The Wolf's Concubine

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The Wolf's Concubine Page 13

by Erin St. Charles


  Without thinking, she stood and threw her arms around his midsection. Emotion swelled in her chest and tears pricked her eyes.

  “Thank you,” Lola mumbled into his chest, burying her nose in his sweater.

  His hands went around her waist, then slid up her back to hold her close. Before she realized what she was doing, her hands pressed into his broad back to return what was suddenly no longer a platonic hug. The impulse to climb him like she was a mountain goat assailed her.

  Suddenly, all she noticed was his heartbeat, his scent, the whisper of his breath against her forehead. She tilted her head up to look at the Big Dipper of dark freckles and the stubble along his jawline. His chest expanded under her cheek, his breathing deepened, and his arms pulled her even closer. He inhaled, sucking in deep, hitching breaths, and she realized he was sniffing her. Scenting her.

  She felt as if she were inside his emotions, swimming in his response to her. She felt his cock, hard and eager, against her belly and she could feel the emotions that accompanied his body’s response. Not just physical desire for her. But desire for her.

  Her panties flooded with moisture. She could feel her nether lips swelling quickly, almost painfully, and she realized that more than anything in that moment, she wanted them to put their swollen bits together. Her brain wanted to put the brakes on this, but her body was all for getting together with Phelan.

  His hand moved over her back lightly. She reminded herself she didn’t want all the baggage that comes with being with a man. If she let this man into her body, things would get complicated. Really complicated. He engaged her heart too much for her to want to take that risk.

  Their first almost-kiss in his truck played through her mind, followed by the other kisses they had shared. He wanted her, and she wanted him, too. She really wanted him. So much so that she found it difficult to let go of him.

  With a groan, she pulled away from him. For a moment, his hands tightened on her. Sound vibrated in Phelan’s chest as he spoke.

  “Lola, I–”

  Gotta get away, was her panicked thought. She wrenched herself away from him and turned to the machine. He grabbed her gently by the elbow.

  “Hey–” he started to speak, but she interrupted him.

  “I should, I should figure out what I’m going to wear to the carnival. I didn't buy anything that would be appropriate.” She turned her back to him and busied herself with pawing through the box of fabric.

  “Okay,” he said, and Lola had a twinge of regret for pushing him away. “Do you need help with anything?”

  She began to remove the folded piles of fabric, examining the patterns and textures. She needed enough fabric to make a garment.

  “Uh, I don’t think so,” she said, busily arranging the fabric, fingers trembling and a lump of emotion in her throat.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, sounding frustrated.

  She kept her eyes on what she was doing, and only turned around again when she heard the door slam.

  Chapter 23

  The axe bit into the wood and split it apart. Phelan grabbed another piece and put it on the stump he was using as a chopping block. Thwack. The force of his blow split the wood with one strike. He knew something had gone wrong with Lola, but couldn't figure out what.

  He thought for a moment that it might have been his gift, but quickly dismissed it. The look on Lola's face when she saw the sewing machine had been pure pleasure. Her big smile had said it all. And she’d given him a hug! Okay, so he’d gotten carried away with the hug; at least, his body had. He couldn't touch her and not go instantly hard. But she was into it, too, not only had she held him tightly, but her scent had changed and he could smell her desire. Then she'd unexpectedly pulled away and dismissed him.

  Now here he was, wondering what had gone wrong, and taking his frustration out on several logs that had never done anything to him.

  He had no idea what his next move should be, but something told him it wouldn’t hurt to give her, and him, a little space. He was restless, but it didn’t seem like a good time to go for a run. So, splitting logs it was. Right after removing his shirt to make himself more comfortable. Of course, if she happened to look out the window and see him demonstrating his physical prowess, well, not much he could do about that.

  Phelan had never had trouble with women in the past, which made the situation with Lola all the more befuddling. Everything he’d ever heard about fated mates indicated that after meeting, the pair would basically fall into one another’s arms, declare their fidelity to one another, then go off and start having mind-blowing sex.

