by T. S. Joyce
Desperately, Emily pulled his hair back and clamped her teeth onto his neck. She was going to come so hard, and there was no slowing down to wait for Chance like she’d planned to do. It was too bright, too consuming, and now he was bucking too fast. Fucking perfect Chance.
“I love you, I love you,” she panted against his neck, right before her body exploded with pleasure. Pounding orgasm blasted through her, and she squeezed her eyes closed and bit him hard, right where his thick, muscular neck met his collar bone. She bit until she tasted iron, clamped her teeth until she knew it would mark him. Chance snarled, but gripped the back of her head, pulling her toward him, encouraging her.
Chance groaned and tensed so hard his body turned to stone under her touch. His cock swelled inside of her and throbbed, shooting heat into her center with jet after hot jet as he bucked erratically. Her aftershocks got stronger, encouraged by his release, and she let go of his skin and closed her eyes against the intensity of her orgasm. Wetness trickled out of her, streaming down her thighs as his dick pulsed inside her.
Chance drew in a ragged breath and pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, teeth gritted, eyebrows furrowed. And when he slowed his movement against her, and opened his eyes again, they were almost white. Without a word, he carried her carefully over the cluttered room and sat on the bed with her straddled over him. His touch turned gentle as he dragged his fingers over her mouth. He looked at the crimson that painted his fingertips and a slow, predatory smile curved his lips.
She should’ve been horrified at what she’d done. His skin was torn and twin streams of red trickled down his pec, but it was impossible to feel remorse now. “You should know,” she whispered, lifting her chin primly, “I regret nothing.”
Chance blinked slowly and lifted his eerie gaze from his blood-smeared fingers. “Good little monster, made to match me. There is no room for guilt now. I’m yours. And Em?”
Her entire body was shaking now with adrenaline that had dumped in her system. She licked the iron from her lips and squeezed her knees tighter against his ribcage. Resting a hand right over his pounding heart, she asked, “Yes, mate?”
Chance hugged her tight and rubbed his cheek against hers in a moment of animalistic affection, rough against her soft skin. His lips right near her ear, he murmured, “I love you, too.”
Chapter Sixteen
Emily stood on the deck overlooking the river. The moon was full and danced in blue, glowing streaks across the water. The air was crisp and clean here, the scent mingling with the sap of pine trees. Huddling deeper into her hoodie, she crossed her arms to ward off the chill as she watched the waves.
This place was paradise.
Dinner had been incredible. Lennard had made elk steaks with green peppercorn sauce, cubed potatoes, and asparagus. She was still a little tipsy from the fine red wine they’d paired with it. She’d been intimidated to see everyone again after such a monumental intimacy she and Chance had shared in his room but if anyone noticed, they were polite enough not to mention it. She was changed completely now, and from the faraway smiles Chance kept on his face through dinner, he was, too.
She’d organized her travel pack, and it sat ready for the morning beside the Rodericks’ packs by the front door of the lodge. She’d tried to go to sleep early, but she’d lain in bed instead, wondering what Chance was doing.
Apparently, a lot of pre-work went into a guided tour. He’d tidied the room while she’d showered, and then he’d disappeared. She’d checked the woodpile, which was now organized and stacked neatly, and even checked the barn, but Chance was nowhere to be found.
The breeze died down, and the branches stopped their constant creaking. A sudden fear filled her veins, but it was unexplainable. It was the kind of terror that froze her into place and pressed against her chest until she couldn’t breathe. The woods surrounding the clearing were suddenly much darker and more sinister than they had been just moments ago.
What was it—this instinct that told her something wasn’t right? Forcing herself, Emily looked to her right into the dark forest. She imagined something there, watching her, just beyond the first batch of trees, hidden in the shadows, stalking her.
Instinctively, she reached for the hunting knife in her belt, but found nothing but air. In an instant, she regretted leaving the lodge so unprepared.
A long, haunting wolf howl lifted on the breeze, and chills blasted across her body. A second joined the first, lifting higher in note before it dropped off, and then the first rejoined.
As the song went on, it was clear there were only two, so she relaxed into a cushioned lounge chair on the deck and listened. It was Chance and Dalton—it had to be. That was why they weren’t anywhere around. Perhaps they had to Change before an excursion so they could stay steady on the trail.
The wind picked up again, and the trees resumed their creaking melody, the soft sound banishing the ghosts she’d imagined before. Relief flooding her, Emily relaxed against the chair and laughed at herself. She was jumpy for some reason. She’d always been so confident in Hell Hunter training, but out here in the wild, things were different. She was different. Her confidence had been shaken the day she realized everything she’d been told was a lie. And as she’d scrambled to get a finite grip on who she really was, she’d floundered with a bone-deep fear that hadn’t been there before. Fear she wasn’t enough and she’d let everyone down. Fear she would lose Chance and herself all at once. Fear she wouldn’t be enough to protect Chance from her uncle.
He was in the wind now, though, and she needed to let it go. He was on his last legs, and she couldn’t live her life like this, always second guessing every move she made. With Chance, everything was easy. It was cut-and-dry-simple. But in the moments she was away from him, the guilt over her lineage settled in and turned her dark on the inside. Chance deserved better.
