Sadie

by Michelle L De La Garza

  “Is that so?” He examines the document. “What’s in here?”

  “My mother’s death certificate, my birth records, and the deed to Roman Novak’s estate.” I set more content on the table.

  Cole scoops up the documents and reads over them.

  “Uhm, Cole.”

  “Yeah.” He glances up.

  “What are ya’ll? You and Ethan?”

  “What’d he tell you?”

  “Well, he said he wasn’t lycan or Kweo when I asked.” I brush hair out of my face. “He said he wasn’t part of their tribe. What does that mean? What is he? What are you?”

  He rubs his face, then holds my gaze. “Lupine.” His expression softens. “We’re lupines.”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  “Simply put, we’re a type of skinwalker.”

  “And that means what?”

  “Our kind can shift from human form to that of our inner beast.” He slides the large envelope open and extracts the documents from inside. “We’re shape shifters.”

  “You mean like the ones at the house?”

  “No. A growl passes Cole’s lips. “We’re nothing like them.”

  “Why? What makes you different?”

  “We’re born this way—purebred.”

  I draw in a deep breath and hug my arms to my chest.

  “Fuck. I feel as if this day sucked me into a warped, parallel version of the Twilight Zone.”

  I swallow a lump in my throat and struggle to maintain my composure. Extracting information from Ethan’s brother is about as hard—and feels as dangerous—as pulling teeth from a gator.

  “And how, exactly, are lupines different from lycans? I don’t understand.”

  “Lupines are the direct decedents of ancient skinwalkers.”

  “People who can shift into wolves.”

  “Yes. And the lupine bloodline passes from parent to child, with each new generation birthed.”

  “What about the other ones, the lycans?”

  His eyes remain glued a single file.

  “Lycans are the product of a bitten host, human or other, which results in a hybrid called a werewolf.”

  A shiver runs up my spine. Even the warmth of the coffee isn’t helping to dispel the chill in my bones.

  “That’s why you and Ethan asked if that thing had bitten me.”

  “Yeah.” Cole flips through the paperwork. “Wait.” His brows shoot up. “This says Roman’s your maternal grandfather?”

  She nods. “Well, yeah, since Kimberly, his daughter, was my mother. That’d make him my grandfather. Well, he was my grandfather.”

  “Was? You mean as in past tense?”

  “Yes. He died three months ago.” I shift some papers around and grab a death certificate. “Stage four liver cancer, I think. It’s listed on this.”

  “And you knew nothing about your biological family until today?”

  “No. The courts sealed the records, so I never had access to them.”

  “Shit.” Cole slaps his hand on top of the table. “If you’re a Novak then that changes everything.”

  “Why? What do you mean?”

  “That’d make you part of one of the oldest bloodlines in Kensington Cove.” He rubs his face. “You sure they said cancer?”

  “Yeah. It’s listed here.” I point out the cause of death.

  “Cancer, my ass.” Cole stands and paces. “I have to talk to Keegan.”

  “Who is that?” I take a sip of coffee. “And why do you have to talk to him?”

  “What’d I miss?” Ethan walks into the kitchen.

  His bare feet slide across the floor without making a sound.

  “What changes everything?” He’s clad in only jeans. His wet hair glistens under the track lighting. “And what does Keegan have to do with anything?”

  “Ask your new girlfriend,” Cole growls under his breath. “Neither of you leave this house. I have to go.” He holds up the documents. “Can I take these with me? I’ll bring them back.”

  “Sure. I guess so.” I place my elbows on the table and rest my chin on my hands.

  “You haven’t told me what Keegan has to do with this.” Ethan walks up beside his brother.

  Cole swallows the coffee left in his mug, places it in the sink, and then heads toward the living room.

  “I’ll let Sadie explain who her family is, or was,” Cole calls out over his shoulder. “But right now, it’s imperative I talk to Keegan.”

  Ethan grabs a cup of hot coffee, then turns around to face the table.