  The ingredients for such an outcome between him and Lola were all there. They were attracted to each other. He’d kissed her, twice, and she’d made soft, mewling sounds when he’d done it. He could scent her arousal, even when she was pushing him away.

  True, she had stabbed him, but that was when she didn’t know who he was. And yeah, she had run away from him twice, but that was before he kissed her.

  She had no reason to reject him now. And yet, she did. He smacked the ax into the wood, splitting it. He didn't understand. Maybe it was because she was human. Most of his experience with females had been with other shifters. Shifter women didn’t hug and kiss you, then tell you to get lost. If a shifter woman wanted to have sex with you, she’d let you know. If the attraction was mutual and the timing convenient, there wasn’t much wooing involved.

  But Lola wasn’t a shifter. He had to figure out how to get things back on track between them.

  He split another piece of wood and paused. The late morning sun was out in full force. It was starting to warm up a bit, and a light sheen of sweat formed on Phelan’s skin. He raised his head, catching the scents on the breeze. When he didn't catch anything unusual, he resumed his chopping.

  He was so lost in his thoughts, when his smartphone rang, it took a moment to recognize the sound for what it was. He dug it out of his pocket to answer it with a frown. It would be so much more convenient to simply speak like he could with his Omni. He wished the town would install Omni drone receptors. Smartphones were for the birds.

  “Cermak,” he said curtly, wiping the sweat from his brow. He peered at the tiny screen and saw Bubba’s name appear.

  “Phelan?” his cousin said. "You sound...odd."

  This was good timing, Phelan thought. He could get an update on the case, and maybe pump Bubba for information on this mating business.

  “Hey, Bubba. What’s up?” Phelan said as he set the ax down.

  “I’m calling to check on you. How’s everything?”

  “Fine,” Phelan told his cousin. “Nothing to report. Anything new with the case?”

  “Nothing at all. That’s why I’m calling you. We tested the DNA from the Lola Black overcoat. The changeling was from the same clutch as the one that attacked Mac and his mate.”

  “Clutch?” Phelan asked, his brow creasing in puzzlement.

  “The legend goes that changelings are hatched from eggs,” Bubba said. “It’s a legend, but fairy tales are all we can rely on at this point. In any case, the DNA indicated siblings.”

  “Huh,” Phelan said, frowning. He moved to sit in his truck, not wanting Lola to possibly overhear his conversation.

  “Yeah. We’ve been monitoring the other women in the area who fit the profile. There haven’t been any more incidents.”

  “Do you need me to be doing something here?" Phelan asked. Then a chill ran up his spine. "Is Lola safe?”

  “No way of knowing one way or another," Bubba said, sounding frustrated. "We don't know who is behind the changelings, or why. Talk with her, see what she wants to do. I don't know that she's any safer there than here. If she wants to come back to Dallas, it’s her call.”

  Phelan's wolf bristled in the back of his head and he immediately dismissed the idea of returning to Dallas. No need to tell her anything, not when she might still be in danger. As long as he was with her, he could protect her. Plus, there was the
little matter of their unresolved mating. He had to convince her to never leave him.

  “I’ll talk to her about it,” Phelan lied, glad they were over the phone and Bubba wouldn't be able to tell he was being untruthful.

  “And you need to get back to the office, too,” Bubba reminded him.

  “It’s still the weekend, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but make sure you’re at work on Monday, bright and early,” said Bubba.

  Phelan nodded in agreement, then realized Bubba couldn’t see him. He suppressed a growl, really wishing he was on his Omni.

  “I’ll be there,” he said. If he didn’t get his mating settled, he could always call in sick on Monday. “So, everything good with you?”

  With business out of the way, Phelan decided it was time to bring the conversation around to the issue of mating. Bubba’s advice to find something she was interested in had elicited the first positive response he’d had from Lola.