If she wanted to be the strong mate Chance needed at his side, she had to let go of her past completely. She had to make this moment right here the last time she looked back and showered herself in guilt. Chance bore her mark now, and it was more than an in-the-moment declaration. From here on, she would let go of her old self and strive to find her new self—a good self that she could be proud of. Because this wishy-washy shit wasn’t healthy for her, nor would it be healthy for Chance. He deserved her strongest self.
The wind died down again, and the chills were back, along with that ice that froze her blood and tensed her muscles.
“Do you feel hunted?” Chance asked from behind her.
She startled violently and grasped her chest in an attempt to keep her racing heart in place. “Y-yes,” she stuttered, turning.
He wore only jeans, no shirt, and the moonlight cast a neon blue hue across his pale skin. His eyes were light and he cocked his head as he watched her with a frown. “Why?”
“I guess because you were out in those woods, howling. I felt watched.”
His eyes narrowed. “Watched,” he repeated in a hoarse voice. “I wasn’t watching you. I was tracking horses. Dalton, too.” He cast a glance behind him, but the lodge was dark except for the glow of a single light in the living room window. When he shifted his attention back to her, his eyes reflected oddly in the moonlight. His nostrils flared, and he frowned off into the woods. “Some of our horses got out of the back pasture.”
She stood in a rush. “Did you find them all?”
“Six of them. We’re still missing two more. Something must’ve scared them apart. A bear maybe.” He approached her slowly, his bare feet silent against the wooden deck. He pulled her against his chest and rubbed her back in soothing circles. “Dalton wanted to track them deeper into the woods, but I couldn’t pull myself any farther away from you. Not now.”
“Why?”
With a shake of his head, he admitted, “I don’t know. Dalton said it’s the bond we’re forming. He says my protectiveness over you will overpower every other instinct now. He said it’s the same with him and Kate.”
Emily hugged him tighter and smiled, her cheek swelling against his chest with her happy expression. “This will take getting used to for both of us. I was just thinking about how much work I needed to do to be the best mate I can be for you.”
“You’re already there. I don’t want you to change for me. I’m not asking you to.”
“I still have to earn your trust.”
“You have it, Em,” he said, easing back. He brought her knuckles to his lips and let his kiss linger there. “You’re enough.”
She let off a long sigh, releasing the rest of her tension with her frozen breath. “No one has ever told me that before.”
The frown that had marred his face relaxed in the instant before he kissed her. His lips moved fluidly against hers, savoring her, coveting her. Even if he hadn’t just said the words, his lips silently showed her she was enough.
How had she lived without this feeling? How had she existed in such emptiness before now? Hating shifters had taken up so much headspace for so long, and now Chance was the balm to the burn, healing her from the inside out with every kiss, every touch, ever word of easily given affection. He was steadfast, a rock that wouldn’t be moved, while she was just trying to be strong enough to cling to him, hoping his goodness would rub off on her. And it was. She could feel it, even now. Tendrils of strength prickled her skin where he touched her.
“Please tell me you feel that,” he murmured, eyes tightly closed like he was in pain.
Confused, she backed away by inches and frowned down at where the tingling sensation had raised chills on her chest, just beneath the fabric of her hoodie. “Needles,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing, Em. It’s you. You’re letting me in. You’re allowing the bond.” He swallowed hard and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I thought I would never get to feel this.”
He kissed her again, pulling her against him, and the tingling sensation intensified, burning brightly, and then as fast as it had come, it was gone, faded to nothing but a fuzzy, warm feeling that settled in her chest.
“No more questioning if you’re enough.” Chance hugged her shoulders and rested his chin on top of her hair. “We’re bonded now, you and I. My wolf chose you, and so did I. You. Not the idea of you or a future you. Just you, Emily Vega.”
Chance draped his arm over her shoulders and led her back toward the lodge, but twice, the woods drew his attention before they got to the porch.
And even under the safety of his protection, she felt hunted. There was darkness in those woods tonight. That darkness swallowed up their light and kept her mate’s eyes lightened to the color of frost.
Maybe it was a bear or a wild wolf hunting along the edge of the forest, or maybe Dalton was still out there tracking the horses.
Or perhaps it was the ghosts of her Hell Hunter ancestors, angry with her claim on a werewolf. Because tonight she had altered the path of Hell Hunter and shifter history by binding her and Chance together forever. She’d intertwined two paths that were supposed to end in destruction with love instead.
As Chance opened the front door and led her to his room in the lodge—to their room—she could no longer conjure guilt at tainting the Vega name.
Hell Hunters were monsters whose mission statement had been murder, and she’d just ended the line. And as she looked up at Chance—a man who she’d come here to hunt, a man who she’d come here to destroy, a man who she’d fallen hopelessly in love with instead—she knew with absolute certainty she’d done the right thing.
Chance was the light, and he would banish the darkness inside of her.
Chapter Seventeen
Emily woke in the dark and immediately searched Chance’s side of the bed with her fingertips. The covers had been pushed aside, and all she felt was cold mattress.
“Chance?”
No answer.