  “So? Talk to me.”

  My eyes trail up the faded jeans hanging off his hips. Rock hard abdominal muscles, with a defined six-pack, fill my vision.

  The memory of how those muscles felt under my fingertips when I held on to him floods my mind.

  Warmth spreads through my body, generating intense heat between my legs.

  Ethan draws in a deep breath, then grins. “Mmm. See something enticing.”

  “Wait. Did you just sniff the air?”

  “I did.” He licks his lips. “Wanna know what my inner beast smells?

  “No, thanks.” My mouth waters, and I gulp a sip of coffee.

  “You sure?”

  I nod then squeezes my thighs together, willing all thoughts of bare skin rubbing against each other—moving as one—in a passionate embrace, to dissipate.

  Ethan clears his throat not once but twice. It’s as if he can read my mind.

  Finally, I gaze up. My eyes lock with his.

  An intense heat warms my cheeks. “I uhm . . .”

  “Can I get you anything?” A wolfish grin spreads across his face. “Coffee. Tea—”

  “No. No, thanks.” My comment sounds more like little squeaks than words.

  “Are you sure that you don’t want anything else?” His intense, probing eyes drink in my form.

  I nod then shake my head once more, unable to speak.

  A wolfish smile rolls across his lips.

  “How about that shower?” His voice is husky and thick.

  “Sure. Okay,” I say, barely above a whisper.

  At this point, some time alone in a bathroom—away from him, far, far away from him—sounds like an excellent idea.

  Chapter Ten

  Ethan Cotter

  “TOWELS ARE IN THERE.” I point at the linen closet in the far left of the room. “And you’ll find shampoo, conditioner, and soap in the shower.”

  I linger in the open doorway. The wolf inside me inhales her arousal, which kicks up my libido another few notches.

  “Can I get you anything else?”

  “No.” She shakes her head.

  “I left a T-shirt and a pair of boxers on the counter. It’s all I have. When you’re done, I’ll show you where the washing machine is.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” She closes the door, and the lock engages.

  I loiter, waiting, and lean against the door, listening. Her footsteps softly drum against the floor.

  The spray of the shower mutes her movements, so that’s my cue. I make my way into the living room and plop on the couch.

  Lying back, eyes closed. Images of Sadie’s long legs fill my mind.

  “Mmm.” The wolf inside me licks its lips.

  He’d like nothing better than to have those legs wrapped around him or spread eagle across a bed, displaying the alluring flower between her luscious thighs.

  My dick pulses. It begs to plunge inside the velvety warmth she has to offer.

  “Fuck. What the hell’s wrong with me?”

  I grab the remote and switch on the television. A classic movie marathon list flashes on the screen.

  After flipping through a few of the other channels, I decide on the old 1931 Frankenstein movie with Colin Clive, Mae Clarke, and Boris Karloff.

  The water in the bathroom shuts off.

  My ears perk, and my body tenses with anticipation.

  I lower the volume on the television, which isn’t necessary. The
fine-tuned hearing of my inner wolf could easily hear a pin drop in the house even with every television, radio, and appliance running.

  The patter of bare feet putters against the hardwood floor. The pace slows the closer the steps come to the living room.

  Even with my eyes closed, I can feel her gaze roaming over my body.

  A combination of soap, shampoo, and her scent wafts in the air. The longer she stares, the stronger her lust grows.

  The wolf inside me growls. It wants to act, pull her into his arms and take her. But I know I mustn’t let him move too fast, or we could end up frightening her.

  “Uhm . . . Ethan.” Her voice travels through the living room. “Where’s the laundry room?”

  I open my eyes, scoot to the edge of the couch, and feast on her form.

  “Don’t get up.” There’s a nervous edge to her voice. “Just point me in the right direction. I can handle washing my stuff.”

  She walks into the room and glances at the television.

  “I didn’t peg you as an old movie buff. At least, not monster ones, anyway.”

