper stuff like we have here.”
“Maybe it’s not a smell.” Wren lifts her hand to shade her eyes from the sun as she studies the peak. “Maybe it’s a sound, something only wolves or other animals with sensitive ears can hear.”
“Yeah.” Sierra nods my way. “You should check it out while you’re furry, man. See what you hear.”
I clench my jaw, thoughts racing as I try to think up a reasonable excuse for avoiding furry duty and cursing myself for starting down this fucking road in the first place, when Wren murmurs, “No, it’s okay. I’ll do it. I can get there faster in griffin form, and I should be able to hear whatever it is, too. I think I might have already heard it. I noticed a weird sound the other day, like feedback almost, but I thought it was just my brain complaining about how hard it is to work a cloaking spell and fly at the same time.”
She turns to me, nodding. “But if there’s some sort of major electrical line laid through there that’s scaring the wolves away, it could be the perfect place to start the crossing.” She reaches out, giving my arm a gentle squeeze. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
Oh, the head is up, all right. Way up.
What I really need to do is get my other head on straight.
“No problem. Let’s start down,” I say, backing toward the trail. “Get some sparring in while you’re both still warm.”
“And then, you should go see Creedence,” Sierra says, falling in beside Wren as she pushes into an easy trot.
“Why? Did his headache come back? He seemed fine this morning.”
“He is fine. Super fine, and I don’t even like boys,” Sierra says with a laugh. “That’s the point, mama. You need to get that fine-ass man on your team. You’re rocking the fight and the furry. Once you’ve locked down your mates, you’ll be unstoppable.”
I run faster, hoping to avoid involvement in the conversation, but I should know better. I’ve only known Sierra a month, but she’s proven she isn’t the type to mince words.
“You, too, wolf,” she calls after me. “You know you want in on the fun.”
Wren hisses something under her breath I can’t make out, but Sierra’s response comes through loud and clear, “Oh, stop. You two have chemistry for days. And trust me, the bigger and badder they think they are, the harder they fall.”
I want to tell her to bite her tongue and quit talking about shit she doesn’t understand.
But considering I’m still sporting a semi simply from standing close to Wren for too long, I figure I’m the one who should keep my mouth shut.
So, I do.
And I run faster, though I know it’s pointless. You can’t run away from your heart or your dick. Both come along for the ride, and mine are in way too deep with this girl.
Chapter 26
Wren
I approach the sparring session with Sierra with my jaw clenched and my heart racing—yes, she’s l
ost part of her arm, but she’s been training with Luke every other afternoon, and she’s built for combat. She’s short, but powerful, with shoulders so broad I mistook her for a man the first time she threw me over one while helping Kite drag me out my bedroom window.
And she’s fierce. And fast.
And she will not cut me any slack because I’m a woman.
Not that Luke cuts me much, but now that I’m more experienced in the ring, there are times I can feel him pull a punch at the last second or slow his pace just enough for me to read where he’s going to hit me next.
But Sierra…
She grins, her eyes dancing as we circle each other on the mats, clearly looking forward to this a lot more than I am. “You going to take it easy on me, mama?”
I snort in response, and she laughs.
“Good. Show me everything you’ve got.” She flexes the fingers on her remaining hand wide before curling them into an easy fist. “Let’s see if this wolf has done his job.”
“I’ve done my job. You two should be a good match,” Luke says from the sidelines, where he’s leaning against a tree, his expression as bored and unreadable as ever. But I felt the pride rolling off him in that unshielded moment up there on the rise. Pride and relief and concern—real concern, the kind you feel when someone who matters to your heart and happiness is in trouble.
He cares about me. And for all his frustrating stubbornness and tendency to lie about almost everything, I care about him, too.
After the visions last night, I know he’s coming with us to face Atlas, even if the man himself is still currently in the dark about what his future holds. But I don’t know if Luke’s coming with us as my mate or just a friend of the cause.
That wasn’t clear from what I saw.
A mate-match this soon seems like a long shot, though. Luke still intimidates the hell out of me. He makes me anxious and grateful for my shields and all the other coping mechanisms that keep me from being too vulnerable in his presence. The thought of being intimate with him, every part of me bare and exposed, is scary.