A sense of wrongness filled her chest and made the air too heavy to breath. She gasped and searched frantically for the light switch near the door. She winced as the lightbulbs above blinded her, and blinking rapidly, she tried to adjust enough to search the room. The place was destroyed, and every inch of the floor was covered in debris. Glass, rumpled clothes, papers, furniture that had been splintered into thousands of pieces.
“Chance?” she called louder as fear pulsed through her.
Emily threw the door open and gasped. Between her feet was a long, wet, red smear that trailed to the end of the hallway and disappeared around the corner. The air smelled of fur and something more. Something bitter against the lining of her nose. Something chemical that was so familiar but stayed just out of her mind’s reach.
The floorboards were cold under her bare feet as she sidled the wall, careful not to touch the horrifying crimson that painted the center of the hallway. At the end, she hesitated and tried to steady her breathing. She would pass out soon if she didn’t get ahold of herself, and Chance needed her.
There were wooden bars over the front door, and baffled, Emily tiptoed to the window in the den. Outside, everything was different. There was no clearing anymore, but instead, a massive tree stood in front of the house. And under it were two white horses. Atop those horses sat two men in old fashioned vests, boots, and black cowboy hats. They were bound and gagged with their hands tied behind their backs, and one was staring at her with horror in his dark eyes.
“Dalton?” she whispered.
The other man sat slumped over in the saddle, but to her horror, both of their necks were in nooses. Dressed in black cloaks, two men stood in front of the horses, holding the fidgety animals steady. One of the Hell Hunters turned and cast her a bright-eyed look just before he hit the slumped-over man across the jaw. The cowboy hat had been hiding his face, but suddenly, the bound man jerked back from the hit, and his light green eyes landed on her.
“Oh, my God,” she murmured. “Chance!”
“Emily, run!” he bellowed from behind the gag.
She needed weapons. She had to save them. Had to because she would never survive the pain of losing her mate. Emily turned, but the landscape of the lodge had changed. Now she was standing by the small window of a cabin. An old ladder-back chair sat toppled in the middle of the room and when she looked down, she was wearing a full-skirted dress.
The lung-singeing smell intensified, and she recognized it now. Lantern oil. When she looked outside, a Hell Hunter lit a match, and when he lifted the tiny flame, it illuminated his face in the depths of his black hood.
Uncle Victor gave her an empty smile and then tossed the match onto the house.
Emily beat on the window as the flames engulfed the cabin. “Chance!” she screamed over and over, banging on the thick, warped glass. And just before she lost him in the smoke, one of the Hell Hunters slapped the horses under him and Dalton.
“Nooo!” Emily screamed, sitting up in bed.
Her flailing arms were suddenly pinned to her sides, and she struggled like a wild, injured animal, fighting for her life. Fighting for Chance and Dalton. The smoke filled her lungs, and she coughed over and over, trying to force air into her suffocating chest.
“Em, stop it!” Chance gritted out.
Airway suddenly clear, she gasped and ceased her struggling. When the light flipped on, Dalton and Jenner stood in the doorway, hair disheveled and matching, bright-eyed looks of fearsome readiness.
“What’s happened?” Dalton asked.
“You hanged,” she wailed.
Dalton rubbed the hanging scar on his neck and shot a quick glance into the hallway.
“You and Chance hanged, and I burned.”
Chance shot the others a worried look. “Baby, it was just a dream. I didn’t hang, and you’re here, safe with me.”
“It was just a dream,” she forced through her closing throat. “Just an awful, awful dream,” she repeated, trying to convince herself. “But it felt so real. The smoke and the horses. White horses, and you were dressed like cowboys. I was in a cabin, wearing a d
ress, and I couldn’t get out to save you.” She bit her bottom lip hard to stop the trembling there. Tears spilled onto her cheeks as Chance crushed her against his chest. “I watched you both hang, and my skin was on fire.”
“Sounds like you’ve been reading our history book, woman,” Dalton said in a low voice. “That happened to our ancestors, Luke and Jeremiah Dawson. You read their story, and it gave you a nightmare is all.”
“Luke and Jeremiah,” she whispered, her eyes burning from the residual smoke she could still smell on the air. Uncle Victor had been there. “Not just your ancestors. Mine, too.” Her face caved, and she let off a sob. “My people did that. Seeing it is different.”
“You didn’t really see it, Em,” Chance whispered, rocking her gently. “It’s not real.”
She understood his need to comfort her, but he was wrong. Emily didn’t know why she’d had that dream, but it had really happened. She’d felt the fear and the horror when Chance…er, Luke Dawson…had told her to run. There had only been vague details in the history book, and she knew down to her bones she hadn’t just filled in the gaps with her own imaginings. The cabin, the rough texture of her dress fabric between her fingers, the smell of lantern oil. She wasn’t that creative to imagine it all in a dream.
That nightmare was a warning. From Chance’s ghosts or from hers, it didn’t matter, but it was a foreshadowing of what was to come if Emily didn’t protect him.
Chance would hang, and she would burn.
And as she swallowed the last of her sobs and leveled her mate with a fierce look, she knew what she had to do.
Chance was hers, and she would burn the world down before she saw him hang from the end of a noose.
Chapter Eighteen