  “Really? So, what’d you peg me for?” I lick my lips, hoping there isn’t any drool. “The Hounds of Baskerville or A Werewolf in London?”

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  A rose-tinted blush colors her cheeks and neck.

  “Just messing with you.” I lean against the back of the couch. “I don’t mind the classics.”

  The gray T-shirt she’s wearing hangs about mid-thigh. A hint of the blue cotton boxers peeks out from underneath the hem of the shirt.

  “Uhm. The laundry?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s off to the right of the kitchen.” I point in the general direction. “You can’t miss it.”

  She walks in front of me, and the sway of her hips draws my undivided attention, at least, until she exits my view.

  Eyes closed again. I listen to her light steps patter on the hardwood floor. Once on the granite tile, her soles slap against the surface.

  The click of the machine lets me know she’s preparing to wash a load.

  Lying on the couch, I focus on the sounds in the house: the hum of the refrigerator, water swooshing in the washing machine, and her pacing back and forth on the tile.

  Five minutes pass, and she hasn’t returned.

  A smile stretches across my face. Her nervous energy has her adrenaline pumping.

  Rising, I stretch my arms overhead, then prowl through the kitchen and then into the laundry room, stalking my prey.

  Perched in the entrance, appreciating the view of her well-toned legs, drool dribbles from the corners of my lips. I swipe it with the back of a hand.

  Standing on the tips of her toes, she reaches across the folding counter to the middle open shelf.

  Her fingertips brush the corner of the dryer softener box, pushing it just out of reach. Lifting a leg, she climbs on to the edge of the counter, and then retrieves a few sheets.

  When she pivots around, her eyes widen.

  “Jeez. Make some noise or something next time. I didn’t hear you.”

  “Find everything okay?” I enter the ten by ten room.

  She nods and backs against the counter across from the upright washer.

  “You live alone?” She fidgets with the hem of the shirt she’s wearing. “I mean is it only you, your mother, and brother?”

  “Why?” Ethan approaches. “You interested?”

  “J-just curious.” The erratic thumps of her heart increase in tempo. “Seems really clean for two guys in a house.”

  “As opposed to what? Your backseat?”

  “Hey.” She nudges me. “Cut me some slack, I’m moving.”

  “Okay. Fine.” A chuckle passes my lips. “And yeah . . .”

  “Yeah what?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but it’s just the three of us.” I lean against the wall next to her. “I guess you can say, my brother and I are house-trained. Oh, and no, I don’t have girlfriend unless you’d like to fill that spot.”

  A smile dances across her lips, crinkling the corners of her eyes.

  “Oow.” She squeezes her lids shut, then traces the base of her cheekbone and temple with the tips of her fingers.

  The smidgeon of a bruise surfacing darkens the contours of her face.

  Anger feeds the belly of the beast within me. It would like nothing more than to hunt the abominations who inflicted the pain.

  “And your father.” Her eyes, big and full of curious wonder, hold my gaze.

  “He died a few months back. Hunting accident.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Standing in front of her, I cup her chin, tipping her head back. “Hurting?”

  “Yeah, a bit.” Each time her lids flutter, her thick, full lashes fan out, reminding me of the delicate wings of a butterfly. “But it’s not bad.”

  “How about you”—I hold her gaze—“single or taken?”

  “Why do you ask?” The corners of her mouth twitch, making the dimples in her cheeks wink. “You interested?” She tosses my words back with a smooth finesse.

  I wait for a response, knowing full well, she’s alone because if she had a boyfriend or lover, I would smell him on her. And her sweet, alluring essence is the only aroma to emanate from her shapely form.

  “Oh, yes, Sadie Reed.” I press a hand against the wall next to her head. “I’m definitely interested.” Closing the distance between her body and mine, I press my frame against hers. “How about you?”

  “I, uhm.” She chews on the inside of her lip.

  The enthralling scent of her increasing arousal puts my inner beast on heightened alert.