  That in itself was surprising, as Bubba had been a notorious poon hound for as long as Phelan had known him. Clearly, something had changed. He was curious about Bubba’s mate, too. Plus, maybe the other man might have more pointers that would help in his relationship with Lola.

  The truck was parked in the front yard of the cabin. The thought of her drew his eyes to the window. He could see Lola inside, her head bent over her sewing machine, working. She was adorable, her face scrunched in concentration.

  “Yeah,” said Bubba, his voice trailing off as if he might be ready to end the call. Damn.

  “Good,” said Phelan, disappointed, unable to think of anything to say to get his cousin to talk about his mating.

  “Oh," Bubba added, sounding distracted, "Meant to tell you I won’t be in on Monday.”

  Phelan narrowed his eyes suspiciously. His cousin used to be someone who worked hard and partied harder. Despite his past playboy ways, he rarely missed work. Something was clearly going on. In fact, he hadn’t been around for pool night in weeks.

  Phelan thought the other man had changed a lot recently and figured it was all due to Bubba's newly found mate. But, missing work? Something was up.

  “Missing work? Everything okay?”

  “I have a… thing I need to do.” Bubba sounded evasive, which was extremely unusual for a wolf. They tended to be extroverted and candid, often to a fault.

  “A… thing?” Phelan said slowly.

  He wondered if this evasion had to do with Bubba’s mating. Phelan found himself rather cagey lately, preoccupied with thoughts of Lola and focused on closing the deal with her.

  “Yes,” Bubba bit out. “With my mate. And her pups.”

  “Really?” Phelan pushed for details.

  “Yes,” Bubba said again, sounding impatient. “She has a… work function she has to attend. She needs me there.”

  Phelan’s mind pounced on this tidbit of information. Bubba was involved in his mate’s life. He was attending a work event to support her interests.

  Could he do the same for Lola? The idea of visiting her at Woodland Creatures made him blanch. He hated the idea of all those eyes on her. Not to mention the fact that if she went back to work there, he’d have to kill any customer who dared put a hand on her. A lengthy prison sentence would be hell on his relationship with Lola.

  No, the answer was he would have to make sure she didn’t return to work at the brothel. He would not be sharing his mate with a bunch of horny bastards. He had enough resources to help her pursue just about any dream she wanted. Hell, she didn’t have to work at all. In fact, when the time was right, he’d tell her so. What woman wouldn’t jump at the chance to have a man like him supporting her dreams, whatever they may be?

  Feeling buoyed by this new plan of action, Phelan ended the conversation. His cousin had helped him without knowing it. One day, when they were both mated and settled in their lives, he would tell Bubba what their little talks this weekend had done for him and Lola.

  He entered the cabin with a spring in his step, whistling a tune. Lola looked up at him quizzically from behind the sewing machine. Her gaze swept over him from head to toe, her eyes wide with female appreciation, and she bit her lower lip. He grinned at her, thinking that going shirtless had been a good idea.

  “Hey,” he said, making eye contact with her. She kept looking him up and down, then she blushed to the tips of her ears and looked away.

  He looked down at himself, frowning. Then noticed how his boner was fighting the confines of his jeans. Something that always seemed to happen when he was around her. This walking around like a horny teenager had to stop soon.

  “You making progress?” he asked, looking at the scraps of fabric laying around.

  “Um, yes,” she said, keeping her eyes locked on the fabric she was pinning together.

  He watched her as she worked, waiting for her to say anything else. When she remained silent, he finally said, “Great!”

  He went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. As he opened the bottle, he parked himself on one of the breakfast bar stools and watched her.

  She laid out fabric on the dining room table, carefully folding it in half. As he watched, she drew the outline of a pairs of leggings on the fabric. With precision and speed, she pinned the fabric and proceeded to cut the fabric along her outline.

  “How did you learn to sew?” he asked as he watched her in fascination.