  My wolf focuses on her physical reaction: dilation of pupils; plump, rose-colored lips; a lustful blush that brings color to her smooth flesh.

  I lean next to her ear, taking in the rapid beats of her heart. “Do I make you nervous?”

  “Nope.” The word comes out as a soft squeak.

  She ducks under my arm, trying to slide by.

  Testing the air, not a trace of fear wafts, so I press on.

  Placing my hands on each side of the counter, I block her exit.

  “Are you sure?” A grin washes across my face. “And before you respond, just know, my wolf can read you like an open book.”

  “Is that a fact?” A single brow arches, and a defiant glint twinkles in her eyes.

  “Yeah. It is.”

  “So, tell me what you think you know.”

  “Your heart races every time we’re in close contact.”

  I caress the side of her face with a thumb, stopping at the edge of her mouth—the mouth I long to taste.

  “Desire causes your lips to flush, your body to blush, and your pupils to dilate.” I sniff the air, breathing in her growing arousal. “Shall I continue?”

  “Okay. Fine.” She swallows hard. “Maybe you make me a little bit nervous.”

  “Only a little?”

  Lowering my head, I press my lips to the curve of her cheekbone. “—sure about that?”

  My breath flutters over her flushed skin, compelling her to blush once more.

  “Uhm. Wait.” She presses her palms against my chest. “What other things are you talking about?”

  She squirms but doesn’t leave.

  “I can smell you. Your arousal lingers in the surrounding air. It’s sweet, appetizing.”

  Leaving a trail of kisses across the side of her face, I nudge closer to her mouth. An inch from her lips, I pause. Her arousal is even stronger than before.

  Got you. The wolf inside me grins.

  “I want you.” Slowly, I claim her mouth, teasing, coaxing her to open to me. As soon as her lips part, I plunge my tongue into the soft, warm recesses of her mouth.

  She’s sweet and yielding.

  Without breaking eye contact, I slide a hand to her hip, and then caresses her thigh. The contact makes her quiver.

  She sucks in a quick breath, and her lids spring open. Her eyes, now dreamy and he
avy-laden with desire, hold my gaze.

  Slipping a hand inside the hem of the boxers she’s wearing, I trace the curve of her thigh.

  “Uhm . . .” Her heart thumps in her chest, keeping a fast cadence.

  “All you have to do is tell me no if you don’t want me to continue.” I pause my explorative quest.

  “I don’t do this.” Her eyes widen. “You know, move this fast." A nervous energy swirls around her. “I’m not—”

  “Do you want me to stop?” I reel in the wolf's libido and focus on reading the unspoken clues her body freely provides.

  Silence thickens the air.

  The flush of her skin and an increase in saliva, along with her plump lips and lust-filled dreamy eyes, beacons me on; however, her hesitation and rising anxiety sends a mixed message—one of uncertainty.

  My wolf and I yearn to hold her, taste her, have her—to claim her, something I’ve never entertained with any female until now. But I don’t want to move faster than she’s willing or ready to go.

  “Talk to me.” I nuzzle her neck. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I, uhm”—she draws in a slow, steady breath—“I like you, a lot, actually, which is odd since we just met.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  “But I don’t know you?”

  “What would you like to know?”

  She casts her gaze to the floor, avoiding my eyes.

  “Can you change?” Her words come out barely above a whisper. “You know like those things, the lycans?”

  “Yes. I can take the form of a half-man, half-beast, but my kind, lupines, also shift into grey wolves.”

  “Is that what I heard howling back at the car? A wolf, or was it one of them—a lycan?”

  “Could’ve been either one.” I slide a hand through my hair, combing rogue strands out of my face.

  A yawn rolls across her lips, accentuating the tired lines and dark circles under her eyes.

  “Let’s go sit.” I check the timer on the machine. “Can’t toss your stuff in the dryer for another twenty-five minutes, anyway.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sadie Reed

  EYES HEAVY, I drift on the strings of sleep. A steady beat thumps in my ear, pulling me closer to a dream world.