  Phelan knew clothes had to be constructed somehow, he just hadn’t ever given much thought to how that happened. He purchased clothing in stores, off the rack and ready to go. Lola was clearly in her element as she stitched her new clothes together.

  She shrugged, her eyes on the fabric as she started to sew it together. “One of the families I lived with growing up. The mom taught me.”

  “One of the families?” While he didn’t want to intrude, he did want to know everything about her.

  After the earlier awkwardness, he was grateful she seemed relaxed again, but was a little worried his question would end that.

  She paused in her stitching and looked up at him. "Put on your shirt and I'll tell you. I can't think with you looking all–" She waved her hand.

  He bit back a smile, pleased he affected her like that. "I'm all sweaty,"

  "Then go shower," she said with a flat look. "My story can wait."

  Although he liked keeping her off-balance and the fact his body distracted her, he really wanted to hear her tale. Phelan rushed through his shower. When he got out, he realized he was hungry.

  Over the course of the afternoon, he took a shower, made them sandwiches, and listened to her life story as she made two pairs of leggings and two long-sleeved t-shirts.

  She’d been born in New Orleans and left at a fire station when she was days old. She had run away from numerous foster homes, but had never been adopted. She joined the concubine program at eighteen and aged out of the program at age twenty-eight, which was standard operating procedure. He couldn’t tell whether this bothered her.

  "Okay, so I answered your questions," she said, pausing in her sewing to look at him. “My turn for questions. How did your agency know I had been in the program?”

  He watched her closely, looking for signs of unease. He didn't see any. Her manner was calm, even, and unruffled.

  “Former candidates have a profile,” he said, watching as she picked up her new garments and snipped stray threads. Her eyes were cast down, eyelashes fanned out on her cheeks as she examined each garment closely.

  “They do?” She cocked an eyebrow and continued her work. He noted that she said “they” not “we” and he wondered what significance to attach to her wording.

  “Yes.” He followed her delicate hands as they created another outfit. “We start with employment history. Concubine records are kept in paper files only. Pantheon creates work histories for women in the program, but these false resumes don’t hold up to very close scrutiny. If you try to make contact with past employers, no one but the human resources
representative will have ever heard of them.”

  She nodded in acknowledgment. “Makes sense.”

  Her fingers fluttered over a pair of leggings, smoothing the seams and shaking out the garment. The fabric was printed with constellations of stars against a deep blue and purple background. She gave him a happy smile.

  “I’m going to try these on,” she said, heading for the bathroom.

  While she was changing, he looked around the great room, his eyes landing on the patched hobo bag, the sewing machine, and the partially empty box of fabric. With all her accoutrements spread out, her presence dominated the space. And she was none too tidy, with scraps of fabric and threads all over the floor of the cabin.

  Some lengths of fabric were even strewn across the sectional. This made him think of the towels she’d left on the bathroom floor, drawers left open in the kitchen, and the fact that it apparently had not occurred to her to make the bed after getting out of it. In the future, she would need her own space to do the things that made her happy. A sewing studio, he thought, though he had no idea what would be involved in creating one.

  She returned wearing the new leggings and one of his old t-shirts from his bug-out bag, which he kept in his truck at all times. She had knotted one side of the t-shirt at the hem, in order to keep it from hanging off her like a muumuu. Her feet were bare and he noted that even her feet were cute. The leggings clung to her like a second skin, emphasizing the firm curves of her round thighs and hips. As she turned slowly to model the pants, he noted with fascination that her ass was shaped exactly like a heart.

  “Wow,” he said. He stood and approached her cautiously, remembering how she’d dismissed him earlier. “I don’t think I ever met anyone capable of making their own clothes. You look great.”

  She blushed, then crossed her arms over her chest, and smirked at him. She was so cute his fingers itched to grab her and hold her.

  “Do you think clothing grows on trees? Or maybe it’s made by elves in Santa’s workshop?” she teased him.

 

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